Between a lot of tossing and turning due to my migraines and my cats waking me up constantly I had this (for me) fascinating dream:
Paris. I had to go some place, some starting point? To find it I looked on some map where the existing stores showed in small blue squares with a letter inside, I was excited to see how easy it was to find. It is vague how I got there, clicked on it and was taken to it? Or something ordinary like the subway? It was north-west of the center of Paris.
Walking through these typical roads under trees and tight houses. Getting dark (I think). Looking into one of the many lit shops, but it is not really a shop, it is a dressmaking place, or a couturier. It is nice and warm outside so the windows are open, I feel my yearning, remembering my own times back when. Somebody comes to the window and asks me if I would like to work as a model, as an inspiration? I love the beauty and love and care that surrounds this place and I can use money. And yes, if you do not think that I am too old for it now. So I am let in.
Awkward, not knowing where to go nor what exactly is expected from me I am trying to not get into anybody’s way. Follow me, follow me. I am ushered to the upper room where the lady of the house has her domain. A big room, made out of dreams. A room filled with niches and half-shadow, warmed with light puddles here and there, an old fashioned, red and gold laced sofa. A simple table to work.
She sets me down opposite of her. She needs help. Suddenly it is not about clothes and inspiration but code and HTML. It is a difficult problem for me. It hurts my head, trying to find a solution. I give it my best. I don’t think I find a perfect solution. She calls in more help, a coding guru and together we figure it out. I think in the end it is some QuickTime solution embedded into something, I remember reading the code behind it and going ‘aha’ and it makes sense, but else this part has pulled itself already too far back into the shadows of a fleeting dream.
I am back home. Now I want to get Bear to go there, I want to show him the place, it’s beauty, calmness, understanding, heart warmth and uniqueness. And I want to go and collect the money what had been promised.
He asks how I got there and I show him how simple it was. When we arrive at this beautiful place, the lady thinks that I should get $100 for my work. She is referring to the coding work I did for her, says that is its worth and not more because I also have learned and gleamed something from it and she hands me over the code and I stare at the numbers and the formula which stand there all by themselves in their un-personality.
But, but… I did not come here for this, that was just an added thing. I came to help for a dream and I was called upon to be inspiration and a model – was that nothing worth?
Bear comes to my aid and makes his point that this should be at least $450; it surely is 4.5x more worth than the numbers and the math. In that moment I feel anticipation and fear of no response or disapproval, bringing into being the melancholy of lost hope and the emptiness of not having been worth what I wanted to give, my efforts not acknowledged. At the same time wondering to myself how much worth I myself think it to be and not being able to put a number onto it but feeling it way beyond what the man to my defense had suggested. How DO you pay inspiration, how dare you put numbers on it? Who could ever put a number onto Michelangelo for his inspiration he gave with his frescos in the Sistine Chapel to millions? With the realizing of it not being possible the motion of, “even if not truly payable, SOME payment, some acknowledgement is in place and will put the balance back to the center”.
As dreams go, after that the story evaporated. I do not know if the lady of the house compensated or not, if I was worth anything as inspiration or not and the future still needs to be seen.
After that my migraine and the cat, cuddling close into me, were pushing and pulling me out of this warm place back into the world of solids and into the reality of another morning.