Dream of: 19 July 1996 "Learning To Be Honest"

I was on a trip with three other people. We were all in what looked like a little wooden wagon, like something a child would pull around. But somehow it was motorized and able to be driven. The vehicle was being driven by a fellow who resembled Chuck Bacheller (a man who has done some handy-man work for me in the past). However, he was doing a bad job driving and I was afraid he was going to wreck. Besides that, the trip had been long, and it seemed as if the vehicle was on its last legs. I was uncertain it would even make it back. I finally made the driver pull over so that I could take over driving.

***

When we reached the end of our trip, I was driving and I pulled into an area which resembled a toll booth on a tool road, an area where we were supposed to leave the vehicle. When I pulled up, we all got out of the vehicle and I turned it over to a woman who was sitting in the booth. We were apparently in the Dallas area, and I told the woman that we had driven the vehicle all the way to Austin and back non-stop. It seemed like an incredible drive to have made in such a tiny vehicle. I felt exhausted.

***

Once I and the other three had gotten out of the vehicle, we had all started to disband. We were in front of a tall office building, standing on a white sidewalk which looked as if it were made of marble. Two of the others were men (neither of which now seemed like Chuck Bacheller), and the third person with me was Oprah Winfrey. The trip had been long and arduous, and all our nerves had been frayed by having to be so close to each other in such a tiny space. We all felt relief once we were out of the vehicle, and it looked as if we were all going to simply walk away from each other without saying anything more.

I watched Oprah as she was leaving. Oprah was walking away with a little girl who was apparently her daughter. I was surprised as Oprah pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I thought the cigarette didn't fit her image, but she seemed unconcerned as to who saw her. I thought I might walk over and ask Oprah for a cigarette. I knew I didn't smoke, but I thought I might just smoke once with Oprah. I even wondered what kind of cigarette she was smoking. I thought it might be a Kool. I had tried Kools before and had never liked them. But perhaps a Kool wouldn't taste that bad.

However I didn't follow Oprah and I simply allowed her to walk off. But then I began thinking about the trip which we had all taken together. I had never been on a trip quite like that. I realized something had happened to me on the trip, that I had made some relationships with these other three people. These relationships had somehow been different than any I had ever had before. And now we were all just going to go our separate ways and perhaps never see each other again.

But suddenly I knew I needed to talk to the others. I needed to tell each of them something, and now I knew what it was I needed to say. I realized that on the trip I had become extremely close to each of them. I now realized I had also seen certain faults in each of them, faults that I didn't think that they perceived in themselves. I also realized that in almost all my relationships with people, it was my custom not to point out people's faults to them. In this sense I had learned to become dishonest with almost everyone I knew. But now I saw that this was what I had learned on the trip: that at least with these people I should be honest and I should tell them what faults I had seen.

I caught up with Oprah, still in front of the tall office building. We both lay down on the smooth sidewalk, the sidewalk which seemed like white marble. As I began talking with Oprah, I realized I wanted to continue my relationship with her into the future. But I wondered if that would be possible since she was so famous. I had the same concerns about one of the other men who had been on the trip, because he was also a famous talk show host. But I had been closest to Oprah. However, since Oprah was so famous, I knew I would be unable to contact her unless she wanted me to. And I was still unsure that she would want me to.

But as we continued to talk, I began to have the impression that she felt the same way about me as I felt about her. And finally I began to get to the point of what I wanted to say to her. It was still nebulous in my mind, but I knew that it had to do with the cigarette. I also knew that the cigarette was only a sign of something much deeper. I knew the crux of the problem had to do with her having been an ordinary person who had somehow become famous. Now she needed to project an image which was at odds with who she really was. This conflict had caused her great pain, but I had the feeling that she herself wasn't even aware of the source of the pain. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to explain all this to her. I just knew that I needed to talk with her about it.

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