Granddad

The begins in the reality and goes back to February 13th - the day my grandfather died. It's been a month since he's gone and during this stormy, unfavourable time I couldn't convince myself that I won't see him again. I dreamt about him frequently and frequently remembered nothing but an impression that we met somewhere in my subconsiousness. I can recall short episodes only, nevertheless these snapshots seem somewhat meaningful and mighty.
0) I can see my granddad sitting on his bed. He tells me not to forget about my grandmother and to be good for her.
0) I'm in the hospital, standing by my grandfather's bed. He's holding my hand anxiously, begging me for staying with him because he doesn't want to die alone.
0) I realise I can fly - naturally, without any wings or magic - it just needs a little jump, push or bounce and that's it. My parents doesn't seem impressed. Who cares? I am!
0) The graveyard is full of people sanding among innumerable tombstones. I'm with them. Something important has just happened. I feel I'm different from the crowd - I can fly. So can a man - a close friend - standing by. My garndfather's soul is in danger. Togerther with the friend, I have to fly up in the air and wage a bloody battle against demons before God's very eyes...
The last dream is complete. A complete ending...
We're all gathered at my grandparents place. We - meaning me, my family and a bunch of strangers who came here to honour my grandfather. My granddad is with us but he's somewhat anxious and puzzled, which is obvious - no one sees him, no one hears his voice. I know I'm one of the very few people who can still do it. It's as if he's fading away. I take his hand and lead him to his room. I hold his hands. "Granddad" I say "I must tell you something. You died." He seems surprised and saddened. A scream cuts the air. I run out of the room and see a man lying on the floor. He's probably a friend of my granddad's, I don't know him. His look of despair tells me that he's been just told that my gradfather died. He cries bitterly, close to death. His wife falls next to him and cries for help. I come closer and look at the man. He's black, so is his wife. They look very poor in their Twain-like clothes. I wonder if my mum called the ambulance. She probably did. I look around, no one pays any attention to these people as if they vere completely insignificant. I look at the dying man and think if my mum would consider him dirty. I touch his face gently. Suddenly, he's saved. He needed this touch to be cured. His wife cries heavily, asking why nobody wanted to do what I did. I touch her face. I take her hands nad kiss them. Suddenly, they become white. I leave the couple, they are safe now.
The crowd is forming two rows - we're supposed to prepare for taking a group photo. I want to stand in the back, next to my garnddad. I look for him in vain. He vanished. He understood he died.

Krakow by night (from a distance)

one of my recent dreams was divided in two parts that, though "telling" different stories, were somehow connected (and it's not because of the same people starring).

the first part was a story of me and Madziar becoming security officers and private detectives in one. it was a warm night somewhere in Krakow and we were observing someone in a pub. then someone else (most likely his partner) attacked us from behind. Madziar fell down, suddenly everyone disappeared, there was only me, two waitresses and Madziar laying on the ground. we thought she was dead and it frightened me but then she moved. she only had some bruises.

that's where the second part started. we were in Kazimierz, this time with my boyfirend. the three of us walked through a dark park. then Madziar said she would show us a unique place.

she led us to a room with walls of glass. it looked like a classroom. the teachers and all students were bronze. there were two rows of tables, so long that we couldn't see the end. between them there was another row, also bronze. the third row was bizarre. it was a row of similar sculptures. each of them was a bald man standing in front of a wall that reached their chin and looking at it with either sadness or fear. that made me think of the Wailing Wall.

we walked through the classroom between the figures and entered the house.

it was something like Massolit, lots of books, coffee tables, armchairs and couches, beautifully designed rooms, even bedrooms. it was lit by a warm candlelight. it was a book shop and cafe. but it was also someone's home. people lived there, an old lady in her nightgown reading some book in bed seemed like a decoration but it was where she lived. she somehow missed the moment when her home became a public place. and everything made an impression that the house inhabitants didn't even notice the visitors. there was also a children room with all old fashioned toys such as bears, dolls and wodden toys scattered around.

what i missed in the house was a kitchen which seems to me the very heart of a house.