January 15 is the birthday of the
great French comedic playwright Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, known by his stage name
Moliere, and I will celebrate his anniversary with a champagne toast.
Why? Many years ago, I had a dream about my Moliere,
which changed my attitude about life. Not everyone believes that dreams have
meaning, but I do. Not in the way that dream interpretation books would have
it. I always loved the Biblical story of Joseph, who had to interpret Pharaoh’s
dreams. But your typical dream book doesn’t really talk about fat cows and
skinny cows, does it?
I believe most
people have their own internal dream vocabulary and dream messages, but they don’t care
to try to interpret them. I do. I’ve even had friends ask me to interpret their
dreams for them. As a writer, I’m always looking for great story ideas and
plots. Some dreams are perfect for that. Just ask Mary Shelley.
I
have had dreams with warnings, dreams that came true, dreams coded in rebus, and
dreams that came with lessons. In this dream, Moliere came to me bearing a whole
lesson plan.
In
my dream, the great playwright was old and sick, dying from a lung disease, and
for some reason it was my job to take him to a place to die, a place of the
dead. It seemed to be somewhere deep down under the streets, perhaps in Paris. (Why
beneath the streets? Was I dreaming of the Catacombs of Paris? I have no idea. It was a dream, you know?And better the Catacombs than the sewers.) I was
horrified by this mission, and I kept protesting that he was the great Moliere,
he couldn’t just die (even though he's been dead since 1673), how could this be? We descended far down into a dark tunnel.
Out of the darkness a small gray bat flew straight at me, frightening me, and I
ducked. But the playwright, as old and sick as he was, bent down in one smooth
motion, grabbed the bat, and threw it against the wall. It shrieked loudly and
fell to the ground. (I don’t know if bats shriek in real life, but this one did.)
First Lesson: Don’t let the old bats get you down! I know, this sounds a little
snarky for a somber dream about a dying playwright, but that’s the lesson that came
to me as soon as I awoke, and it made me laugh. There have been a lot of
screeching old bats assaulting me since then, and I always think of Moliere casually
tossing them aside.
We
continued down, farther and farther in this dark, dank, horrible tunnel, until
I thought I’d go mad. I’d almost given up on ever seeing the light again, when
we came to a large ballroom full of bright light, with crystal chandeliers and
a sumptuous feast waiting for us on the banquet table.
Second Lesson: No matter how long or dark, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I
never said these were deep lessons. But lessons they are, nonetheless.
The
banquet table was set for twelve guests, all renowned writers. And me. Moliere and
I were ushered to our seats at the table. Me, dining with Moliere! I was in heaven, or maybe just
dreamland. After we were seated, some kind of strange “machine of fortune” on
wheels (it looked like an old-fashioned slot machine) traveled around the table
to every dinner guest. When the machine came to me, it spilled a wealth of “tokens
of fortune” into my hands: gleaming jewel-like coins in gold and silver and colors
of emerald, sapphire, ruby red, and amethyst. So many coins I couldn’t hold
them all in both hands. I turned to Moliere and offered them to him—and I
realized as he took the coins from me that he wasn’t dying now, he had grown
young and strong again. He smiled at me.
Lesson Three: You can have anything you want, if you’re willing to share it. And
sharing the wealth makes that wealth greater, not less. It’s not always true, but
it’s a lovely thought.
I
suppose you only get one dream like that in a lifetime. But it would be nice if
Moliere dropped by again sometime. (Not in a deep dark tunnel, though, please. And no bats.)
Happy
birthday Moliere! Bubbly, anyone?
