Category: Dreams

Raining Color Dream

After thinking about dreams and posting today’s theme music (“Highway Star”, Deep Purple, 1972), I was fixing brekkie when a dream segment blasted into memory.

I was a child, maybe nine or ten, but could’ve younger, outside with many other children. Blue sky, sunshine, laughing, and game-playing established the background. We were having a great time.

I was heading toward a picnic table by tall pine trees when I heard others gasping. That caused me to look up. When I did, I discovered it was raining. No clouds were visible, but rain was falling.

A bold, shimmering rainbow formed. It seemed like it was right over our heads, so close and solid that we were trying to jump up and touch it. Then the rain became drops of falling color. The colors splashed over us, making us giddy with laughter. We discovered we could cup our hands and catch handfuls of color and pour them over ourselves and one another. Blues, purples, reds, yellows, oranges, and greens were pooling on the ground and streaming together into rainbows that flowed across the land.

Splashing and stomping in these flowing rainbows, we discovered that we could pick up the colored water and shape it like very wet and malleable clay.

The dream ended.

My heart rushes as I remember it.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

The dreams were too cra-cra to even begin to parse more than snippets of scenes. They were all about some kind of business some people where people wanted me involved, and stars. Shooting stars, nebulae, and galaxies seemed like a heavy theme. Sometimes it seemed like I was in a spaceship looking out at stars, galaxies, and nebulae somewhere, except there wasn’t a spaceship. Just me and the stars. Those scenes stayed interspersed with the business scenes and other scenes that are mere flickers — on rocks by water, a flower, the sun.

Okay, from it, memories introduce Deep Purple playing “Highway Star” (1972) from the album Machine Head. It’s a fast-tempo song. It’s Deep Purple, so there is a large infusion of keyboards, but it’s Deep Purple, so it’s hard-rocking with guitars and drums, a perfect song to have cranked up on a cold night when you’re cruising in a car with your friends.

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A Chaotic Collage Dream

It was messed up from go, a frenzied and frantic circus. It took me a while to work into any semblance of coherent structured memory, and I could be wrong. Then, again, this is what I took from it, so…

The dream included Mom, wife, peeing, being in the military (yeah, again), cleaning, and, well, chaos.

Chaos was the overall theme. In the beginning, I needed to use the restroom. After I did, Mom came in to clean after me while I changed into my Air Force uniform and hurried off to work as my wife kissed me good-bye.

I was in command and control once again. Once again, I faced a disorganized situation. Aircraft were inbound. Some carried VIPs, but an inspection team was also due, and we were not ready. I scrambled to get us ready, working up checklists and procedures, trying to train other people, and setting up flight-following boards. This was being done against radios blaring with communications with commanders and aircraft, and ringing telephones.

Then I had to use the restroom again. Rushing over there, I found the facilities inadequate, but my bowels didn’t care. Lowering myself to the tiny seat on the tiny bowl, I did my business. When I finished, I discovered I’d pissed on the floor.

As I discovered that, old women who were present chided me, “Oh, your mother isn’t going to be happy about that.” Well, no, d’uh? Who would be? I rushed to clean it up using white towels, but there seemed too much of it for the towel, and it was taking up too much time.

Mom arrived, as the women predicted (and noted). While chastising me for the mess, Mom shooed me away (“Go to work, I’ll clean it up.”) She dropped to her knees to clean the floor as I donned my uniform again and raced away.

My wife intercepted me to tell me that there was a problem. As she did that, my co-workers called out to inform me that the aircraft were arriving. Then the commander called me and said, “There’s a change of plans.” Oy, vey,

The dream ended.

Yeah, I see how it all speaks to my current frenzy of thought and direction.

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The Lions Dream

My wife and I were outside on a warm day. Tall, golden brown grasses rose to our thighs. We were on a slope.  A single tree was close by.

Feeling relaxed, like we were on a vacation, we were talking and slowly moving, glancing around as we were, going in slightly different directions but generally down a gentle decline. Facing toward my wife and watching her, I caught sight of something to my right. Looking that way, I saw a trio of lions. They were watching my wife.

I said, “Don’t run, but a lion is watching you.” I was trying to think of all the things that you’re supposed to do when a lion is after you so that I could tell her, but as I was thinking, she turned and began running away.

“I said, don’t run,” I said with irritation, watching her run. As I feared, I saw a big male lion rise and follow her.

“Stop running,” I called, trying not to speak too loudly. The lion had to go by me. Picking up a large stick, I approached the lion. As I did, though, I was aware that a female lion and a lion cub were now coming after me. At the same time, my efforts with the stick had drawn the male’s attention.

I told my wife, “They’re not after you. Keep going, but go slowly. I’ll keep their attention.”

My wife made some sort of protest. They reminded the lions about her. I imagined them thinking, he has the stick, and he’s bigger, so let’s go after her, plus she’s running. A lion is a cat. Cats like motion.

