Today it is raining cats and dogs in Shanghai. Has been since before dawn. A soaking rain. A steady misty rain. The kind you expect in March or April. The kind that brings the flowers. On the streets, cyclists wear their colorful plastic ponchos. Umbrellas are cheap on every corner.

Today, the pollution feels thick, like a moldy velvet curtain in an old theatre. I want to push it aside, but I seem to be wrapped in it, cloaked on the edge of the old stage.

I sit at my desk, watching the rain, thinking about this blog, this city, this country, and the process of synthesizing this experience. Synthesizing China. What I’ve discovered lately is that it’s not just a conscious process anymore...it’s not conscious me walking around the city being aware of every difference and similarity, gauging each moment, comparing and contrasting, grabbing at anything that will help me understand and feel comfortable. No, now my subconscious  has leapt into it, too, and it seems to be leading me down a path to somewhere.

At night, I dream about Chinese characters, like the ones in the restaurant sign above. I know 47 characters now. I can write them. In fact, when I drive around the city with Mr. Chen, I trace them on my leg with my finger. Sometimes at night when I wake up, I find I’ve been tracing them on my pillow or the sheet. I see Chinese things in my dreams, but so far they’re fuzzy and faraway...like lamps in the darkness. If only I could move a little faster from a deep sleep to awakening, I might be able to catch them. But as it is, I seem to swim slowly through this process, up a river so long, I lose my dreams along the way.

Until recently, I’ve always been able to wake and remember even most minute detail of the night’s adventures. For years I’ve written my dreams in  a journal and trained my mind to hold onto their vivid images, strange sequences, and shocking emotions. But now that I’m immersed in China, my dreams are shifting and so far I’ve only been able to hold on to a few.