When Pigs Fly
In my dream last night, I was at some festival or concert in a field in the countryside next to what I think was supposed to be my house. There was a guy who had a giant pig kite that he was holding onto and seemed to be a bit hard for him to handle. The wind picked it up nicely, and it had a short string, because of the design…the short string seemed to make it actually fly better. The guy lost control of it and let go of the string, and the big kite began to soar on its own, lofting on the winds, which would take it higher. It would then swoop down in large scary loops, and as it did, I noticed that it was a really large kite with a really large pig on it. The pig was strapped to it, and it was clear later that it was dead and cooked, so more like a huge dead pig roast, and the wings of the kite stretched out on either side about four feet. So this 10-foot across heavy kite was on the loose, picking up the winds, and eventually swooped very close to the crowd’s heads near the amphitheater, where a symphony was playing. It crashed into the lights and scaffolding above the orchestra, and the falling debris, including the pig, almost killed them. Blood curdling screams could be heard from the musicians. No one was seriously hurt, and I pitched in with the clean up. Everyone was repulsed by me when I thought it fitting to start eating the roasted pig…it is a picnic, I thought. Next thing I knew, I was carrying pig pieces around with me and grossing even myself out as I was eating them. (Warning at this point for the vegan and vegetarian readers.) I was chompin’ on a pig leg, from the knee (do they have knees?) down. And I could really feel the hard-to-bite-through skin, slippery fat, and edible meat being discerned with my mouth. I started thinking about how the whole scene was just wrong and why I was eating a nauseatingly large and greasy amount of pig.
As all good dreams do, this one then switched scenes completely. It was vague what happened next, but it had to do with me packing up the old house or office and loading up a Winnebago. I’m pretty sure the man helping me was my dad in this dream. He was in an impatient mood, so I tried to speed things up. We roared out of the driveway of my place in the small town I had been living in, after I had packed up everything, which included old Barbie Christmas gifts. My dad was driving and almost knocked over some outdoor gas station appliances as we ripped through some shrubbery and nearly tipped in the driveway of a nearby gas station. The owner of the station got mad at my dad, and my dad was cursin’ out the owner.
And that’s pretty much where the dream ended. Now, I am trying to think about what it could have been about, but I’m not good at determining dream meaning. Instead, I will list what I ate, drank, and did last night: had some beers and such; then went to Las Canteras a Peruvian food place in Adams Morgan in Washington, DC, and had red wine, ceviche (and a beer with that), and a bit of papa a la huancaina, papa rellena, and avocado salad; for the main course had a Peruvian sampler of a yummy salad with olives in it, stuffed pepper, and tamale; for dessert we shared flan, lucma ice cream, and rice pudding; then we came home and all felt too stuffed to move, watched The Wire (first time I ever saw it), and passed out. So I’m not sure what interpretation we can apply to the dream, other than I ate so much during dinner that my mind didn’t want to stop eating in my dream. The dream’s choice of the pig also seems fitting, as it implies gluttonous, succulent eating. My dad’s cameo appearance was interesting. Perhaps he was there to say he would have loved Peruvian food and thinks I should move and go back down there. Not a bad idea.