I said to the lions, “No, come after me. Look at me.” I waved my arms and hit the stick against the ground. I felt fearless. I felt like I could stop the lions from doing anything, that I could somehow talk them out of being interested in us and leave us alone so that we could leave.

I began telling the lions that in a soft voice. Turning away after a few minutes, they headed across the field in another direction.

The dream ended.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Dream of Dancing without Music

There’s so little of this dream, but the image weighs on me. 

I’m in a dark, small club, dancing in with a group of strangers. Strobe lights and spotlights sometimes illuminate the crowd. Although I’m tired and sweaty, I’m having fun.

Then, I’m surprised to realize that I can’t hear any music. Everyone is still dancing. I’m still dancing. “Does anyone hear any music?” I ask.

No one pays me any attention. I can hear everyone’s feet thumping and shuffling. Nobody is talking or laughing or anything. None make eye contact with me; many have their eyes closed or their heads bowed.

Turning, I look for a band or a DJ. Not seeing either, I hunt for music system speakers. What’s weird is how everyone seems to be moving to the same beat. Most have their arms over their head, giving me an impression that I’m in the middle of a sea of arms. They’re generally younger people, say, their early twenties to early thirties. Multiple races are present, though most are pale skinned in this light. I peer at them, hunting for clues of headphones or a Bluetooth. Seeing neither, I say, “Does anyone hear any music? I don’t hear any music.”

I’m beginning to suspect that it’s just me that doesn’t hear the music. It amuses and frightens me; I can’t hear music, but I’m still dancing.

I stop dancing, because, why should I keep dancing? I remember seeing a movie being filmed that was like this, with people dancing without music, with the music applied later. I wondered if that was what was happening. I looked for cameras or some clue but again, no clues emerged.

I feel the dance floor shaking. Looking down, I’m surprised. It looks like we’re dancing on a wooden deck. I wonder if we’re on a boat or ship.

The dream ends.

 

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The Flagpole Dream

Fade in: I’m outside with others. Someone mentions a neighbor’s flagpole. That flagpole causes something to happen. I respond, “Well, they should move it, then.” There are protests about how difficult that would be, but I say, “That shouldn’t be hard. Hard, yes, but it can be done. It’ll just take some effort.”

Next up: someone announces, “We’re going to go help the neighbors.”

Cross-talk follows. I gather that the neighbor is following up on my idea to move their flagpole.

A flirtatious and vivacious middle-aged white woman with short blonde hair with highlights asks me, “Are you going to help, Michael?”

I envision digging a hole, so I shrug. “Sure. Let me get a shovel.”

Reaching ‘off stage’ I find a spade. “I’m ready.” Everyone else, about eight of us, were also ready.

“Let’s go,” the middle-aged woman says.

We walk down the street as a group. Arriving at the neighbor’s yard, we present ourselves as a small squad at attention. Our intention is announced.

The neighbor thanks us. Then he says, “Okay, thanks. Come on, Michael.”

“What?”

“Show us what we’re supposed to do.”

“Me?”

“I thought you knew how to move it.”

I think through this in the dream, readying protests, but then overcome my doubts. “Okay, sure.” I believe that I can solve any problems on the fly. “Well, first, let’s remove it from its old location.”

He shows me the silver flagpole. It seems to be brushed aluminum. As I approach it, I call to the rest, “Okay, everyone, come on over and let’s figure out how to move it.” Then I put my hands around the flagpole and give it a jerk, to test how secure it is.

I almost fall over as the flagpole comes out. Startled, I set it down. The neighbor explains, “It wasn’t fixed in place.”

“No kidding.” I look into the hole where the pole had been. It seems light, and there’s clear water. Something is swimming in there. I think it’s an eel. Stepping back with surprise, I begin to speak but the neighbor interrupts me. As he’s talking, a moray eel leaps out of the water and tries to bite his arm.

I’m shocked. It seems like the neighbor didn’t notice. Glancing around, it seems like no one saw what I did.

I tell everyone what I think I saw. As I do, an eel leaps out and tries to bite my arm. People see that. As we’re talking about what it means, the eel climbs out of the water and rests on the outside of the hole. I’m trying to understand what this means. It means danger to me, but it also means something unusual, something that needs investigated.

Engineers arrive to speak with the neighbor about where to put his flagpole. While they’re talking, I see several lobsters climb out of the hole. I’m amazed but I have no idea what’s going on.

The engineers then notice the lobsters and stop talking.

The dream ends.

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Yet Another, Yes, Military Dream

This one was a bit different. In the military again, with a friend, and our wives, and others, in a hotel. He’d once worked for me, but eventually passed me in promotions while I chose to retire. Now, here he was a CMSgt, E9, which is the senior enlisted rank and pay grade in the Air Force, urging me to come with him to party and do things.

A special guest was due, the highest enlisted position in the Air Force, a position and rank called the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force. There is only one at a time. My buddy was eager for me to meet him and have drinks with him.

I went along at first, but then decided, no. I’m done. Not interested. I’m passing.

