OnDreaming: The Blog

Dream on Wed, Nov. 23, 2005

I am on a rooftop of red dirt & stone. There are many townspeople there also, looking up at the rooftops. Across, more people are on their own roofs, looking through binoculars down at people covering the hilly grounds. They are everywhere, for as far as I can see. I am looking at someone who resemles Mozart and is just about as mischievous, but I seem to love him anyway. I am puzzled as to who Machiavelli is, but keep hearing his name. I am dressed in layered long golden clothing. He is layered in red velvet cloth. I begin walking from the left of the rooftop, to the right corner.

A man approaches me to tell me something, in Italian, so I cannot understand all of it, just certain words. He’s just an ordinary man, and I almost dismiss him. I keep walking forward to the corner of the roof. I take a pipe, and breath into it, then out, deeply. It is some sort of air that is supposed to help with the ones who can’t breath well-or maybe some sort of legal drug.

A few people watch as I look down. On the ground are thousands of golden, sparkling relics. People have come from everywhere to throw the jewels and relics into the sky, offerings to God. I have thrown my treasures into the sky as well. This man, Machiavelli, has done the same. I see one on the ground and pick it up. It is a small ring with a heart in the middle. I want it so badly, but am unsure of the karma it would bring if I take it.

I stare at it in the palm of my hand while some man tells me, in Italian, that I am not supposed to take it because it was an offering. I dig for all of the euros and coins I have in my dress pocket. I look at the money and toss it onto the ground in the apex of the roof, into the dirt-filled corner where I found the ring. The money sparkles like the rest of the relics and other coins. I am feeling concerned that the ring might be worth far more than the euros I offered in it’s place.

I am thinking that it isn’t the value of the ring I care about, so that makes it easier to justify taking it. As I study the ring closely, and look into the center of the heart, I realize it is ancient. It looks as if a bird has pecked out the heart with his beak. But, I am sure I need it. A voice (Machiavelli’s I believe) is telling me that it is okay to take it-good to take it even. It is a gift especially for me. I really want to keep it.

Upon further inspection, it turns out the ring is made of wood and the heart is missing, but my own heart is telling me that it is worth more than a ring of gold.