Last night, I dreamed that I was in a shamanic workshop held at the home of a local practitioner, the same guy from the other weekend in real life. We're standing in the guy's living room, holding hands around his coffee table. We start talking about a "shaman's greeting"--sort of "what's the secret password?"--and then he leads us in a dance. Or tries to. We're all uncoordinated and throwing legs the wrong way. Oddly, our dance reminded me of what you see at Jewish holidays and weddings. Just imagine a bunch of WASPs dancing in a circle led by a Korean facilitator--but to a Jewish klezmer band.That's just for starters. Our facilitator (wearing a Hawaiian shirt) then tells us he will see us at the hotel for the next part of the shamanic conference. (I should explain that this sorta makes sense. In real life, he and his wife had just returned from Hawaii before our workshop, and he does appear in Hawaiian shirts on his web site.)
As can only happen in dreams, our conference is in Hawaii but actually still in my hometown. I'm thrilled--because I'll be able to call home without incurring roaming charges! Sweet!
So I drive across town/Hawaii to the "Mauna Loa Hotel"--which, of course, may exist somewhere but certainly not here in the land of Red Roof Inns. Now, in my dream, I was very impressed with the name as I drove up to the hotel. "Mauna Loa": how Hawaiian! Makes me think of macadamia nuts--yummy. (Mauna Loa is also the largest freakin' volcano in the world.)Inside the lobby, however, I can't find the registration desk. There's the usual plants and comfy chairs. It's like one of those big resort hotels or casinos where you could walk for days and never leave the building.
Then I realize that I'm dressed like a cast member from "Gunsmoke." I'm talking Sheriff Matt Dillon, Miss Kitty and Deputy Festus in Dodge City! Now, "Gunsmoke" was one of my favorite shows as a kid, so I'm ok with the outfit but it is getting me some looks. Imagine dirty, dusty cowboy boots, brown leather pants and chaps, a large belt buckle and a gun holster, long-sleeve Western shirt with vest, a jaunty bandanna around my neck and a cowboy hat. Yep, I'm totally rockin' the look.
Then I turn and see another guy dressed the same and realize we're headed to the same conference. Whew--so I'm not the only freak! He's this short guy and looks like an old friend from childhood named Brian--but he really isn't (you know how dreams are). But can someone tell me why we're dressed like cowboys for a shamanic workshop? Where are the hippie clothes and the drums?
So short dude and I go scouting for the registration desk. First, we find a hotel restaurant and ask the hostess for directions. Then we find a hotel bar and ask directions. Damn, how big is this place? Next, we see the "fitness room desk" and a woman says, "You're very close." So we walk to the next desk behind her, thinking we've found our destination, only to see a woman smile and say, "Are you ready for your bikini wax?"
WTF? No thanks, my pubes are fine just as they are.The bikini wax girl points us over to the next desk, and thank gods, we're here. Finally, the registration desk! Except it's also the hotel gift shop. And it must be Christmas because the walls are covered in Christmas tree decorations you can purchase. I go about registering and paying when my partner walks up (not, it should be noted, dressed as Miss Kitty from "Gunsmoke"). He's admiring the Christmas decorations and starts begging for me to buy him a Santa decoration, which I eventually do.
The 3 of us (me, short dude who I kinda recognize and my partner) strike up a conversation with the registration desk lady, who has bleach-bottle-blonde hair. She asks what we're going to do next--and I say, with a gesture like I'm rounding up cattle on a ranch, "We're gonna get some whiskey!" And off we all go to the hotel bar.
I promise, I really don't do drugs.
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