I love it when I have dreams that not only have full stories, but have drama, sorrow, laughter, intricate detailing, and even costumes! I love it when I can wake up from a dream and wonder if I was actually dreaming, or if what was taking place inside my brain was real and I'm just coming out of some alternative universe. I'm not being really serious at this point. I know I'm here, and I know it's now. I realize a dream is a dream, and fantasy is just that; a fantasy. Sometimes the fantastic happens when I'm sleeping and boy oh boy, it's beyond imaginable. It's a FANTABULOUSLY real feeling and I can even remember the tiny minute details of the conversations I had with people. Sometimes these conversations are being had by others; so it's not always me doing the talking. I bet you would never have guessed that one!!
I was in another place. I knew I was, and I knew it was another time. I didn't know where I was, when it was, or how I got there, but I did know somehow, that my being there was for a larger purpose, and I would be safe. I would not be harmed. I would be fine, and everything was going to be OK. At least that's what I thought until I was facing several men on a dirt-type road in the forest and they weren't sure what to do with me. I couldn't understand them, they were speaking a foreign language. I managed to listen and make a gesture with my finger to sort of say "Say that again" and one man repeated what another man had said. When he said it again, I made the same gesture but very slowly. The second man repeated the words very slowly, and I understood two things. First, I realized he was speaking Scots Gaelic. Secondly, the only words I could make out were the words for "you" and "where". Ah! OK, they wanted to know who I was, and where I came from. Got it!
I told them my name and said I had no idea which direction I had come from because I was sort of lost, not knowing where I am. I also asked what year it was since their wardrobe seemed a bit outdated. After a few minutes of them huddling around and talking, it was decided that I would be their captive and I decided to disagree. I began walking off and one of them grabbed me by the arm. Almost instantaneously the man was picked up by an invisible force and flung to the ground. This action, of course, led to them all coming to the same conclusion about me; I had to be a witch! Well, as you can imagine, that wasn't going to work out well either. I said out loud to myself "Oh yea, they actually believe I'm a witch. This means I'm stuck somewhere probably in medieval times and either in northern Scotland or out really far west on some island." I hadn't passed or seen anything with any hope of being a landmark. I had no idea.
I thought about just walking away, but these men weren't all that keen for me to leave just yet. I was surrounded and they all began asking me questions. I wondered how they had understood me earlier, and then I realized that they had not understood a single word I said, but they had evidently believed me to be of English descent. One of them had spent some time in the southern part of the country and remembered the words "believe" and "witch". It was decided I was either a witch or I had some sort of connection to the other worlds so I was respected, but I was not to be set free. They walked with me, surrounding me, and from time to time they spoke to me, but again, I had no idea what they were asking or what they were saying.
I wanted to communicate so I used what little (tiny) knowledge I have of the Scottish Gaelic language and I made hand gestures as well. Finally, after a couple of hours or so of walking, I saw what looked to be a castle. It was in fact, a completed castle and I thought about it long and hard before asking if it was the site of Castle Stuart the response I received was a mixed bag of surprise, confusion, anger, and excitement. Pick a man, any man, and he had a different reaction to me knowing that the ruins before me were going to be restored in about 300 years and then be used as a hotel; well, what they would call an inn, but in Scottish Gaelic, the word would be "taigh-osta". My Gaelic had a lot to be desired. I really sucked at it, placing words in the wrong order and hacking most of the pronunciations. At least the men figured out I was not from that area but knew something about the castle. When I tried to explain in detail I was basically forced to shut up. They wanted to wait until they could find someone who could possibly translate what I was saying, mainly because if I was in fact a witch, they didn't want me casting spells on them without them being aware of exactly how I was cursing them.
When I made the sign of the cross over my face and heart they immediately stared at me. I quickly realized that they weren't Catholic; I'm not either, but they weren't happy that I might be. So, it was about that time I decided to shut up and just keep walking with them. I did have to excuse myself to go pee in the woods and I was fairly adamant about not letting any of them follow me. I made it quite clear that I would not stop talking if they continued to stalk me as I tried to find a few leaves that didn't appear to be poison ivy. I was seriously hoping I was successful with that quest, and I was! Funny how we can't find what we're looking for in a dream. I think I ended up with an actual roll of toilet paper and I remember laughing about that.
Once back on the road, I noticed my shoes. I didn't know why none of the men had pointed to them and questioned me. I suppose men have really never kept up or been too involved with women's choices of attire. That made me smile. When we reached the edge of town and saw a bit of civility, a woman who was both older and quite English-looking (pointed nose, higher cheekbones, and slightly jacked-up teeth) came out of her house and questioned the men about me. She spoke to them in a broken dialect but they seemed to answer her in their own. She turned to me and apologized for the behavior of the men, and she became speaking to me in what can be described as middle English, but at least I was able to figure out what she was saying! This was good news for me. I told her the situation, not that I expected her to understand or believe me, but she did say that God works in mysterious ways.
