26. I've started so I'll finish...

...by writing about my dream last night. I do this with some trepidation, since even for the most die-hard Jungian, other people's dreams can be extremely dull.

I have never been able to remember my dreams, so for the last six months I have kept a notebook next to my bed to record them. I've only written in it a handful of times, and most of the nocturnal entries are illegible. There is no record of nocturnal emissions.

So, last night's dream:

I was bicycling along a road on the Isle of Wight, which I have visited twice or maybe three times in my life. It was a balmy afternoon in late summer. The low hills were bathed in warm apricot light and the air was full of those tiny bouncing bugs that come out shortly before sunset. I was on my way back to my bed and breakfast. I had come to the island for the summer to write.

I reached the top of a gentle incline and was about to freewheel down the other side when I noticed a small farm lane to my right which parted from the main road. It was a road made of slabs of pebbled concrete. However, the lane cannot have seen much use since the tufts of grass grew thickly in the middle of the cracks where the slabs met. I followed the lane with my eyes and saw that it lead to a small village higher up the hill. From where I was standing, it looked as if this was the highest village on the whole island. It suddenly seemed important to visit that village, so I turned off the main road and began to cycle up the lane.

On my way towards the village, I met the son of the couple who owned and ran my bed and breakfast. He was a boy of about ten who had a yellow BMX bicycle very similar to the one which I myself had had at that age. I felt a close connection with this boy. When I think about it now, he may have been my childhood self.

We rode our bicycles along the lane which passed through the village and then continued to climb up the hill. When the lane reached its highest point, we stopped and admired the view of the island spread out beneath us. There was a steep embankment to our right, so we leant our bikes against the verge and scrambled up the embankment.

The views from the top of the embankment were even more impressive. However, we were still not on the highest point of the island - there was another crest in front of us which the embankment had hidden from our view. Although the sun was about to set, we had come too far to turn back now. The long grass rippled in the wind as we climbed up this last slope.

When we reached the top of the slope we were amazed to see the ruin of an enormous arch caught by the last rays of the sun. This arch had been entirely hidden from below by the angle of elevation. We walked through the arch. The shadowy far side was decorated with beautifully preserved Inca or Mayan motifs. In the shadow of the arch lay the ruins of what must once have been the keep of a castle. The walls and staircases were still standing, but there was no roof and the grass grew thick in the central courtyard.

'This is scary,' said the boy.

I notice that there is a knee high fence surrounding the ruins. The fence appears to be new and well-maintained. We step over the fence and enter the colonnade of the ruins. The colonnades remind me of the entrance hall of the palace of the King of Mustang, in Lo Manthang. However, instead of Tibetan mastiffs, these ruinous corridors are guarded by enormous black birds. The light is fading fast but this is a unique opportunity to explore and I try to give the boy courage. However, I am a little unnerved myself by the way that the enormous birds swoop down from the sky and fly through the colonnades before landing in the nests which hang at irregular intervals along the walls. All we can hear is the sound of huge wings beating the air.

We explore the ruins. My face is covered by cobwebs which are thick and sticky and hard to get off. It sounds frightening but I don't remember being afraid. When we have explored to our satisfaction, we return to the arch with the Inca or Mayan artwork. However, darkness has fallen very quickly. There was no gloming - it is now pitch black. I take the boy's hand and we walk in the general direction of the hill and our bicycles, though I know we will never find them in this darkness. I realise that we are going to have to wait here until daybreak and I feel a little foolish, that is all.

In retrospect, the feel of this dream reminds me a little of Alain-Fournier's descriptions of the Lost Domain in Le Grand Meaulnes.

If anyone would care to offer an interpretation, please don't hold back.