A MidAfternoon Dream

I am sitting in a train carriage. The trains in Sydney have a vestibule area where the doors open, with seats positioned along the walls of the carriage, and stairs that go to upper and lower areas where there are rows and rows of seats. I was sitting near the opening door, looking out the window on other side of the carriage. The train is travelling along, and a man comes in from the stairs. He has a shaved head, although the dark hair is casting a shadow as it grows through, and he is wearing saffron robes, like a Tibetan monk. In his hands is a writhing, aggressive snake. He holds it behind its head with his right hand, and holds the body with his left. It can still turn its head slightly, and it is twisting around trying to escape him, trying to bite him, lunging at anyone that gets near it.

I stand and quietly go to the door that connects the train carriages. It is an older style train that actually has a door handle and hinged door rather than the newer "ke-cherrrrr" types that open automatically. I don’t say anything, but open the door and hold it open, stepping back to allow a clear view of the door. The saffron-robed man walks there and gently throws the snake from the train [ok, even in my dreams I don’t condone harm to animals].

When the man turns back, I realise that I know him. I knew him when he was a boy. We were very close friends when we were children. [No, I don’t actually know him, but I did in the dream, if that makes sense.] I am so excited to see him that I rush over to him. I am astounded that he has become a man of religion as he was such a trouble-maker as a child, but he exudes calmness. I hug him tightly to me, crying, and running my hands over his face, trying to still see to small boy in him. Initially he holds me innocently, but I realise the hug is turning more to an embrace. I can smell the skin of his neck and my hands on his face are becoming slower and gentler. I feel his erection pressing against my belly and I am surprised, but not unpleased. Our faces are so close, and he is beginning to press against me more rhythmically. I turn my face to him and try to kiss him, but he constantly pulls just far enough away to keep away from my lips, without actually breaking the embrace. His movements are becoming more and more frantic and I’m beginning to get very frustrated that he won’t kiss me. Then he finishes. He steps back and gives me a look of such disdain, such contempt, that in that moment I hate him. I take my bottle of lemonade that is suddenly in my hand and I empty the contents over his head and then step off the train.

What does this mean? Other than I shouldn’t have naps on hot afternoons after eating chocolate.