Disturbing dream . . .
The first part takes place as I am looking down on the street from my apartment window. There was some kind of anger, hate thing, going on. It wasn’t about me personally, but about my being an “outsider” in this particular neighborhood or city. I was being careful to stay off the street—or at least to be aware of my vulnerability—I didn’t want to draw their attention, but I had something I had to do and needed to go out.
Next, I was walking on the street by an auto dealership that occupied the whole corner of the block.
I walked up to a row of four or five parked cars. One of them was a semi-classic MG. I came up close in admiration. A Latino man nearby looked up and asked me, “Do you want to buy it?”
I was surprised, but the idea of having a classic MG was opened up a bit. “How much?”, I asked.
“Four-hundred-and-seventy-five dollars.” he stated.
I was completely confused. I could see that it was pretty messed up, it would take a lot of work and money to fix . I could easily see spending a couple of thousand dollars more. The engine was covered with oil, the upholstery was intact but dirty—the body paint was not all that bad however. The whole thing would need to be evaluated, it would obviously take a lot of time and money. The core of the car seemed to be in good shape though, and perhaps worth the effort to restore.
I tried to visualize all the aspects of repair work—the time and expense it could possibly take. Still I fell it was accessible, initially, at that low price. I remained interested, but I wasn’t ready to commit to the task with the time and money it would take to complete.
There was also some feelings of doubt in trusting the people involved. I felt ok with the guy who was selling it, but not comfortable at all with the mechanic who seemed out to con me. This made me hesitate and think even more about getting involved in such a project. I was still caught up in this vision and couldn’t simply drop my passion and desire of driving and owning a classic MGB car. Doubts wouldn’t go away. The money was ambiguous in both availability and expense.
Then I realized that I had no place to put the car. I couldn’t park it on the street and would need to find a garage to store it in.
I had given up driving, I had no driver’s license, no auto insurance, and nowhere to travel. I was completely separated from the world of the automobile. If I took the initial, inexpensive step of buying it, I would be buried in the risk, worry, unknown expense, not to mention the care and protection of a vehicle I had no real use for. I would again be caught up in the world of automobile life, from having an unaffordable physical object—a psychic possession—an engagement brought into my care, and my life that was otherwise liberated from the totality of the automobile world.
I felt rationally off balance and unable to give an answer to his question in the context of the reality of its consequences in my desire for the car.
I was unable to say to him, “No thanks. Sounds exciting, but four-hundred-and-seventy-five dollars would be a down payment to hell!”
The fantasy of the car and the opportunity to manifest and experience its appeal wouldn’t readily leave me.
Fortunately I awakened from a dream instead of an actual living situation, where only my sleep was disturbed rather than having the actual car keys in my hand.