A Party at MoonVooDoo
Last night I went to a party. It was at an old mansion in the countryside which was owned by a polymath of the mysteries of life, death, and everything else. He had turned part of his house into a restaurant called MoonVooDoo. It was not a typical restaurant, it was not a restaurant at all, but the owner called it a restaurant. You couldn’t go there without being invited by the host, but he was a very sociable and welcoming man, who invited all those he felt would enjoy and feel at home in such a place.
It was a beautiful evening, and we dined outside. There was a long table on the lawn, surrounded by an odd assortment of antique chairs. Food and drinks of all sorts, for all tastes and palates, was laid before us. Brightly coloured lanterns were strung between tall trees. It was a whimsical Mad Hatter style of social gathering.
People came dressed as themselves. Some wore pyjamas, beachwear, jeans and t-shirts, elegant finery, fancy costumes, some wore nothing at all, but all wore what expressed their essential self.
There was lots of lively talking. Everyone spoke their truths openly, and no one felt the need to censor themselves or anyone else. There were debates, but no one felt compelled to win, or subdue, or claim power over others. Words bubbled like champagne. Communication flowed, this way and that. Free, wild, and vibrantly alive with energy.
There was listening too. From the heart. With all the senses. And understanding. We were all unique individuals sharing a moment of release from all the constraints of life as it usually is. Free for a night to be real, feel real, and not hide a single drop of the mind, body, and soul.
Then this marching band gate-crashed the party. The cacophony drove many of the diners into the house to seek shelter. The band were asked very politely to leave, but they were insistent that we needed to hear their disharmonious noise. They were Snooty Snoots. Who spoke the language of Faux Poshery. With bellies full of themselves. Ears closed. Mouths open. Eyes trained to only see what they wanted to see. And what they wanted to see was that they were the best, the elite, the perfect ones, and everything they did was what everyone else should be doing, only not as well as them. They carried their sense of entitlement in the form of grotesquely large and shiny instruments, too heavy to bear, yet impossible to put down.
I was outraged at their interruption of such a fabulous party. I rushed into the middle of the Snooty Snoots, and demanded that they leave. They looked down at me from a great height, and sneered with disdain. Who was I to tell them to leave. Did I not know who they were. They did as they pleased. I laughed, and pointed at their gold-embroidered, extravagant uniforms which were melting away as we spoke. I informed them that for every second that they trespassed, their painstakingly engineered false fronts would vanish into the nothingness from which they were created. Soon they would become human beings like the rest of us, but since they were not used to being human, they might find it too sudden and too frightening, and it might cause them to have a complete and utter meltdown.
The Snooty Snoots were suddenly overcome with fear, so much so that they could not remember how they had found their way onto the property. They were rushing around, bumping into each other, panic-stricken, but trying to appear composed, as though they knew what they were doing. I ushered them out through an old and crumbling ivy-covered gate, back into the unreality which was their domain. As each one crossed the threshold, they gasped with relief, once again breathing the rarefied air to which they were accustomed.
Only one looked back before he crossed. There was a silent sadness in his eyes. He was looking wistfully at a beautiful woman in a dress made of Autumn leaves. She was dancing around a bonfire, tempting the flames to set fire to her, but the flames loved her dance too much to harm her. For a moment I thought he might stay, risk the madness of being truly human, but he had sacrificed too much to become a Snooty Snoot. The infection ran deep, the cure would surely kill him. And so he left.
I returned to the party which was once again in full swing. The host came over and sat beside me. He smiled, and thanked me for my intervention. He said that the Snooty Snoots were always crashing his parties, and that he usually just waited for them to melt into the lawn as they made great fertiliser.
Of course this was a dream. But it is one which was very insistent about waking me up to remember it. It had a message for me. I think I know what that message is, as I know what was on my mind when I fell asleep. I was thinking about Twitter and tumblr, and the many people I have encountered through them. And some other bits and pieces. Paths taken, and not taken, and such. I would say more, but I’ve only had two hours sleep, and I feel a bit spaced out.
I would be curious to know what you think.
So, What is your interpretation of this dream, and does it also have a message for you?
*this dream inspired my deviantART name.