Dream, 7-30-12

I’d been out driving. Not sure how or why, but I found myself suddenly in a small town along a river which I guessed was the Columbia. There was a feeling of delight at being so close to the river; it seemed just a quick hop over a hill and here I was, in this little community. It was quiet, around dusk, and not many people out. I remember driving or walking along the main road that paralleled the river and happing across a deserted amusement park, flooded in fact. River water was swirling around the merry-go-round and roller coaster at what may have been around five feet of depth. 

The water was alternately smooth and turbulent, and I watched with some dismay the scene of the utterly inoperable and totally deserted carnival. I have long harbored certain fondness for abandoned amusement parks, and I think the memory emerges from Oaks Park, along another river nearby. But the image of the flooded park only enhanced the sense of delight at finding such a lovely and mysterious town so close to home. I walked on and met a girl who sat own with me. She was of a dark, happy nature and seemed to relish in my wonder. I asked her the name of the town, but as I asked I spotted a sign, something like Purdough Laundry. Purdough, a likely name, but I could only think that it resembled the name of an old friend.

The girl, attractive, sat on the grass with me and answered the questions I asked her. I don’t recall these questions, all of this being a dream and subject therefore to the undertow of waking moments, but I do remember that she mentioned some connection with the story which formed the basis of a recent film. Something about a young Jewish boy and his father. The movie title was, I think, The Blue Kite. 

And now I must submit to the shifting sands of my recollection. The story of the film had deep symbolic relation to the town of Purdough, but I cannot exactly place it. 

I woke up thinking of this relationship, and these thoughts preceded--or perhaps precipitated--the notion that Walt Whitman expressed: So I contradict myself, I contain multitudes.