Month: November 2012

I don't remember the dream very clearly. It was one of my "university" dreams, with the added twist of my father showing up in the Model A – that is happening a lot in my dreams, because of my worry and preoccupation with my dad, lately. In my "university" dreams, I'm at the University (…of Minnesota, …of Pennsylvania, …of Mexico, …of Southern Chile – one of the various universities where I have spent far too much time in my life), and I'm trying to register for a class that either doesn't exist or is for some bureaucratic reason is inaccessible – pretty common vaguely Kafkaian themes.

My dad showed up, and was giving me unsolicited (and frankly not very useful) advice. Then Michelle showed up, and she was telling me not to study so much. Then I was standing in line for some class registration, except all the other people standing in line were Korean farmers. So, I was beginning to suspect I was in the wrong line, when my father drove by in the Model A – with my aunt Freda and the Korean dictator Park Chung-Hee (assassinated 1979) riding with him – and that somehow confirmed I was in the wrong line.

So I walked off, looking for the right line. And suddenly I was in a lecture hall of the class I had so desperately been wanting to register for. I felt a warm, happy glow of bureaucratic conquest. Professor Lopez (University of Pennsylvania) was lecturing, but he was speaking English, not Spanish, and the topic was philosophy, not 19th century Spanish Literature (although you could see the connection, probably). And he looked around the lecture hall, and looked at me very directly and pointedly.

"Epistemic closure… what is this? What is epistemic closure?" he asked, rhetorically. And continued, "This dream you're dreaming is an example of epistemic closure."

And I woke up.

Here's picture I took from inside the "closet" on the fourth floor at work, yesterday morning.

Is it sad that the best view at work is from inside the closet? Perhaps more importantly, what was I doing in the closet with a camera, anyway? These are deep mysteries of the human mind.

I suppose some people may find it peculiar or self-indulgent or egotistical that I journal my dreams on my blog. I suppose it can be those things. But I will continue to do it. Last night's dream was quite odd but very vivid and memorable. You will be able to tell what issues are front-and-center in my subconscious.

I dreamed I went to visit my father, but my father lived in Ulleungdo (an island off Korea's east coast). It was a remote house on a dirt road – more similar to my uncle's house in Alaska than anything I saw on Ulleungdo. But when I saw my father, he said, "I have something to show you." We drove into town. The dream was an odd mash-up of my childhood in my dad's Model A and a Korean road-trip. None of the Koreans seemed affected by a pair of foreigners driving a 1928 Ford Model A through their towns. We arrived in the main town of Ulleungdo (called Dodong though the dream neglected to remind me of that – I only remembered as I was typing just now), and we got out near some construction.

My father and I walked over to this odd, square, unconstructed-upon lot on a steep hillside – the lot was "levelled" – it had been dug out so that it was flat at the lower street level, with an ugly, two-storey retaining wall of dark concrete block at the back of the lot, and boughs of pine overhanging that retaining wall. In the center of the lot was a strange "house" made of cloth and cardboard and sheets of metal – something a homeless man might construct – however, it was apparent my father had been spending time here. I surmised he had been "squatting" on the property during his visits to town. I went inside, and it was actually pretty comfortable inside. There was a small, old-fashioned stove you sometimes see ajeossis using in tent-like constructions in small towns in Korea in winter, and a platform made of pallets and plywood for sleeping. I came back outside.

In the dream, I was most struck by the fact there was a stunted palm tree in the lot beside the tent-thing, along with a pitiful-looking persimmon tree, shorn of leaves but with glowing golden fruit still hanging on the raggedy branches. Both trees seemed very lonely and unhappy. I laughed at the idea of a palm tree on Ulleungdo. It reminded me of the palmtrees in Yeonggwang, that I had seen covered with snow when I lived down there.

I commented on this, and smiled at dad. "I should buy this lot. I could build a nice house here." I began to describe the kind of house I would build on this odd vacant lot on Ulleungdo. It would have two or three levels, up against the retaining wall at the back, with a front enterance at the street and lots of stairs.

My father said, "I bought it." I was very surprised. My father owned not one, but two pieces of property on Ulleungdo!

Of course, it was all a dream.

To set the scene, here are some pictures from my 2009 visit to Ulleungdo.

This last is the picture of Dodong, seen from near the ferry terminal.