The Blind Woman

I spotted her silhouetted against the light of a candle at the open window of a ruined seafront house – apparently staring out to sea. But, I soon realized that she was blind to the gathering storm when she said, “What a beautiful day – he will soon return in his little boat and he will once more fill the hole in my aching heart”.

As the sky filled with dark clouds and the first heavy spots of rain began to fall she continued, “My love is coming home and my heart warms – like my face in the sun”.

A shard of lightening fractured the charred sky and thunder ruptured the air. “I can hear his boat as he draws it up upon the beach – soon he will be with me and I will be in his arms once more”.

The wind tore in through the broken window whipping the ragged curtains while the rain pounded on the roof above. “And now I hear his boots upon the stone steps leading up to our house – he is here!”

The splintered door was blown open – the air was sucked from the room – the vacuum snuffing out the guttering candle – and I could see her no more in the dark eye-socket void of her window.

The Medicine Man

The medicine man was striding through the narrow streets stopping at each dwelling and brushing an invisible symbol upon every door with a feathered stick.

“Why are you doing that?” I enquired.
“I always do it.”
“But why?”
“It has to be done!” he snapped.
“For what reason?”
“To protect the inhabitants from the great sickness.”
He was obviously getting quite annoyed by my questions – but I asked another. “Is there plague here then?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why do you bother?”
“Because if I didn’t people would die.”
“But you said there was no plague.”
“Which is true.”
“But?…”
“Why would there be plague when I do this every night?”

He hurried away – making the same gesture with his fetish stick upon the door of the next house – and the next – on down the street.

Alice’s Nemesis

She moved from room to room in the large, empty house – all the time searching. She didn’t seem to be sure of what it was she was looking for – but she was obviously frantic to find it – riffling through drawers, rummaging in cupboards, pulling stuff off of shelves and checking behind each door and every curtain of all the rooms we entered. She looked distraught and exhausted but refused my help and said it was nothing to do with me.

Eventually we reached the top floor but she still hadn’t found what it was she was looking for. Then, as she was leaving the last of the bedrooms she noticed a small staircase tucked away at the end of the long hallway. We followed it up into what must have been the attic – but it wasn’t dark and damp and hung with cobwebs. It was bright with light and the walls were a brilliant white. And there in the centre of this large room was a small, round table. And on the table stood a bottle of wine the colour of blood and next to that stood a single long stemmed glass. Inscribed upon the bottle were the words: “DRINK ME”.

She stared at the bottle for a long time. Finally, she carefully poured herself a half glass of the dark liquid – and sip by sip she drank it down. The second, fuller glass was drunk more quickly – with relish. As she continued to drink in this way the light slowly faded from the room until it was in complete darkness and I could see her no more.

The Search For Reason

The evening was warm – the moon was full but still low in the clear sky. I was walking down a dusty road through an ancient desert village glancing into the dark open doorways of the seemingly empty houses as I passed. Then I thought I could see movement in the shadows of one of the dwellings and stopped to stare more intently into the gloom. Thus engaged I did not notice their arrival.

“Can you help us?” the woman enquired as she alighted from her companion’s back.
“In what way?” I said, observing that the dog-faced man looked away as I spoke.
“He doesn’t talk,” she said, “Mute you see – which is part of the problem – he’s brought me here – but I don’t know for what reason – I do know however, that there is one.”
“Why? Must there be a reason?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, “There’s always a reason – but it’s not always clear what it is.”
“Well I don’t know that I can help – I’m a stranger here myself.”
“Oh, we’re not strangers – he brings me here every night – but it’s never for the same reason – I will have to search it out.” With that she went on her way, disappearing down a dark, narrow gap between the houses.

The dog-faced man turned to me – and in a low voice said, “Actually, there never really is a reason – but she has to have a reason for everything – and so she will always find one.”

He then followed the woman silently into the alleyway.

The Masked Queen

Lights were strung between the small houses that were stacked on either side of the narrow street. It was a warm night and the marketplace was busy. Exotic aromas mingled in the still air creating a pungent and heady fug. People chattered, laughed, gossiped and haggled – it was bedlam.

Suddenly, all was silent.

Without a fanfare or any discernible announcement a beautiful masked figure had appeared at the far end of the street. Everyone around stood very still as the exotically costumed woman slowly and elegantly walked between the market stalls. There was no entourage – no courtiers or guards – and there appeared to be no need of them – for all around were quiet and respectful. Without once glancing left or right the masked woman proceeded in silence to the end of the small street and disappeared around the next corner. Instantly, all was hub-bub and noise again.

An old trader turned to me – and with a big grin upon her face said,
“The queen must think ours is a very quiet world indeed.”

The Climbing Man

I was stood upon a wide flat ledge looking out on a vast, open landscape below.

First, I saw his hands appear – clutching the edge of the ledge – then he hauled himself up until he sat before me – exhausted.

“Am I there yet?” he asked.

“Where?” I replied.

“The top,” he said, “Am I at the top yet?”

He stood up – and seeing the wall rising up behind me he groaned.
“I’ve been climbing for hours and every time I get to the top of one wall there’s another one to climb.”
I turned and looked up at the almost sheer face that rose above us. Beyond that there was only sky.
“Surely that’s the top,” I ventured.
“Not necessarily,” he said, “that’s the problem, you can’t tell until you get up there!”

He began to climb once more – and I watched his slow accent – until he finally disappeared over the top of the wall”.

I turned back to the view – and there at my feet was the same man trying to catch his breath. Not even looking up he asked, “Am I there yet?”

An Alien In Eden

I was in a beautiful, tranquil garden. Amongst the fruit trees moved a tall robed figure. She was inspecting everything very closely – studying the undersides of leaves – turning each fruit around in her fingers – examining every detail as a small camera built into her hood clicked intermittently. Halting by the apple tree she began to talk to herself – by her regular tone and the measured way she spoke it was obvious that she was making a recording.

“Variety abounds – difference almost for the sake of it. Everywhere I look is another kind of creature or a plant or fruit I haven’t seen before. But the strangest thing is that everything here seems to live in harmony with it’s neighbours.”

“The one thing that does perplex me though is that my very presence here may in some way be upsetting the intricate balance that now exists. I could, completely unintentionally, be compromising the future of this beautiful world. I don’t know what it is but I feel very uneasy about the situation.”

By Way Of An Introduction

Many theories have been put forward as to the origin of dreams and their meanings – and it appears as far as I can tell – that there are no definitive answers. But to me that is of no consequence – they exist and that is that.

I think of dreams as holes in the night through which we can pass into another world. A world in which time can slip and space shift – creating anotherwherethanhere. A world that is forever changing. A world in which the strange can seem familiar – and the familiar seem strange. A world that is timeless – where past, present and future often collide and meld into one. A world of places that are an amalgam of the real and the imagined – where somewhere I have never actually been before can feel like I’ve lived there forever. A world not only inhabited by distorted mirror versions of the people I know – but a place that is populated by those with unfamiliar faces – and sometimes the most peculiar of beings.

It is my encounters with just some of these strangers that are documented here in words and pictures upon the pages that follow. Most of the meetings are fairly brief – how I got there and what happened next has often been obscured by sleep – or on some occasions an encounter has ended abruptly due to a sudden awakening. As to whether there is any meaning to these dreams – I shall leave that to you the reader.

A Note On Nudity

Some of the illustrations will contain partially clothed or naked figures – this is a reflection of the nature of dreams where things do not always conform to the constraints of everyday life. If you are likely to be offended by this please look away now.