Dreaming in Color

Last night my dream landscape was drawn and partially scripted by Hal Foster. My brain animated it just as it did when I was a little girl and the stories of Prince Valiant in the Days of King Arthur came alive as I sat on my grandfather’s lap and he read them to me.

Prince Valiant was the only thing he ever read that he did not embellish—everything else he read he would make up ridiculous details and try to pass it as what was on the page. This resulted in me demanding learning to read because I knew he was lying to me.

Reading the comic strip was our father/daughter time. I sometimes leaned on his lap and watched as he pointed out the colorful panels. I learned some of my colors that way. Sometimes we’d talk about other things but it always came back to the story. I remember once talking about the cool breeze near the shore and the sounds the waves made and the feel of blades of grass on your feet because someone had made it there in the story and this is how he made it all come to life for me.

During the week, Papi would collect the paper and on Sunday we’d sit to marvel over the pull page panels. I spent hours tracing lines with my fingers and playing in my head the stories he’d read to me. When we had collected a fistful of strips (every other week or so, I guess), he’d cut out the weekday strips and then cut out the full page from the Sunday paper. The larger ones he numbered with the pencil stub he used to markup wood when he did his carpentry.

Then, he’d sprawl on the ground in the backyard with me, with paper and glue paste, and we’d put together my own personal comic books with the strips.  

Whatever issues I may have with Joe Watley, this he did right: he instilled my love of reading, comics, and Arthurian legends (and Vikings and dragons and all sorts of cool genre stuff). He also encouraged my childhood fantasies of being a complete publisher (I played at being a roving photojournalist, I did the layout, and then I pedaled like a maniac on my tricycle “selling” my newspaper).

Last night, my dream was a Hal Foster painted panel and I was mesmerized. I’m not sure I’ve existed in a comics panel in a dream before. The details were so familiar and oddly comforting, and I got lost in it. It almost felt like I was looking at a tapestry as I examined the details.

And then, movement and indistinct chatter somewhere in the distance… I looked for the source and found myself inside the comic book panel. Then I saw her walk past me—her white dress and her beautiful, wavy hair flowing in the wind and creating a sort of soft trail as she moved. It took my breath away and I knew exactly where I was!

“Aleta...” I whispered her name.

She turned and smiled at me. Then I woke up. And I’ve had this sense of wonder and of being loved all morning.

In times of stress, dreams can heal. And that, my friends, is spiritual alchemy…