He came by in his mess dress with medals and ribbons, and black tie to collect me. I was in jeans and a tee shirt. He said, “You’re not ready.” His face fell when I told him that I wasn’t going. He tried cajoling me to change my mind. I held firm.

“That’s not me,” I said.

He shook his head and said, “Man, I’ve so disappointed in you.”

I told him, “You’ll get over it.”

Then he went on, and I turned away to do other things.

The dream ended.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Yeah, out of the dream reflections about the party dream came Pink’s song, “Get The Party Started” (2001).

Not much of the lyrics have much to do with the dream except that others were present and urging me to party. It’s more that after I was thinking about it, I got up and moved onto other things, telling myself as I did, “Well, it’s time to get this party started.”

I was referring to the day so it gave me pause as I pondered new accidental insights into the dream. Then Pink’s music jumped the stream, and off I went.

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Monday’s Theme Music

It seems like my mind is determined to turn back time in my dreams. It’s also making all these song connections. (Like, boom, Cher has begun singing, “If I could turn back time.”)

The dreams were crazy chaos, leaving images like flashes of sunlight off of windshields. The dreams’ theme was ‘anything goes’. That theme conjured up the show tune from the musical with the same name, “Anything Goes”, which, let’s see…came out twenty-two years before my birth, but the movie did come out the year I was born.

Out of this throwback, go-go sense came the song that’s haunting the morning’s stream (now I have this image of a musical urine stream…oh, boy. (“I heard the news today, oh boy.” Yeah, the Beatles.) It’s from a 1964 movie, so I was eight.

The song is “The Monkey’s Uncle”. Although the Beach Boys perform it with Annette Funicello singing it, it’s written by the Sherman Brothers. Yeah, I looked it up. I knew the first two pieces but not the third. The Sherman Brothers were prolific songwriters. You should check out their list. I can tell you that one of their other songs, “It’s A Small World”, has entered my stream.

Meanwhile, the monkey’s uncle idiom amuses me. In one of those flashes in the dream, someone else says it in what feels like a sitcom moment. I’m looking at the guy when he does. Canned laughter kicks in, and then the song begins.

I don’t hear people say, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” that often any longer. I think it was dying out as a popular saying even when I was young, sputtering along in movies and television where caricatures of old folks say it.

That frenetic dream activity left me felt energized, like it was a storm blowing out my mind’s systems. Anyway, the long and short of it (had to throw that in, it was in dream), is “The Monkey’s Uncle” is today’s theme music.

Feel free to sing along, or if you’re like me, laugh along, with the video.

 

 

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The Friends & Neighbors Dream

As the dream starts, my wife and I are in bed. I’ve awakened but she’s asleep. Gray light slipping through the upper windows makes me believe that it’s early morning. Cats are up and want fed. I oblige.

My neighbor comes in. I’m surprised and confused, wondering how he got in and why he’s there now. He’s apologizing for his behavior (no, not for coming in, but for other things). Not invested in that at the moment — it’s early, I haven’t had my coffee, and the cats are clamoring for attention — I basically try to dismiss him and get him back out. Then he asks to use our bathroom because his girlfriend is asleep in his place and he doesn’t want to wake her. I work out with a glance around that ‘his place’ is a door off the my living room. I don’t understand that arrangement at all. Concluding that his girlfriend is asleep in there, I close the door. He comes out of my bathroom, goes over, and opens that door again, explaining that he needs to keep an eye on her.

My wife awakens and joins me. I attempt to explain what’s going on, but things are becoming more chaotic by the second. Sunshine is streaming through the windows. I’m hungry. I go to find food. Before I can, others interrupt me.

The next thing I know, I’m outside of the house in a hilly, bushy terrain, and I’m putting up signs. They’re simple signs, white heavy cardboard on slender pieces of pointed, cut wood. I don’t know what the signs say; they seem to change as I look at them. Sometimes, I find that the signs that I’ve put up have been pulled out of the ground or aren’t there, exasperating the hell out of me. It’s like I’ll never finish.

Meanwhile, I notice that there’s food under bushes and trees — pancakes, wraps, burritos, sandwiches. Debating about whether I should pick them up as garbage, I decide to leave them there for animals to eat. As I continue rushing around, putting up signs, I encounter friends. None of these people is anyone that I know. Some complain that when I’m putting up signs, I’m in their way. They want me to move. I protest, why should I be the one to move? I need to put up these signs. Yes, I’m told, but it’s easier for you to pause, move aside, and let us go on, and then resume. I agree, just to end the stalemate.

I notice that the food under the bushes isn’t being touched. I thought birds or animals would’ve tone after it, then shrug it off.

My hunger has increased. Hearing music, I realize that a Beatles song is playing. As the melody flows, I recognize “With A Little Help From My Friends”. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Setting the signs aside, I think, I am so hungry, I  must find something to eat. As I do, a woman at a neighboring house opens her front door and steps out onto her porch. “I’m making spaghetti,” she declares in a loud voice. “Who wants some?”

“I do,” I answer as others say, “Me.” We rush her house.

The dream ends.

 

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