Two nights ago, I experienced my first Covid-related dream. Often, if a dream is memorable enough to stay in your mind for hours after waking, you realise its fragmented storyline was a weaving together of snippets out of your previous day, things you’ve read or experienced in the past, and whatever is your present chief preoccupation.
My pandemic dream was interesting, to say the least. Someone had drilled through rock layers and accidentally released the Covid-19 virus from the age of dinosaurs into our time. Thus scientists concluded that this virus caused dinosaurs’ extinction — the event known as Cretaceous-Tertiary — and would be the cause of humanity’s extinction, too. I thought to myself (still in my dream), Okay, this thing is too big to fight, so best to enjoy myself while I can, out in the sunshine hopefully prolonging my life with Vitamin D. Then I went on to dream about a rather fine Jaguar convertible sports car.
Isn’t the mind great? I realised the drilling part of my dream originated from the fact that several oil drillers had started following me on Instagram, despite my profile making it clear that I am into conservation and nature. Of course, if you’re into eco stuff, you’re bound to think about extinction quite a lot, so the dinosaur theme is a logical extension of this. As for the car, I have long held the mistaken belief that oil comes from dead dinosaurs: however, since my dream, I have discovered it comes from decayed marine organisms. Never too late to learn!
Has anyone else had any Covid-related dreams they would like to share?
Where aged tombstones lean, do you feel the weight of my presence? Where lichen crusts my face, do you imagine I was ever young? Where storms erase my name, do you fear your future oblivion? Where willow fronds cloak me, do you sense I am finally at peace?
I am the beating heart of a tree. I am the life oxygen you breathe. I am your past, present, and future. I am your responsibility.
Do you feel the weight of your presence, when aged tombstones lean? Do you imagine you were once young, when lichen crusts your face? Do you fear your future oblivion, when storms erase your name? Do you sense you are finally at peace, when willow fronds cloak you?
You are the beating heart of a tree. You are the life oxygen you breathe. You are your past, present, and future. You are your responsibility.