Category: Dreams

An Inconclusive Dream

First, my sister-in-law was visiting my wife and me. She was upset and came to talk to us.

I can’t describe where we were at. My observations were limited to a very close personal point-of-view. There seemed to be a place in black and white, and seemed like it was night, but we were inside, so I’m not certain of much beyond those basics.

I don’t know what upset my sister-in-law, either, nor why she came to us. All of that is hazy. My wife and I were tired and got into bed to go to sleep, and my sister-in-law got into bed, too.

None of us could sleep. First, one of my cats (the ginger fellow) came in, walked up to my head and looked at my face. I tried pulling my covers over my head so that I could sleep.

Then, I heard voices. After listening and failing to identify who it was or where they originated, I got up and started talking about them. My wife said that she heard them, too. I went to find the source and discovered my nephew. He’s my wife’s other sister’s son. Sitting cross-legged on a bed,  he was engaged in a noisy phone conversation on speaker.

I went back and reported that and then left for downstairs. Downstairs was daylight. Part of it was a gas station, but there was also a junk yard, and other things that I couldn’t make out. The gas station owner turned out to be my lawyer. I was being tried for something. I don’t know the charges. He and I walked around, supposedly to talk about the case, but neither of us were interested in it. He thought I was going to be convicted, and I unconcerned. Strolling around, we were under lights, but outside, but remained daylight. Others were there. They distracted the gas station owner/lawyer, a big old white male with short brown hair dressed in blue overalls. He drifted off to talk to them.

Sitting down, I gazed around the pile of junk. It was mostly old cars, tires, pieces of fencing, and a few appliances. Across the way, I saw a Studebaker Hawk. Rusted and faded, it had lost its side windows and wheels, but was otherwise intact. When the lawyer/GSO returned, I pointed it out for confirmation that’s what I was seeing. Yes, he answered, and then launched into a meandering story about how it came there that I couldn’t hear or understand.

He went away ago. Turning, I discovered a red Ferrari Testarossa Spyder go-cart. I wanted to know if it ran, and what it used for an engine, whether it was electric or gas-powered. I put these questions to the lawyer/GSO when he came back.

ferrari-testarossa-spyder

“Sure,” he said, with a good ol’ boy laugh while scratching himself. “It runs.”

“Can we start it?” I asked.

The laywer/GSO looked around and said (I think), “Let me see if I can find him.”

My wife came down. I told her about the Studebaker and the Ferrari, showing her the latter, telling her that I was waiting to see if it can be started.

The dream ended on that note.

5

The Boxes Dream

Looking out a window, I saw an elderly white woman gesturing as she ranted. I couldn’t understand what caused her ire, and then realized she addressed the presence of two white boxes. The boxes weren’t large, about the size of a VHS tape cassette each. Her issue seemed to be that they were sitting by the side of the road, and nobody was picking them up. After she pointed the boxes out, I could see the boxes and the road, and see that she stood on a yellow field.

A friend from my military service, Derek, came in and left me a box. Closed, made of brown cardboard, it was about four by four by four inches, a cube. After some time of sitting around the place doing other things, and looking out the window at the ranting woman and the two white boxes, I picked the box up and tried, but failed, to open it. Setting the box down, I left the house.

It was dreary and busy outside. The ranting woman was gone. The two white boxes were still there. I crossed the yellow field to them and picked them up. Cars passed me on the road as I examined the boxes. They were flimsy and empty. I couldn’t understand why the woman was so upset about them and their presence. I looked for a place to discard them. Not finding one, I took the boxes to my place.

I left my place again and went to what seemed like a parcel delivery place. It was very busy. I found a locker with three boxes inside it. They were addressed to someone else, a man. I knew his name, but I didn’t know him, but I believed I knew what was in the boxes. I wanted to know, so I took the boxes to my place, and opened them.

I can’t recall what was in two of the boxes, but shoes were in the third. Feeling ashamed of what I’d done, I closed the boxes and left with them, meaning to return them. I ran into Derek and explained what I’d done, and that I needed to put them back. I didn’t want anyone else to know what I’d done, and I wanted the rightful recipient to get his boxes. Derek couldn’t help. I eventually took the box back to where I’d stolen them and put them there.

