Lately I’ve been having very detailed, vivid dreams. It’s been a long time since that has happened. Here’s the most intriguing:
We bought a small ship, like a very small caravel, about the size of a school bus. My dad, my kids and I took possession of the boat, and boarded her. (I should mention that none of us are sailors.)
We walked down some tight, turning steps and into the cabin. On our left, which was the rear of the ship, there was a sort of built-in high counter or desk. There was a cubby-hole of sorts on the right, with a hinged cover. It (and the rest of the ship) was outfitted with gleaming brass hardware. The dark wood was highly polished. ]
Behind the compartment was an opening in the desk, about one foot square. The opening showed nothing, it was black.
Near the compartment was a portrait of a man, done in porcelain, and affixed to the bulkhead. A small brass plate read “Con**el, shipbuilder, 1806.” I can’t remember the name, but I do remember that my Dad and I read the name differently. A Masonic symbol was affixed below the plate (pleasing Dad, an enthusiastic Mason).
Inside the compartment was a note that read, The keys to the ship are in a forward compartment. Advance down the nearby hatch to meet your doom. The “nearby hatch” was the black opening.
We turned to go forward, and above us on the horizontal beam that formed the sort of hallway we were entering was a big brass plaque, it spanned the width of the ship. In big letters it read, Let not size be your measure of success. That’s where my dream ended.
I don’t know exactly what to make of it.
