saying.”
“ Fine, I think,” Grace says.
“ Problems?”
“ I don’t know. What can you tell me about lucid
dreaming?”
“ A strange topic to start with.”
“ It might be relevant.”
“ Okay.” Mal settles his teaspoon in his saucer. “In lucid
dreaming the
dreamer may be able to exert some degree of control over their
participation within the dream state, or be able to manipulate
their imaginary experiences in the dream environment. Lucid dreams
can be realistic and vivid, and quite often the dreamer wakes in a
state of confusion, not quite knowing what is real and what isn’t.
Clear?”
Silence.
“ Do you think you might be experiencing
lucid dreams, Grace?”
She
holds her cup with both hands and lets its warmth leach into her
fingers, cold despite the ambient temperature of the room, and
studies the bubbles on the surface of the coffee.
“ Possibly. I don’t know. It’s all very
strange. In fact, it might not be a dream at all.” She takes a
mouthful of the coffee, holds it, swallows. “I’m confused, Mal.”
“ Then tell me everything and let me see what we can sort out
for you, okay?”
“ Okay.”
Another
thoughtful sip.
“ This imaginary friend I’m supposed to… make up,” she says.
“What … what would you say if I told you I didn’t have to … because
he was already there … and he made himself known to me
first?”
Mal
raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“ Yes.”
And
grins. “Then I’d say … tell me more.”
And so
she tells him everything – the stone wall covered in ivy and
brambles, the gate, the garden, the cemetery, the gravestone with
the list of children’s names. And then she describes Colin McLeod,
right down to the hole in the knee of his trousers, and Mal’s
attention on her is rapt, eyes unblinking, mouth hanging open like
an empty sock.
“ Fascinating,” he says, when she’s finished. “Absolutely
fascinating. I never for one minute thought it would work so
well.”
“ So what do you think, because I think it’s a bit creepy?”
she says. “I can see the symbolic associations – the garden
represents life and the cemetery death, and Colin, by forcing me
out of the cemetery is trying to keep me from death. Perhaps he’s
acting as a sort of … guardian? Why he forced me out of the garden
too, and I mean right outside, all the way through the gate, I have
no idea, but I intend to find out.”
Mal puts up a hand. “Now slow down, speedy. You can be
reading things too literally. A garden and a cemetery can be just that, a
garden and a cemetery. Mental scene setting, pure and
simple.”
“ But what about Colin himself? I hadn’t got so far as
creating a persona yet, let alone giving him a name. I hadn’t even
decided if I wanted it to be a man or a woman. He just … turned up
and started shouting at me. I was enjoying the peace and quiet and
the sunshine, not thinking about anything, when he appeared out of
nowhere and told me to leave. He wanted rid of me, and quick. He
made it perfectly clear I wasn’t welcome there and I should leave
immediately. Before I knew what was happening he had me by the
elbow and we were on our way back to the gate.”
Mal leans forward in slack jawed fascination, keen to hear
more. “Interesting.” He rubs his brow. “Let’s, for ease of
reference and just for a minute, pretend that you did create this Colin.
Why do you think he was so keen for you to leave? Why do you think he
got physical with you?”
Grace
takes another sip of her coffee. “I did, hypothetically, just for a
minute, wonder if it was the negative part of my mind telling the
positive side that this talking business was a stupid idea and I
should just dismiss it, walk away and forget about it. Does that
make any sense?”
He nods.
“Yes. I can see that … but?”
“ But having had time to think about it, I’m not so
sure.”
The keen
look is back in his eyes. “Go on.”
“ The one overall impression I did
“ Fine, I think,” Grace says.
“ Problems?”
“ I don’t know. What can you tell me about lucid
dreaming?”
“ A strange topic to start with.”
“ It might be relevant.”
“ Okay.” Mal settles his teaspoon in his saucer. “In lucid
dreaming the
dreamer may be able to exert some degree of control over their
participation within the dream state, or be able to manipulate
their imaginary experiences in the dream environment. Lucid dreams
can be realistic and vivid, and quite often the dreamer wakes in a
state of confusion, not quite knowing what is real and what isn’t.
Clear?”
Silence.
“ Do you think you might be experiencing
lucid dreams, Grace?”
She
holds her cup with both hands and lets its warmth leach into her
fingers, cold despite the ambient temperature of the room, and
studies the bubbles on the surface of the coffee.
“ Possibly. I don’t know. It’s all very
strange. In fact, it might not be a dream at all.” She takes a
mouthful of the coffee, holds it, swallows. “I’m confused, Mal.”
“ Then tell me everything and let me see what we can sort out
for you, okay?”
“ Okay.”
Another
thoughtful sip.
“ This imaginary friend I’m supposed to… make up,” she says.
“What … what would you say if I told you I didn’t have to … because
he was already there … and he made himself known to me
first?”
Mal
raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“ Yes.”
And
grins. “Then I’d say … tell me more.”
And so
she tells him everything – the stone wall covered in ivy and
brambles, the gate, the garden, the cemetery, the gravestone with
the list of children’s names. And then she describes Colin McLeod,
right down to the hole in the knee of his trousers, and Mal’s
attention on her is rapt, eyes unblinking, mouth hanging open like
an empty sock.
“ Fascinating,” he says, when she’s finished. “Absolutely
fascinating. I never for one minute thought it would work so
well.”
“ So what do you think, because I think it’s a bit creepy?”
she says. “I can see the symbolic associations – the garden
represents life and the cemetery death, and Colin, by forcing me
out of the cemetery is trying to keep me from death. Perhaps he’s
acting as a sort of … guardian? Why he forced me out of the garden
too, and I mean right outside, all the way through the gate, I have
no idea, but I intend to find out.”
Mal puts up a hand. “Now slow down, speedy. You can be
reading things too literally. A garden and a cemetery can be just that, a
garden and a cemetery. Mental scene setting, pure and
simple.”
“ But what about Colin himself? I hadn’t got so far as
creating a persona yet, let alone giving him a name. I hadn’t even
decided if I wanted it to be a man or a woman. He just … turned up
and started shouting at me. I was enjoying the peace and quiet and
the sunshine, not thinking about anything, when he appeared out of
nowhere and told me to leave. He wanted rid of me, and quick. He
made it perfectly clear I wasn’t welcome there and I should leave
immediately. Before I knew what was happening he had me by the
elbow and we were on our way back to the gate.”
Mal leans forward in slack jawed fascination, keen to hear
more. “Interesting.” He rubs his brow. “Let’s, for ease of
reference and just for a minute, pretend that you did create this Colin.
Why do you think he was so keen for you to leave? Why do you think he
got physical with you?”
Grace
takes another sip of her coffee. “I did, hypothetically, just for a
minute, wonder if it was the negative part of my mind telling the
positive side that this talking business was a stupid idea and I
should just dismiss it, walk away and forget about it. Does that
make any sense?”
He nods.
“Yes. I can see that … but?”
“ But having had time to think about it, I’m not so
sure.”
The keen
look is back in his eyes. “Go on.”
“ The one overall impression I did
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