fr

Steve Jobs in dreams

September 25, 2014

Don’t ask me when my dream began. I can tell you that it must have been 6:30 in the morning. Its roots go back in part to the day before, when I did not deal with a cat, but with Fido, my telephone company. I renewed my contract and took the opportunity to get the latest Apple product, the iPhone 6. If I show a cat, it is because I promised myself to write about our lives, about these almost intangible steps that it is so easy for us to count once they are lived. In the short time we have on Earth, we are a cat or snake, we constantly change our lives, or we change our skin.

It was in this context that I dreamt of Steve Jobs. The dream was sweet. Jobs wore a thick wool turtleneck, the same blue that adorns the page. He was wearing grey socks, his pants the same color, so dressed in the style of Jobs, richly simple. We were in a hotel. He was alone, mature, a peaceful look. He knew he was dying. He was not in denial, he seemed rather strong and serene to me. I was fascinated by his presence and, selfishly, proud to be at his side, knowing inwardly that I would probably get some privileges from him. Thus, in the face of this man’s great misfortune, I only perceived his power, his wealth.

He handed me a scroll on which a poem was printed. I knew right away that these were his last words. The spirit soaked in my dream did not allow me to understand or remember this poem. I do remember, however, that Job went to bed in his hotel room, that he was soon to die. The paper I had in my hands contained a secret that I still had to decipher.

At the window of my own room, the morning light struck the walls of this pink dream. Everything evaporated. I have retained a sense of peace.

What else can I say? No one is interested in other people’s dreams, and that’s normal. Jobs still looked like that cat in the picture. An animal from another universe, a distinct consciousness, a foreign life, and yet it was throwing its waves against my cliffs.

I could play the idea that I was visited by a messenger, a guardian angel, who came to reassure me, to remind me that life is rich. I was happy when I woke up. I had a very nice day. Now the horizon before me is made up of storms, death, and spring, new beginnings. I have many lives. I want to live them all.