After returning home, I took the two white boxes that the woman railed about, and put them back where they’d originally been. Then I went back into my place.

Derek came in and took the box he’d brought me. “Sorry,” he said. “This wasn’t supposed to go to you.”

He left, and the dream ended.

4

The Food Dream

I awoke hungry from last night’s dream.

It was a simple thing. My wife and I were with many other people. I knew them all, but she’s the only one I recognize from my actual life.

After walking on a cement walk, we entered a hall or reception area. I smelled food as soon as I walked in. Huge, the place bustled with people hurrying about. I realized most were servers. Long tables of food were set up along the walls on either side.

My wife and I were confused, asking one another, are we supposed to be here? Neither of us knew. We were looking around. The people we’d been with were not with us. We couldn’t see them. We saw a lot of other people, but not anyone we knew. I decided, “We must be in the wrong place. We took a wrong turn. We’re not supposed to be here.”

She agreed with me. We were turning to leave when a young serving woman in dress in black, with a white apron, approached and said, “Let me show you to your table.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” I said. “Is this a wedding or reception?”

The young woman looked confused. “No. This is where everyone eats.”

I was confused. “Who is everyone?”

“Everybody.”

“So this food is for everyone?”

“Yes.”

We went back and forth talking about it because I was sure there was something yet to be revealed about what included everybody, but it was a circular dialogue, with the answer being that we’re supposed to be here. The food was for us.

My wife and I looked at one another. “I guess we’re supposed to be here,” I said.

“You are,” the woman said. “Follow me to your table.”

We followed her but I remained highly doubtful. She took us to a table, one of those big, round ones, set with flatware and glasses for ten. A young man came up, asking if what we wanted to drink. He could get us anything that we wanted. We chose our drinks. He went off. We then realized it was a buffet and went off to one side. There was table after table with food parallel to the wall, with servers waiting behind the tables. I think I saw everything – turkeys, hams, steaks, and fish, along with bowls of vegetables, and potatoes prepared in different ways, like scalloped, boiled new with butter and parsley, and mashed. I saw an omelet bar, a huge salad bar, and pies, cakes, and cookies at a another table, and an ice cream sundae bar.

The sight of so much food floored me. I still didn’t think I was supposed to be there. I was certain there was a misunderstanding. Nevertheless, I ordered food, which is where the dream ended.

Writing this up today, I realize I’ve had similar dreams to this before. I derive a meaning from it that makes me grit my teeth, that I continue to doubt myself, believing that I’m not worthy, that I don’t belong to wherever I’m going.

4

The Shooting Dream

I dreamed last night that I was shooting people. Don’t worry, I hadn’t gone on a rampage; I was being told by others who to shoot and when.

They were real people, and not voices in my head, or ghosts. It was a beautiful day. I cringe to note this, but I was on a grassy knoll. Around me, though, was mostly country side. I had a rifle. A person beside me – not anyone that I know – would be given a piece of paper. They would read something and then look around, and point, and I would aim and shoot.

It didn’t bother me in the dream, but this is not me. I’ve gone hunting a few times, but didn’t like it and stopped. I was in command and control in the military, and controlled nukes, but I eventually grew to dislike that role. As I’ve lived, I’ve concluded that there are enough threats to life out there without us going about killing one another. Yes, I understand that life is finite, and we’ll all die, and killing another is simply advancing the outcome. But I also understand that killing brings waves of actions and reactions. Some of those waves never stop, but build and expand, creating more killing.

So, it was a startling dream for me to experience. But I was just following orders, right?

0

A Blushing Dream

I’m generally self-effacing and prefer to hang around the edges, watching and observing. Being the center of attention, praised, or honored, is something that provokes all manner of winces from me. So last night’s dream is one of those that made me wince, not just for those reasons, but because it bumped up against my impostor syndrome.

Not surprising. Many writers feel like they’re on the verge of exposure, that they don’t have talent or much to say that others would find interesting. The dream pushed me against all of that.

I was at a huge writing conference.  I guess over two thousand people were present. We were in chairs in a ballroom. I was in the front row in a seat of honor. As the conference began, the organizer took a moment to note my presence and thank me for attending, and said all sorts of wonderful things about my writing. I was the only one she did this with. The rest enthusiastically cheered and applauded. I stood, gave them a quick wave, and returned to my seat as fast as I could.

