Dream of: 18 June 1988 "God Is Love"

While I was in Puerto Rico, sitting outside in a circle of people whom I hardly knew, the subject arose What is God? After I had given a response, other people in the circle offered their answers. When the question circled back to me again, having had time to think about it more, I said a little facetiously, "Well, everyone knows that God is love."

People looked at me as if I had rattled off a standard answer. But I meant it. A fellow on my right questioned me, "What do you mean, 'God is love?' What is love?"

I tried to think of how to express my thoughts in words, how to say something about the "spirit of love." I didn't understand it myself, but I thought the concept of love was integral to an understanding of God.

Finally the group broke up and dispersed.

***

I was sitting in the living room of a house in Puerto Rico, where I was visiting some old friends. I was thinking about moving there permanently, but was unsure I should. A certain man there apparently would be able to secure a high level job in a factory for me. A woman who liked me was also in the room, and she thought I should take the job. I was seriously considering it. Since I loved speaking Spanish so much, living and working in Puerto Rico again would be a pleasure.

***

Weinstein was sitting with me in a room in a house in which he lived in Puerto Rico. As we talked, I thought I would like to tell Weinstein one of my dreams. But at the same time, it seemed as if I were actually having the dream, even as Weinstein and I were talking, and as if I were writing the dream as we conversed. The dream seemed to have already occurred, and to be occurring now, at the same time.

As I thought more about the dream, I felt somewhat reluctant to discuss it with Weinstein. In the dream I had traveled to Puerto Rico to visit Weinstein, who was living there. I had gone to see him in the very room in which we were now sitting. Birdie had also been in the room, lying lissomely on a couch, just as she was now with us, stretched on the couch. I had noticed how all three of us had appeared much older than when we used to associate. But the part of the dream which I hesitated to tell Weinstein concerned my feelings for him. In the dream, I had realized I admired Weinstein probably more than I admired anyone else in the world. It was extremely difficult for me to admit I had such admiration for anyone. But it was particularly difficult in Weinstein's case, because I thought he had such unvarying disdain for me. The very word "disdain" reverberated in my mind; I mulled the word over, even as I continued to write the dream.

Although Weinstein utterly disdained me, I felt mostly respect for him. I respected him even though I was aware he had some flaws. For example, he had been excessively smoking cigarettes lately. He seemed to be wheezing and several times he had severe difficulty breathing, as if he might have asthma. I asked him about his smoking, and he informed me he had stopped. I mentioned that I had started smoking, that I enjoyed a cigarette once in a while. I even asked him if he had a cigarette he could offer me. When he didn't, I pulled out one of my own and lit it up.

Despite Weinstein's defects, I still respected him. I felt as if Weinstein were an artist and as if he had forged into the world on his own. I would have liked to have done the same, but I felt too timid. I wondered if I told Weinstein I was planning to move to Puerto Rico, with practically no money, whether he would relax his scathing disdain of me?

I would like to talk with Weinstein about my goal of writing books of dreams. But I didn't want to read him any dreams, because my dreams had been so uninteresting lately. In the past, I had mailed Weinstein copies of dreams in which he had appeared. It now seemed to me as if the dreams in which Weinstein showed up were my only interesting dreams; all my other dreams were boring. I was afraid if I now began reading my other dreams to Weinstein, he would see just how mundane they were, and he would realize my only intriguing dreams were the ones in which he had appeared.

Birdie was still lounging on the couch. As I glanced at her, I thought about how I was no longer attracted to Birdie. Perhaps Weinstein might be drawn to her; maybe he could have a relationship with her. In fact, perhaps the three of us could even have a little orgy together. But the idea didn't much appeal to me.

Weinstein began discussing his life in Puerto Rico. Apparently he had become an actor and had turned into a fairly talented thespian. He was thinking of joining an acting company, and it even seemed as if he might have been authoring some plays. At first I thought he was just talking about amateur acting, but then I was surprised to learn he was actually being paid to act. He explained how he would go to theaters for auditions, and then be hired for different parts. I asked him what kind of roles he played, and he mentioned several, one of which was as an Egyptian. I was quite impressed.

Weinstein still seemed rather chilly toward me, but I thought he might warm up if I could prove I was doing something with my life. I didn't relish the idea of trying to prove anything to him, but I thought I should make the attempt, because even though I disliked admitting it, I thought Weinstein should be an important part of my life. I craved his friendship; but it just seemed so difficult to attain. I wanted his friendship because I respected him. And that was a sentiment which I felt for no one else.

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