Mon, 29 Jul 2002
Last night I dreamt that I was Jesus Christ. I was waiting in line to see the Pope. All the other people waiting knew who I was, and they admired that I was humbly standing in line, when I could have just cut in front of everybody. At the same time, there was a certain amount of consternation that I wasn’t performing any miracles – I was just standing there. But I wasn’t altogether convinced of my own divinity, so I didn’t want to try any miracles and fail, and make a fool of myself.
Finally, as we passed under the arch that led into the Pope’s chambers, I felt obliged to attempt some kind of miracle. So I tried to pull my legs up into the lotus position and levitate. Of course, I just fell over. At this point, the Pope himself came out to see me. He was a youngish Pope, and stern. He told me to sit cross-legged on the floor and attempt to levitate again. I did as he told me, and I floated up to about three feet above the ground. I was levitating, but I couldn’t move through space – all I could do was bob there in mid-air, leaning slightly to one side or another. The Pope was disappointed in me.
Lest anyone think that my dream is symptomatic of some kind of megalomania, I should mention that later last night, I dreamt that I was a giant rhododendron, tended by a groundskeeper who fertilised me with his own excrement.