We’d brought writing projects to read to the rest. Before reading them, we were being given time to make final edits. The woman beside me was nervous and asked me if I would mind editing and revising her work. I agreed and set upon it.

Well, anyone who writes knows how often writers feel the urge to change whatever someone else has written. It’s rare that I don’t feel that, even with many published books.

So it was at the conference. I made multiple changes to her manuscript because mine was finished and didn’t need changed (ha, ha). When the woman returned to me, I explained what I did. She was surprised but delighted. We agreed that the two of us would read it together, that she would read the female parts while I read the male parts. This made sense in the dream. She was one of the first up, and that’s what we did, to great acclaim.

Time skipped past. I knew others had read. It was my turn. Again, I was given an elaborate introduction. The praise made me uncomfortable. I got up to read.

People weren’t paying attention, though. A hubbub swelled through the room as others stood, stretched, and generally milled about.

I was perplexed, because I thought I was about to read. What’s going on, I thought, waiting for the others to settle.

Wearing shorts, I suddenly felt something amiss. Looking down, I saw my pecker sticking out of my shorts’ leg. Glancing about to see if anyone was observing me, I hastily turned away and made my adjustments so the devious creature was back in the house and concealed, as God intended.

Then I turned back around. A moment later, everyone quieted and returned to their seats. I was introduced again and asked to read. Great applause followed. I began by giving a brief summary of the history of what I’d written, and the dream ended.

0

The Mother-in-law Dream

My mother-in-law passed away in February of this year. I dreamed that I was visiting her last night.

It was a tranquil dream. She and her husband had bought some land and put a house on it in the early 1970s. That was where I visited her last night. My wife was there, too, along with her sisters and their husbands, and the grandchildren.

My mother-in-law and I were both about thirty years younger than now in the dream. While everyone was gabbing and laughing in one room, she was alone in the kitchen. I went down the hall to get some coffee. She called me over to the kitchen island where the stove top was.

Papers were in her hand. I recognized checks, dollar bills, and checks. She handed one check to me, saying as she did, “I want you to have this for everything you’ve done for us over the years.”

I hadn’t done anything for them of note through the years, so I was protesting that it wasn’t necessary. She insisted, continuing, “I’m giving everyone something.” She pressed a check toward me. The amount in her writing in blue ink, was eight hundred twenty three thousand dollars.

I was shocked. “You can’t give this to me,” I said. She insisted again. Going around the kitchen island, I said, “Give me a hug.”

Then I remembered, she had passed away, and I knew, this was a dream.

As that recognition sank in, my wife entered our sunny bedroom. “Hi,” she said. She was carrying a plate and a fork. “I brought you apple pie for breakfast.”

Still abed, I said, “Oh, boy, breakfast in bed, and it’s pie. Apple pie in bed.” Laughing, I sat up and reached for the pie, and realized, I was still dreaming.

Then I awoke.

3

A Short and Startling Dream

I rocked up from sleep to look around.

The house was quiet. Everyone, even the cats that I saw, were asleep. Everyone except me.

3:25, according to my Fitbit.

The dream remained a fresh flow in my thoughts. I’d been at some ill-defined place. I remembered green grass as well as glass and cement. Awake, I thought, school, office, cemetery, mausoleum, hospital? None quite fit.

Wherever and whatever it was, I was there, along with other people. Everyone else was on their backs with their arms at their sides. I thought they were asleep. I didn’t know any of them. I thought there were eight people.

(And there was eight in my dreams again, I noted in a sidebar. Eight frequently comes up in my dreams.)

I thought everyone was sleeping but as I didn’t hear snoring, I began suspecting that they were dead. None of them moved.

It was cool. I was fully dressed in jeans and a polo shirt and shoes. Everyone I saw was dressed, too, and had shoes on. As I walked, I realized that I was in a small section of this place. Turning a corner, I saw thousands more people like that, all on their backs, not on beds, but on what seemed like stretches, like the EMT uses. There were orderly rows and rows of them.

I was shocked and concerned. Nobody was moving. Trying to puzzle out what was going on, I looked for documentation or equipment that would provide clues, but there were only massive rooms with white walls, shiny tiled floors, fluorescent lights, ceilings with acoustic tiles, and windows that revealed manicured grass lawns and a bright blue sky outside.

