Dreaming in Blue

I’ve got that sinking feeling.

A few years ago, before the panic, I had a dream. Dreams have always fascinated me as I have so few of them. Science tells us that we dream every night but just may not remember them. Perhaps, but I have my doubts. While in the navy I had an extended period of time, 6 months I think, where I had only two, 45 minute periods in a 24 hour day that I was not standing watch or involved in a drill (FIRE FIRE FIRE or GENERAL QUARTERS) or training. This went on 7 days a week for many months. I am quite sure I did not dream during the two 45 minute periods of rack time each day. It is possible that I did dream while not either asleep nor awake on watch as I was throughout this period of hell on water. Sure seemed like a dream, a nightmare. I do know that on more than one occasion I would find myself at the bottom of a ladder and actually did not know if I was coming off watch or going on watch and to be safe went back down to the engine room to the astonishment of the watch. Regardless, dreams are something I either rarely have or at least rarely remember having, usually not even as often as once a year. Thus, I may be more fascinated by them than those who regularly have and remember them.

The last I recall was over in far less time than it took for you to read the into and for me to type it. I was in the ocean. There were a great many people in the water and we were far out at sea given the massive rollers. I do not know why we were there or how we came to be in the water but the atmosphere was one of merriment; we weren’t survivors of a ship foundering or an air crash. Everyone was having fun. As a mountain of deep blue water lifted a large group of swimmers at the far edge of the group sky ward, whistles started tweeting and arms stretched to an area even farther from me. Then the cry “SHARK” fell upon my ears. But it was far far away.

Underwater, I am in awe of the sublime beauty of the graduated hues of blue: like the scale of indigo dying from the almost pure white with just a hint of blue at the surface to the “is it pure black or do I detect a whisper of blue” as in the true Navy Blue of the deep and all shades between. “Wow! If I could only bottle and sell these blue hues as foundation pen ink, I’d make a mint”, I thought. Soaking in this wonderful relaxing blue, I forgot that I was underwater. Looking up, I realized that I had sunk much deeper than I thought and that I better start back for the surface or I would not be able to make.

Legs unresponsive to command. Something BIG and HEAVY had my legs and was dragging me down. “A shark has got ME!” The feeling of dread I had at that moment is indescribable. I didn’t even look down. Who wants that to be the last thing they see. “Oh, no. Even if I somehow miraculously freed myself, even uninjured I am now so far down that without immense effort from those on the surface I’ll never make back up before out of air.” “If this is a dream, Wake up, wake up wake up NOW.” , and sat up straight in bed, still filled with unspeakable dread.

Relief quickly replaced dread and after a prayer of thanks, I was back asleep. However, for a few days after, the sight of the color I have spent a small fortune to searching for in fountain pen ink immersed me in the color and filled me with that dreadful, sinking feeling that I was nothing more than fish food. Though even at the time I was able to laugh it off, the shock the color blue delivered was real.

Masking is much the same to me; even if we somehow freed ourselves from the madness surrounding and pulling us down, right now, at this moment, with out colossal effort from others as well as from ourselves we will never regain the surface. If that effort materializes and is successful, we will reach it disabled for life. What right do we have to force or even just allow this upon most of the children of the world? What have they done to deserve to have to put in Herculean effort just to “break even”. What disabilities and traumas will they be burdened with for the rest of their lives?

On Wednesday night I picked up my son from his cram school. There were a total of 16 parents waiting in front of the school while I was there. Only 3 of us were unmasked. I counted 33 kids depart the school before mine. All but 5 were masked. One of the three teachers who saw them off was unmasked. My son’s class is still not allowed to speak during lunch time at school. Less than 10% unmasked on the crowded train into Tokyo this morning and fewer still on the not so crowded train home this late afternoon.