Dream of: 10 November 2001 "Tattooed"
Hundreds of men and a few women had gathered in a forested area to display, compare and discuss their tattoos. Although I had no tattoos, I had come to peruse the varied designs. I was also thinking of obtaining a tattoo myself. Apparently a famous tattooer was here. He was sitting not far from me – an elderly white-haired man – busily tattooing someone. His presence was perhaps the central attraction of this convention.
What kind of tattoo would I like? After I had given the matter some thought, a design came to mind: a dark circle – about one sixteenth of an inch in width – all the way around my penis and testicles. Emanating out from the circle would be tattooed orange and yellow flames – mixed with some geometrical patterns – like the flames of a blazing sun. Of course I would first have to shave off all my pubic hair. And I would have to tell the tattooer I didn't want any tattoo on my penis – only around it. But would the tattooer tattoo a person in that area? Yes, I overheard him talking to someone about a penis tattoo.
The assemblage was finally divided into sundry groups, each group sitting by itself. Everyone was preparing for one of the central activities: the slide. Not far from me – slopping down the side of a small hill – poised the highest and widest metal slide I had ever seen – perhaps 100 meters tall and 20 meters wide. Even the hardy tattooed seemed somewhat daunted. But finally one by one, then sometimes in whole groups, the tattooed began sliding down the slide.
I held back. I was losing my enthusiasm for the gathering. I didn't like the looks of the slide and I was even beginning to doubt whether I would participate. One rough-looking fellow – apparently sensing my hesitation – approached me in a threatening manner, as if he were going to force me to slide, or beat me up if I didn't. But I managed to slip past him.
I rapidly made my way to a small group of five or six men whom I had noticed sitting apart; they were all dressed in white robes. When the sliding had begun, they had separated themselves into a separate area where they all now sat, side by side, with heads bowed. They seemed to have beads or rosaries in their hands; as I approached them, I recognized one: Mahatma Gandhi. The group apparently had come – just as I – as observers. Disillusioned – just as I – with the tattooed, this white-robed group had separated themselves from the crowd. Two or three other men had also followed the white-robed group and were sitting near them.
My direction was clear: I deeply admired Gandhi; and I felt safe with him. I would definitely try to sit with or near Gandhi and his group, and not return to the reveling tattooed.
Copyright 2001 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com
