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Art, Buddhism, and a Kitten

31 May

I dreamed I was a tourist in San Francisco. A busy street had a building with a façade on which paintings by various artists were hung on nails. I had a picture I painted, but I couldn’t find the gallery owner responsible for this wall of paintings, so I ended up just putting my picture on an empty nail and walking away. The gallery wasn’t right there.

Strangely, San Francisco turned into Phoenix, and I eventually learned (perhaps from a business card) that the address was on Cave Creek Road. I went to a shop that was somehow connected to the gallery… and it turned out that one of the people who worked at the shop was the son of the couple who owned the gallery. (He was at least the second person with whom I spoke in the shop.) He was in his 30s and 40s, looked part Native American, had dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wore glasses. The shop was vast, and the counter was in the center of the room. He told me about the gallery, and I think he was the one who gave me a manila folder that contained info on it. His parents owned that gallery for forty years, and he talked about them. They sounded wonderful—and my trip was almost over.

Meanwhile, a few more (bohemian) people came into the shop, and I sat down at a table where people gathered regularly for classes, and a bohemian woman with dark hair (I think she wore a purple dress) handed something to me and explained, saying something about the Buddha’s love, I think. The items were a small Buddhist booklet and a homemade maroon batik cloth (patch?) with an image of a Buddha centered on it. I was impressed and said, “Thanks!” That’s how the dream ended.

This may have been an early part of the same dream:

I was staying with my brother and sister-in-law—though at some point it may have been my mother’s house, and I was feeling aversion because I found out that a certain relative was going to be there. I was in a back bedroom and was hastily taking down and hiding artwork I didn’t want her to see. I started making the bed in a strange way, cutting away at a mattress cover. At least one wall was covered with pictures/paintings. The bed had a section down below with shelving, and art hung from that, including one of the pictures I hid.

Later, I was in a very white interior house in Phoenix, there was a really large room that had doors to other, smaller rooms on the left, and my brother and sister-in-law lived there. The walls and floors were all white, and it looked somewhat like their real house.

Inside the house, there was a hallway that looked like it belonged in a museum or something. Much like the wall in San Francisco, one wall was covered in pictures hung up and painted by various artists. But there was a sheet covering part of the wall. I did something—perhaps bumped into the wall—and as a result, the pictures became crooked. My brother noticed and came over and straightened the pictures, while I felt very guilty and embarrassed.

Soon I was in the big room, and I think I was folding laundry or at last that sheet, with a laundry basket in front of me. Out of the sheet, I unwrapped a tiny black and white kitten with bright blue eyes. It was love at first sight.

The kitten got away from me and ran really fast. It somehow fit under a door that was closed. I knew someone was in that room, so I knocked before opening the door. It was a small bedroom, and my sister-in-law was lounging on the bed in a far corner. The kitten ran under the bed, but I managed to catch it.

Art—Buddhism—a kitten. These are all things that matter a lot to me.