That dream…I remember it, of course, but before sleep or dreaming, we met for another literary salon, Tuesday; I had an insight about literary opinions, critiquing, or sharing that I’d found: but before that I’d found sometime ago the same thing, a secret of prayer that can be more healing for the one praying, quiet words spoken aloud, in some room, or wherever.
And afterwards, I used the blog posts about Frankenstein by Mary Shelley as a base of my thoughts, (no, not cheating I realized, ’cause there are no rigid rules like that and no superiority of opinions…just like then, in Cairo, 1921, May Ziadeh, the host, was known for her high tolerance of diversity, politeness, and moderating the discussion with guests that may take over it all). I could connect new ideas with the ones I’d already shared, just by speaking quietly the things I’d already written about the book.
And the salon went on as I’d composed some memories in mind and always gathering future subjects to write, and then I said, I am tired of speaking and am satisfied with my sharing; let’s read the next book now, Neverwhere. And I did. It came to a close and yet had gone on and not abruptly; I thought, that was a very satisfying literary salon, I am glad.
Bedtime, it was over. Oh, I had shared one line about Neverwhere, somewhat into the book toward the evening…It’s like how people would crash into me at the supermarket; it was a lighthearted thought that way.
And I went to sleep, lamp no longer light but still warm maybe, the dream…She is wearing a red sequined mask with royal blue accents and I believe her dress was royal blue and red with elegant, glittering sequins that aren’t twinkling but softly bright. She had that gown and mask of a masquerade formal party, her hair was polished as if with a bit of special oil and combed with a natural shine, and she looked into my eyes; I could see she was May because I recognized her eyes and the gently smiling expression of them; I thought, is there a masquerade party now? But it was quick and the dream disappeared and I awoke. I thought, that was interesting, so literary salon, success! It closes, then my earth is over, too, and it’s time for heaven, now? I smiled at the strange amusement of this dream and my thoughts, of course not believing them to be only true.
Masquerade parties, I know I’d considered the humor at the very start of COVID, what these people might feel about the emphasis on masks to the store, or maybe they may share, ‘We have these masquerade parties anyway.’ They were in Paris, they were in England, they were well known in Italy…I researched the idea as I’d remembered an author friend had written a short story set at one of these masquerade parties in the past. A person’s face would be covered, to encourage that you could know them, know their mind and their heart.
Previously: A special celebration: Wake Up, It’s Rumi’s Birthday 🥳