I was troubled yesterday by the thought that my blog posts aren't as uplifting as they once were and far less inspirational than I remembered.
I apologize for that. I appreciate your attention and support more than you can possibly realize and I do my best to bring goodness and light into my life by first bringing it into yours.
My troubling thoughts spilled into troubling dreams. You see, I often dream about the obstacles and absurdities that I encounter in life, and many times the dreams bring some new understanding or some helpful enlightenment.
I call those dream revelations, Hello Kittens. I'll explain why later, perhaps in another post. But for now, let's just go with it. This morning's dream woke me at 4:45.
Hello, Kitten, said that familiar voice in my head.
I walked into Egret Cafe, in the dream. It was Sunday morning and, just like most Sunday mornings, I was to meet Island Irv there for our weekly recap of the social and economic goings-on of the Port City.
Sunday mornings are usually slow in the coffee shops of the Castle Street Arts District. Most patrons want to sit quietly and let caffeine flush the cobwebs from their minds and restore them to something resembling human. But it's never boring.
Walking through the gathering of the Twee who filled the seating area, I nodded to three regulars, all women of a certain age. They were playing a game of cards.
"What a nice shirt," said one of the relics. Let's call her Barbie Espresso, which is the drink she always orders.
"Thank you," I said. "I like it too; my favorite shirt."
"You always wear the nicest shirts," she said. "Why don't you join us. We need a fourth hand.'
You will understand, I'm sure, that all I really wanted was to meet up with the Islander and enjoy our usual deconstruction of the week's news. But what could I say after the nice compliment? I sat and picked up the cards in front of me. Oat Latte leaned over and looked at the cards in my hand.
"Oooh!" she said and then looking at her hand for comparison, she said, "Let's be partners."
"You'll need to ante up to get in the game, Hon," said Barbie.
"I'll need a new set of cards," I said. "Oat Latte has seen my hand."
"It doesn't matter," said Medicine Ball, the third member, "we don't know how to play anyway."
"The ante is fitty cent," said Oat, pronouncing it like the name of the rapper. "But it has to be an actual half-dollar coin."
The last remark got a laugh around the table but I didn't join in. I was feeling more and more like I'd made a mistake by accepting their invitation.
"Yeah," said Barbie, "and we'd prefer a Flowing Hair Liberty dated 1794 or 1795."
The laugh was much bigger this time. I felt the need to respond and I worked up something like a laugh but it had no real pep.
"Well, I never see half dollars anymore," I said, "and I'm certain I don't have one of those in my pocket."
"Honey," said Oat, placing her hand on my shoulder, "if we thought you had one of those in your pocket, we'd be your new best friends."
Once more there was laughter all around and this time I felt compelled to join in. It was painful.
"Don't worry about the ante," said Oat Latte. "I think we can accept a little sweat equity in place of hard cash, right girls?"
"Equity?" I said. "How does that work?"
"Here it comes," said Medicine Ball. "Are you ready?"
I looked around the table as Princess Amy began to stir in my head. Amy was saying, "Uh-oh, this isn't good."
Medicine leaned forward across the table. The cafe had become silent as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. She looked hard into my eyes and said, "I wouldn't put that shirt on the bottom of my cockatoo's cage."
Laughter exploded from the three women like a Biblical pestilence. The effect was felt around the room. Dogs barked. Babies cried. A loud pop sounded behind the counter and the cafe was filled with the aroma of burned coffee grounds.
"Cheer up, dear," said Oat picking up the undealt deck of cards. "That was your sweat equity. How many cards do you want?"
"Good morning," said Island Irv coming on the scene. "Good to see you, Genome. He seemed to ignore the three women when he said, "Let's order coffee."
Suddenly, I realized why he didn't acknowledge the women. They had disappeared. It was all a dream and I woke.
"Hello, Kitten," said the familiar voice in my head.
I'm told that dreams such as these are sent to teach and guide us. To help us become our best selves and help to reach our destiny. If that's true, then I say again, Who the hell is Kitten?