I'm not going to do that with the one I had last night because it left me, to steal a phrase from Caitlin R. Kiernan's blog, "dreamsick." I'm not sure I use that word in the same way she does, but for me it means that the dream made me more tired than less, that I slept longer than normal, had trouble waking up, and that the dream was vivid and disturbing.
It wasn't a nightmare, not a dream I'm sorry to have had, but powerful in that it felt like I'd entered another lucid world, in this case a dangerous one, that was hard to leave and is still hard to stop thinking of as I go about my day. Stories come out of dreams like this I think -- I had one years ago, about "aliens and gardening" I like to say, that led me to write hundreds of pages. I'd like to think that one might still become a novel, but it might never make its way out of the drawer.
Last night's dream involved, yes, a dystopian future; a draconian, ancient god the size of a building; and a stadium big enough to house what survived of humanity. It was also grotesquely violent, and for the moment at least, I don't want to write about it.
Reading this morning, something in this line from Ursula Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea caught me.
You thought, as a boy, that a mage is one who can do anything. So I thought, once. So did we all. And the truth is that as a man's real power grows and his knowledge widens, ever the way he can follow grows narrower: until at last he chooses nothing, but does only and wholly what he must do. . . .
I like to think that's true of artists as well as mages, and maybe of all people who listen and follow.