It is a distant beach, out of reach for any flight company. People gather on the beaches playing congas, bongos, everything you can hit on. A summer of love vibe in the air and I don‘t know the exact moment where I understood, oh, I‘m dreaming. It happened maybe fifteen years ago (in real life), I always loved the idea of being part of a community who has written peace and love on their flags, and really lives it.
In this dream I am looking for a woman of my dreams, and there she is, I leave out the details of her features, her dark brown skin. We have a lovely conversation about Antonioni‘s movie with the big villa exploding in the end. I tell her how similar this scenery is to the Hippie shangrila of the movie. She says, this is not a movie, and I know, this is a dream, but don‘t want to make things more complicated. She is so real, and her kisses full of life and extravaganza. I tried some of the tricks to stay inside the lucid dream. Quick turnarounds of the body, keeping yourself saying this is a dream. Interesting, all these strategies didn‘t interfere with my romantic feelings.
After another series of kisses and dense body contact – I never came closer to an orgasm inside a lucid dream without awakening – she‘s standing up being worried about the dark clouds appraching the sand with a surreal hurry. Within seconds hard rain is hitting the ground, and everybody‘s looking for shelter. In this tohuwabohu, where everyone is strangely on his and her own, the whole idea of community is replaced by a nasty fight for survival. The rain coming down so hard, it hurts, makes all of us run, run, run, without thinking, without empathy, and I lose every bit of knowing the state of my mind of being inside a dream.
Cause, otherwise, I could‘ve stopped the rain.