This dream is very vivid and rich in sensory details. I have re-engaged with an experimental radio station where I once worked. Somehow, many folks have reconnected to give it another try. Several productions are in progress, and we are on-the-air. The productions are expansive and not limited to radio. The facilities are still coming together, but already rather advanced. I am here-and-there attending to various matters and activities of diverse character.

When a creative sort of fellow appears. Thin and a little tall, sketchy hair, he is dressed in mixed plaids, high-water pants. Just a little bit sullied and shady. He has brought a proposal. Somehow, I am aware of this proposal already. Indeed, it was brought forth before in some earlier incarnation, but was not fulfilled. For some reason or another, I have a decisive position on moving forward, and I absolutely immediately want to do so.

I turn to him and tell him that everything is just great, good idea, good impulses, good promises. All together. And to wrap it all up, I lean forward to tell him, “You’ve gone about this in ex-actly the right way.”

He seems a little quizzical about my comment, and others around us–who know him and me and who’ve been watching the situation–seem to be a little amused. Everyone seems in on something, except me. So, I’m thinking I need to be a little more clear.

“Yes, ex-act-ly the right way. You’ve done this precisely correctly. It’s just perfect that you’ve arrived at this exact moment. I mean, you figured the situation out, you’ve connected with me here, now, exactly as it should be. It’s a wondrous connection.” Or something like that.

Once again, there seems to be some slightly nervous shuffling around on the part of the guy and others in the production area. And then it hits me, maybe I’ve read things a little wrong, and I turn to him:

“Or, did you show up now by accident?”

And it is clear that this is basically the situation: a very thoroughly prepared coincidence. The guy is reticent to be clear, and in fact he rather stumbles over his words. He doesn’t quite want to quell my enthusiasm, but he’s also not wanting to cover up the truth. Which does not bother me, really, though I feel a little diminishing of ego–that all this was not quite so intentionally orchestrated for Me.

The guy continues talking pretty much about the project. Most everyone around seems ready to hit the ground running with this, and it seems I may be the last to be brought in. The guy doesn’t really take up such questions and continues in a bit of a speed rap, speaking with some difficulty, at times with a slight lisp, and I hear him speak the word “Goats.”

“Goats?” I wonder, not at all clear what he is saying.

He continues, blurring and struggling with his expression, “Goa-ts.” He really works at it, “Goa-ts.” And utters slowly “Gho-sts.”

I do not understand this, do not get how this fits in the overall scenario here, which I’ve not been following in detail. But at the moment, the details don’t matter. It’s all ok. The guy is exceptionally creative, the connections are real, the timing is right, there is buzzing energy all around, everywhere.

Suddenly, I look down and realize that I too seem to be dressed in mixed plaids. There are mixed plaid motifs here and there on the walls. Very sophisticated really. Wild.

A young production assistant across the room has been taking all this in as if it were a fine little drama. She nods with bemusement, returning to her screen, as I get back into the swim.