Living with a grey and white dog in Japan. We go out biking - a bike each. Dog is a thin medium-sized breed, like kelpie, whippet, greyhound. I feel a bit anxious about him being on a bike. He is ahead of me. Coming down a grassy slope, I see he's fallen and badly hurt. People passing by looking at him and looking worried, but no-one stops to tend him before me. His pelvis is broken. I feel so bad I did this to him. What was I thinking? - of course dogs can't ride bicycles. I struggle to get him to a vet clinic, searching for a sign in English. One points toward 'UNREAL'.
(my pelvis is hurt from during pregnancy and has been flaring up again lately)
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dream journal
(__________)
The phrase "cuttlebone query" leapt out at me from a stream of email spam babble and rattled around my head for a few years. I remember the curved white cuttlebones washed up on the beaches of my childhood summers. They suit me as metaphor for dream remnants - tiny compared to the ocean they come from; gouged and marked; hard and soft; light; gleaming wet then rasping dry.
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