There are monkeys in the library. They are little grey monkeys with soft fur in all shapes and sizes and types. The library is their home, a giant endless library full of light and millions of colorful books, hundreds of monkeys. People watch the monkeys and pet them and play with them. People come to the library to see the monkeys, to watch them jump from one tall shelf to another.
Then someone left the door open. The monkeys all ran out. We chased after. People were screaming and jumping out of the way, even though no one seemed to mind them when they were in the library, but in the cafeteria people sent chairs and tables scattering as they scrambled away.
“Stay calm!” we yelled, dreadfully frightened that some of the smallest monkeys would be trampled. “Don’t run, hold still, don’t scream. They won’t hurt you. Help us catch them.”
I move forward swiftly, but cautiously. I managed to catch two small monkeys and stuff them in my shirt, which I then held closed with one hand while I scooped up a small baboon with the other. I carried them back and deposited them carefully in the library. Others were bringing more monkeys and order was slowly being restored. The status quo was settling in again.
When I woke up, I realized no one ever bothered to read the books. How metaphorical is that?
3 comments:
The Vedanta tradition would remind us that in our dreams, we are not only the person we identify with in the dream, but we are also every other person in the dream, as well.
Presumably, that includes the little grey monkeys.
;-)
Oh, don't I know it! That whole thing is of my mind and about my mind. I am the monkeys. I am the library and the books. I am the people who enjoy the monkeys and the people who are afraid of the monkeys. I am the one watching. I am also none of those things. This dream was simply unusual in that the metaphore was so dirrect and on the spot.
Plus I like libraries and small furry creatures, so it was kinda a fun dream.
I liked it, too.
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