The woman's name was Eula and she led me to a cabin or cottage in the city's center street, today it would be called "High Street" where a man in his late 40s perhaps his early 50s was sitting at a table. He was dusting off his shoes and thinking about getting up to either make his bed or pet the dog when Eula knocked on his door. She rapped four specific times and he said to himself, "It must be Eula. I wonder what she wants." As it turns out Eula was married to this man's brother, and her husband of many years had passed away. As the laws and customs were at that time, this man, being a close kinsman who was not married, was expected to marry Eula to keep her protected and to provide for her. The problem is, in reality, neither Eula nor the man really fancied one another. I guess to be blunt, they didn't like each other at all, and they had both sworn off any sort of arrangement between them. Something had to happen, Eula began to pray about it.
As the man opened his door he looked just beyond Eula to see me. He had been with Eula and his brother for years, having lived in or near their household. He grew to learn the English language to a large degree, and he was able to carry on open conversations about their agreement not to unite; without the others knowing their plans. "Woman, you have interrupted me. I was quite busy", he lied and protested. "Liar!" She exclaimed as she led me into the house before closing the door behind her. Eula then surprised both myself and the man by stating, "This woman, this new woman, was found in the wood about six miles up Tarmal Rood. She is from the new world and speaks only their English. She's to marry you old fool, and I will be free from the laws that tie our necks." Wait...what? I mean, no. I don't think so. He's...well, wait a minute, he's actually kind of cute in a tall, rugged, burly, bearded, brawny, tattooed sort of Scottish sexy Highlander sort of way. I mean c'mon, it's a dream, right? Go with it.
What happened next was pretty funny really. I was actually able to stop myself and say, "OK, this is a dream". Sometimes, if I see myself doing gymnastics in a dream, I know I'm dreaming. I stop myself if I can and I go ahead and do more! I actively and purposely fling myself into back handsprings and hang upside down so I can have fun and create for myself a means of entertainment. This time, when I saw the man standing before me in his family tartan, leathered footwear, and hand-stitched shirt, I couldn't help myself, I began grinning and actually giggling because so many of us in this century often wonder what a real Scotsman wears under his kilt. Oh my gosh, did I really think that in my dream? What a loser! I was about to slap myself right there in front of God and everyone, but I said to my dream self "Stop being so immature, it's obviously sometime between the 16th and 17th centuries, and yeah, he's not gonna have any briefs on under that magic piece of material you love so much. This could be your chance to snag a Scot who won't fuss and argue with you about wearing his kilt and dirty black boots. OK, the man doesn't actually have to put his shoes back on. I'm good."
In her best and sweetest hostess sort of way, Eula explained to me that her brother-in-law Craig Mackenzie was about 50 but no one really knew. She was a bit older than he was, and her late husband always claimed Craig was a wee bit younger, but again, no one really kept records. Their family book or their Bible was long missing, and he had decided that on the Spring Solstice he would celebrate his new year. Whether or not he was born at that time is up for grabs. So, his name is Craig Mackenzie? Ha! I had to laugh at myself again because anyone who follows me knows I have a fictional man, a creation of my own, whom I called Naked Bearded Man for over 30 years. We've been together through thick and thin. This man was in fact Naked Bearded Man, but I didn't exactly recognize him because he was actually wearing his clothes rather than being seen in my dreams both unclad, in the buff as it were, and oftentimes he's literally folding his kilt! Yes, this was in fact my Naked Bearded Man!
About a year ago I suppose, I decided to give Naked Bearded Man a real name. I wanted it to be something sensual, obviously rough and tumble, as he is quite rugged, and it must be (of course, it must be) a Scottish name. He was named Craig Allan Mackenzie, and here Eula was telling me that this man was in fact the same man I had dreamed of for so many years. Well, no wonder I wasn't upset with having been given to him so unceremoniously and without any real explanation. It was at this time that Craig pointed to my shoes and asked what type of footwear is this, that doesn't lace or buckle. Oh...yeah...velcro. Laughing seemed a bit inappropriate, so I just smiled and took his hand. I looked Craig in his big grey eyes and I said, "Well, I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He smiled. Eula left the house, and well, I don't really know where the dog went, but Craig and I had a really good time of it - - you know, discussing shoes and things.
I would say that's when I woke up, but it wasn't. I woke up hours later smiling.
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