But so I was wandering around in this very large building that kept changing and presenting me with stairs up or down and lots of corners and several dead ends that were capped off by the doors to four or five classrooms and there were hardly any people in the building and I kept thinking that there should be someone I knew there but all I could come up with was that Kari was no longer in Seattle and Jim was dead and so I ended up walking around the hallways crying and putting up stickers on which I had printed "There is no Jim here." Yeah dreams are funny sometimes even when they are sad.
I woke up once from this dream and my eyes were very wet although there were no tears streaming down my face as they were in the dream but apparently tear ducts still work while one is dreaming, at least to an extent. I went back to sleep to continue wandering and looking and then I realized that Jim was there and that I had left the scene of the school and in fact was no longer in any particular place. It was as though our simply having met constituted the space in which we met, because it was neither otherworldly nor familiar and I didn't think "this must be heaven" or anything like that but I was aware that Jim was visiting me and that I might be dreaming or something, for otherwise I wouldn't have been in a place where he could visit.
|Jim in Oregon
Jim Clowes, c. late 90s
Jim gave me a big hug and he had his old wrestler's build instead of a body ravaged by cancer and chemo and he said something to me that is now lost in my memory but it was clear that he was not in a bad place and yet I began to sob, knowing that this meeting would be short and that it would not happen again soon. Jim did say that we would meet again later, but by that time my conscious mind was influencing the dialog and I had started to become more lucid, so I don't know whether he said that of his own accord or if I projected it on him.
I cried a bit more and then woke up. My eyes were wet but I don't think I had sobbed out loud because the cats were sitting around completely unmoved, which they don't generally do if I am crying because I do not cry very often and I think it freaks them out a little when I do. Jackson will often jump up on my desk and start licking my head when I am really sad, but he was just sitting and looking out the window.
So I guess I just saw Jim. He's ok. Naturally I do realize that he may only be alive in my memory, but I suspect the web in which we are entangled is more subtle than that and possibly rather complicated and that is why I made him say we would meet again, because I was not feeling so sure of that myself. At least I let him know that I still miss him terribly and that my old academic home is rather empty without him. It's possible that if he were still there I would have tried to get a job teaching in my old program but you know I don't really see that working out much better than teaching anywhere else. It's not like all the kids in CHID are easy to deal with just because they are in this super neat program. While I was there we got more than one person who came in with a chip on his/her shoulder, determined to demolish all of our "politically correct" opinions, but they never succeeded probably because the target they were aiming at was a phantom of their own imaginations.
But so I played the Moody Blues' "The Day We Meet Again" and that gave me an idea for music to listen to this morning so soon I will have coffee to some good old prog rock.
It was good to see Jim.