I'm in some kind of military camp, running around on an uneven rock-strewn field with my platoon/team, doing maneuvers, playing some sort of frisbee game, like a big game of monkey in the middle played by teams. We're having fun, keeping fit, making some great throws and catches, leaping off a rock to grab the frisbee and then rolling landing. Rob Wilson, the head of the St. Francis Prep English dept. is our laid-back sergeant. He's that type in real life too, the guy who's cool as long as you're cool. He motions us off the field where we go to a long "mess" table. There are other platoons sitting at other tables, a loud raucous lunch scene. At each place setting there is nice linen, silver-wear, filled water glasses, a wine glass, and I'm delighted to see that, at every setting, there are identical glass-pipes with the bowl filled. I can't believe it and think, well, I guess this is the future. It's legal, so it's just like having an afternoon drink. But I note that I'll have to be careful and keep my composure. (This likely came up because I watched the season finale of High maintenance last night, which was, in part, about being judged by family for being "a stoner", so I think my dream self was normalizing this. Reader, I cried when the guy's name was casually revealed by his niece at the end of the episode.). We eat and move into the next room where a rock band is setting up to play, 6 guys or so, ridiculously good, nice harmonies, a unique sound I can still hear, but hard to describe. Maybe the band Spoon would be a close fit. Something interrupts them, but I'm not sure what, a disturbance, like a small earthquake. The band stops. I start talking to a kid and we are talking about dreams, about what happens after we die, about the end of the world. We get interrupted again, like you do at parties, and then I'm talking with someone else in deep conversation. Things are getting messy, like a food fight, or something. Everything keeps jostling around, a drunken party feeling. There is an egg dripping down the front of the guy I'm talking to. The first kid comes back because he wants to continue our conversation and asks me if I would be able to "control myself" in an apocalypse. I think about it and say, "control myself, that's a good way to put it. Yes, I think I could control myself. I would be in frantic action, trying to keep my head and protect and serve as best I could. I would I would be freaked out, and it would be intense, but I've done enough meditation practice that I THINK I would be able to control myself, and be present to appreciate the intensity of it, even if I am screaming."
"Yeah," he says, "and it could come anytime, even on a beautiful day like today."
"I know that's the wild part, it can interrupt the dream of life anytime."
Then I hook up with some other kids, a boy and a girl. A couple. We are on some kind of walkway for a while, a bridge made out of tree branches. It is tricky going. The boy breaks out an instrument and plays it. It's like a guitar stick with two strings. He plays a sick intricate fast pattern, which seems totally intrinsic to him. The girl hands me another instrument. We are on a train now, in a big round booth, like at a diner, This instrument, like the other one, is homemade, with a sturdy tree branch at its center. This one has one string attached to it, which you can play by hitting it with a stick, and at the top of the instrument there is a metal bulb with notes written around it, like a concave metal drum. It takes me awhile to figure it out, and they laugh at me, in a nice way, as I work at it. There are more people in the booth now, watching. The girl helps me. I start to make patterns on the notes of the drum. The G note is marked "G" and below it, scratched into the drum, is written, Jerry Garcia. I start playing "You know our love won't fade away." Buddy Holly's Ur song, covered by the Dead. I get pretty into it. I look up and the train car booth is now filled with friends. Tyler, his brother Todd and Karen Marder are there. They are all looking at me with a funny expression that I can't quite interpret. At first I think their expression is one of being pleased with the music, but then I notice they all have their hands in their pants. They are waiting for me to get the joke, and I finally do.
