Last night dreamed I was in Paris. I left the hotel and went to a grocery store for breakfast. On the way I crossed the Seine, but instead of the urban river that runs through real Paris, this dream version stretched out far into a rural distance, bounded by rough chalky cliffs and under a clear blue sky. At the edge of my vision I could just see a group of young boys jumping off the cliffs and into the water. Luminous air. It was another in the series of Mystic Landscape dreams. I was so moved that I began weeping at its beauty or impossible perfection. But returning from the store I realized that I had forgotten the name of my hotel and had no memory of the street it was on. I was completely lost and disoriented. I don't know that I've ever felt that quite so strongly in dreams or in waking life.
I climbed into a passing car, whose occupants didn't seem to notice me, and I rode with them through the city. One scene was glimpsed as we went through a cavernous tunnel: a parallel tunnel where sheep lived on a dirt floor. We drove up a mountainous road to the top of a rocky outcrop where houses were clustered. The driver couldn't help me find my hotel. I walked to a nearby house. An old, skinny, dark-skinned grandmother opened the door. She fanned a fistful of dollars and said I could sub for her as a teacher if I wanted--she was blind. Somehow she covered me with black and white kittens (I know, I know). I woke up.
