There was a white blimp flying very low. It had a quality of benevolence, and as it came closer I was glad to be able to see it better. It felt as if it were showing itself, coming in close as if it were doing something positive, wanting to nuzzle you while you are busy at something else. But it felt dangerous in its too-bigness, the way a friendly dog can knock over a child.
The blimp had a very shiny, very flat surface, segmented, white and very clean and it appeared over the field where we all stood and then floated just beyond us and touched down. Its rotary blades made a breeze. I was concerned that the man standing next to me would worry it was going to explode and that everyone there was in danger. (the inverse of when it never occurred to me to be afraid, when I was 4 and ran out to out to see the moose in the front yard, until I saw the fear on my mother’s face .)
As if the blimp had a mind, or as if it were a mind and I knew what it was thinking, I had inside knowledge that noone would get hurt, but I didn’t think anyone would believe me. This dirigible, with its awkward nuzzle, seemed to be all about feeling and it really just wanted to help, but it wasn’t very articulate in its form, but then its form also inspired a kind of awe and took people out of themselves for a moment, which was itself of help.
dream, April 13, 2005.