Once in a while a dream is so visual, so intense, that you never forget it. Her dream of the giant red-and-green pagoda floating up in the sky, perched up there on nothing, as if by magic, had been like that. As she’d gazed up at the pagoda, it had tilted to one side and begun to slide out of the blue sky, down to earth, like it was slipping down a mountain, except there was no mountain, only sky. Then she and Kate were in a cab, and the giant pagoda crashed right behind them onto the street, just missing the cab.
Georgina was puzzled at the time as to why her unconscious had chosen a pagoda to put in her dream. She knew it was a warning that something to do with a pagoda was about to fall out of the sky and crash. But what?
It was so visual. She knew dreams prefer pictorial, picturesque language to colorless statements because emotionally charged images and symbols work more directly on the psyche than words can. What could a pagoda mean to her? It was ancient Chinese architecture. Her brother’s wife was Chinese, but she was young and healthy. Her mother-in-law was Chinese American, but she was born in the Midwest and educated at Yale and had lived for most of the past fifty years in London. She didn’t seem very Chinese to Georgina. It never occurred to her at the time that Colin, though born and raised in London, was half Chinese. He didn’t look it, and with his British accent, didn’t sound it either. It wasn’t until a year later when he left her that she understood the message of the dream. It was her marriage that was falling out of the sky and crashing to earth.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish