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Dream of a Ship

During the night of the 8th, I reeled in a sizeable wahoo somewhere off of Florida. The sportfisher I was on, in peak condition, reminded me of my dad’s boat we used to fish on frequently when I was younger. I effortlessly tossed the massive wriggling fish into the icebox where others were kept and retired to one of the flybridge seats. This would be a totally normal experience had there been anyone else on the boat–it powered along the calm seas as if piloted by an excellent captain yet the steering wheel did not move, the throttle was not engaged, nothing stirred besides my own chest with each breath. I sailed on like that for what seemed like forever until I was woken by my rumbling stomach, begging for breakfast.

During the night of the 7th, in a similar nautical theme, I sat in the exuberant first class suite of the Hikawa Maru, a ship now permanently at anchor in the port of Yokohama. This was the same room occupied by Charlie Chaplin and a few other people of importance back then–it came complete with its own private separate bathroom and study. This, as well, might not have been totally unusual for there were times perhaps just before the war when the ship might’ve not had too many passengers. I was lounging in the study dressed in the height of pre-war men’s fashion, tailed tuxedo coat removed and hanging on a nearby coat rack, and the ship was gently underway much like in the dream of the next night. I walked around the ship hoping to run into some other passengers but found not a soul. No crew, no passengers, every room empty with all the beds neatly made and no luggage in sight. I return to my room and there’s some food for me to eat, the details of which I don’t recall. After eating I fall into a nice sleep within the dream and wake up back in my cottage long before the rooster crowed.

On a related note, many months ago, I had a similar dream to these, except I sat in a nice pullman car alone, traveling through some incredible woods. I don’t know if this was America or Russia or elsewhere in Europe or what-have-you.. but I recall stopping at a few stations and observing people I knew getting on, dressed similarly to me, into my car from the port side. They would solemnly glance my way and then proceed through another mahogany door into the cars towards the front of the train. My car seemed impossibly long and was devoid of furniture except for a sofa on the port side, a carpet, and a side table and two club chairs, one of which I was sitting in. The dream went on like this for the whole night until waking.

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