I dreamt last night that a monarch--a Queen, I think--sent me on a quest.
She gave me two tubes of lipstick--one black and one red. The red one's container was, somehow, in the shape of a fist sized red wagon wheel, and the lipstick was to be used for navigation. The black lipstick was in a regular tube, and I was informed that it would allow me to breathe underwater.
So I swam out to the middle of the ocean, which was utterly black, despite the bright blue sky. I treaded water for awhile--I was afraid to go through with it. I mean, the ocean seemed SO utterly, vastly deep and I knew how easy it would be to lose my little form in that heavy never-ending cold blackness. And I had no way to test out the black lipstick.
Finally, I just went for it--diving down into that cold emptiness. The Queen had told me to wait until I reached a distance in the water where I knew I would not have enough breath to return to the surface, then apply the lipstick. I did this, fumbling in the solemn, subtly roaring darkness for that little plastic tube.
I could only breathe through my nose, but I COULD breathe.
Now, using the red lipstick, I easily sped through enormous distances of this void--and I noticed that it wasn't quite a void. There were stars out there--tiny, almost too tiny to see, little pinpricks of lights. They were most discernable whenever I turned, for then they would swirl about me. When I moved in a straight line, the stars did not appear to move at all.
I began to see planets. Great imposing spheres, at times, when I flew close. But I passed several of them before I reached my destination planet. It was a world with bright blue seas and rocky, or desert covered continents. From orbit, I could see several miniscule, twinkling dots that represented the cities of this world.
I remained in orbit, looking for the proper city to land in . . . but none of the cities would permit me to land. Of course, dismay filled my heart, and I kept orbit, wondering what to do.
Then I woke up.
Current Music: Tori Amos - Losing My Religion