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Monday, January 20, 2014

Wee Little King

I had this dream last night in which this little king was dying. It was a Middle Eastern type country with plastered walls. The king was a tiny man and bald with dark skin. His feet were very bad, so that throughout the dream I made it a point to avoid being near his feet in case I stepped on them.

He had no family, no one around him except guards, military generals and me. And I was a servant assigned to be near him somehow - I was a young girl, and I had been placed in that body after being taken from my own. They marked my arms, whoever they were, because I was on a mission.

I felt sad for the little king, and I wanted to comfort him with friendly company. But I was just a servant. I managed to sneak back to his hospital chamber and pretend to look in. He saw me there and asked me to sit by his side on his white, silk sheets.

He said something about his role in life taking away his identity and I told him how there were quite a few kings whose real names we no longer remembered. He asked me to name two. And I couldn't remember any. Embarrassing.

And then somehow I was put into a different body with the wrong tattoos. So when he saw me again to him I was a different person. I said something about not wanting to hurt his feet, and he said to me that there was someone else who often said that. He looked at me in wonder, and I smiled at him.

There are jumbled memories of other scenes. There was a young man who noted the tattoos on my arms, but by then I was in the wrong body and was leery lest he mistake my presence. So I lied about one and made the other appear mysterious by not divulging information.

But I have no idea what I was doing there.