It’s a string

I’m enjoying myself immensely in this dream. With a merry-band-of-misfits we laugh and joke and adventure until nature calls, and I need to excuse myself from the sweet band of companions I can no longer recall.

I walk down a long corridor to find the nearest bathroom. It’s clean and bright with three stalls. I pick the one at the opposite wall and settle neatly on the toilet seat. I notice that I’m not naked nor do I take anything off. It’s a dream. Like in the movies, any irrelevant details simply vanish before the action begins. 

There is a phone in my right hand and I fiddle with it for a moment. Realising that I might take awhile, I decide to read an e-book during the process. A simple romance novel, full of shy budding feelings and entertaining coincidences with well-drawn characters all moving purposefully to an inevitable happy ending. 

I’m a sucker for happy endings.

The stall is peach-coloured, roomy and warm. The seat is singularly comfortable and the book is relaxingly delightful. I immerse myself into the story and have an almost-inception feeling. A day-dream in a night-dream.

The bathroom loudspeakers crackle and groan, as if awakening from a long slumber.

Startled, I look up from my phone. Still in the toilet stall, still half-way in my book, no idea how much time has passed. That’s annoying, I think as the inaudible sounds persist. Well, perhaps it’s time to return to the group, I calm myself and get ready to –

‘You’re wasting your time, reading romance and adventure, dreaming about happy endings.’

The voice through the speakers is slightly mechanical, slightly condescending and makes me feel slightly ashamed. As if I had been caught red-handed, pants-down, doing something immoral.

Before I can defend myself, the voice continues. ‘Go out there. Create happy endings. Change things. Change the world.’

Oh no. Anxiety seeps through my body. ‘‘Change the world?! I don’t know how!’ My breath quickens with the panicked urge to melt into the hole I’m sitting on. 

’How?!’ I almost yell the thought as the familiar soft buzz of the wake up call saves me from the embarrassment.

I’m taken from the peachy toilet stall to the calm green bedroom. The sun is high and I can hear the sound of not-too-early morning traffic through the window. I feel confused and awfully sleepy, not ready to wake up. Not yet.

As my hands quest out for the snooze button, my mind chases frantically for the answer. How can I act or change the world? I ask myself and whomever is listening. I am just one person, whatever I can do will not make a speck of difference.

It feels like a part of me is still asleep and I’m now pleading with the loudspeaker-voice.

All I want is to be understood and loved as I am! If I can’t have a happy ending, I want at least to dream of it. Besides, I don’t know how to change the world and it feels like hard work. Can you just let me be?

I hit the snooze button and relax my mind. It was just a dream, I calm myself. Just a dream.

A few deep breaths and I’m gone again. This time to float in a large open space of dreamworld or perhaps some other-world. My consciousness fills with a mumble-jumble of thoughts, words, images and feelings.

You think small.’
I see my small self in a box and feel trapped. 

‘It’s not a doing thing.’
I see a man digging a trench to release the pressure of excess water and a woman holding a finished, steaming cake in her hands. I feel a sense of accomplishment and sense the futility of it. 

Suddenly I know that we can not accomplish changing the world, for there is no end to the change.

‘It’s a string.’
I see the energetic structure of the world next to a massive string instrument. An Estonian chordophone. My fingers reach and pluck one of the strings. The ensuing vibration shifts and changes everything on its path. Every. Single. Thing.

‘Pluck the string. Change the vibration.’
I pluck another string, then one more, waiting reverently between each sound. I receive a knowing that each vibratory wave has to fill its transformative intention before the next one can be received and appreciated.

With the final image of a slightly vibrating massive copper string, the dream fades and I’m back in my green bedroom, fully awake. Three minutes remaining on the snooze alarm.


I still don’t know what that dream meant.
Yet I have the unshakeable feeling that something believes in me.
Believes that I can pluck the strings to change the world.
Perhaps become the strings themselves.


Three days later.

I shared the dream with a few friends. One simply said: ‘You are the chordophone. That’s what it means.’

The other returned with a message in a form of an Estonian song.

It translates roughly as follows:

What is a human?
A shadow of an angel?
Or a cry of longing for souls united?
Each of us an instrument

Through which magnificent melodies
The wind of God whistles
And you will be held

I am the chordophone.
I play and I pluck and I vibrate.
All I need to know is how to be myself.

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