Magpie in Morocco

I had a dream last night that I was wandering a crowded street bazaar in Morocco on a blindingly white day. I have never been to Morocco, it merely exists as a construct of literary and visual fragments in my mind. I suppose it doesn't really matter in dreams.

But this dream had two of the most recurrent threads of my unconsciousness-- traveling, and my frustration at not being able to record what I see. In this case, I did not have any film.

I am almost always traveling in my dreams. Both to places I have been before in real life, and places I have only tread in my unconscious.

I frequently have dreams where I lack the necessary tools to record or preserve what I am seeing or experiencing. Sometimes I don't have a sketchbook or a pen. Less often, I don't have a camera or film. I am a magpie of sorts-- trying to collect that which is fleeting. The spaces in between the big pictures.

And I woke up wishing I had a talisman from the street bazaar.

(this is one of the most beautiful stamps from a collection I inherited from my biological grandfather, who died long before I was a glimmer in the universe.)