I started checking. Are these people dead, or…

It seemed like they were breathing, but everyone’s eyes were closed. Nobody snored. I touched a woman and a man and found them warm. Nobody seemed injured. I didn’t recognize anyone. Most were white and middle-aged. There were men and women. I didn’t see any children, and it was absolutely quiet. The only noise I heard the entire time was the sound of my steps when I walked.

Panicking, I thought, maybe this is a ward for a disease. Maybe these people were being quarantined. As I thought these things, I looked around and concluded that it wasn’t a hospital, but I didn’t know what it was. That didn’t mean that these people weren’t in quarantine, because they could be using a school or office for it because something big had happened.

Struggling to understand it, I tried recalling how I arrived there, and failed. I retraced my steps to see if there was a space where I’d slept. Unsure where I’d been, I kept walking and searching for where I’d started. I didn’t see any empty beds. Nor did I see any doors.

Realizing that, I thought, there’s no way out, and then thought, how did I get in here, then?

Then I awoke, sweating and alarmed. It all seemed so ill-defined that it bothered me.

It took some time before I went back to sleep.

1

A Scavenger Dream

I’d just begun new employment. I wasn’t the age I now am, but I was middle-aged and experienced in office environments.

The office building was one of those old San Mateo buildings used by start-ups. It was dark and cramped inside. I don’t know what the company was doing or what my position was.  Those things were being explained but a haze covers that part of the dream. Then my boss, a director, said, “Here comes the CEO.” All present, except for me, started gravitating around the CEO and his words.

Beginning to sort the situation, I discovered a huge collection of parts. Looking at them, I realized it was a stockroom of one part. I don’t know what the part was. Taking one apart, I found batteries inside. Then I found and read paperwork, and spoke to others. The gist of what I understood about the company was that it was struggling and going through a re-organization. Resources were scarce. Investigating, I learned that the parts were old stock. They’d set it aside to get rid of it. I decided I’d remove the batteries, test them to see if they worked, or recycle them. Then I go find something to do with the parts.

The CEO came along while I was in the middle of doing this. “What are you doing?” he asked. I explained my plan.

My initiative impressed him. “This is the kind of thing we need to be doing until we get on our feet,” he told the others in a little speech.

I shrugged all of that off and kept going about my business. In another room, I discovered food being thrown away. I couldn’t understand that at all. Like the parts and batteries, I decided that wasn’t appropriate, so I began going through the food, checking the dates and packaging, and organizing it by its food group. Others entered while I was doing that. Many asked, “What are you doing?”

I explained myself each time. People most often replied, “That’s too much work.”

I didn’t argue with them or explain myself. I was settling in and had the time. It was a unique time and exercise; once it was done, it wouldn’t be needed to be done again.

I knew that, so I kept at it. As I worked, the food, battery and parts disappeared, as though I was seeing it through a time-lapsed recording. The office became brighter.

In the end, I paused. I was holding an armful of food containers. Looking around, I thought, I’m scavenging energy for re-use.

Understanding that, I went on, and the dream ended.

0

The Direction Dream

Hartford, CT.

It seems like a strange place for a destination for a writer living in Oregon, but that’s where I was going in my dream.

It began as a confused melange of chaotic colors. A story emerged. I was with my wife, and a friend, Mark (not his real name), and his wife. We’d survived something and had come together. Now we were going to Hartford, CT. Then we’d fly out of there. I don’t know where we were flying to.

I said, “Okay, I know the way. Follow me.”

My wife and I got in our car and started driving. Mark and his wife were in an eighteen-wheeler truck. Mark drove. His truck was glossy black with neon green trim. At first, I was leading, but coming up on two other eighteen-wheelers, I became stuck behind them. Mark passed us. The three trucks were aligned across the highway, blocking all three lanes. All three trucks were painted the same color and style, glossy black with neon green trim.

I managed to pass them with some aggressive driving. The highway entered a woods and then became an unpaved rough path that grew fainter and narrower. We finally stopped because it seemed like the wrong way, and we couldn’t go on.

Meeting up with Mark, he said, “I have GPS. I’ve mapped out the way. Follow me.”

I said, “Where are we going?” I knew we’d said Hartford, Connecticut, before, but it seemed odd.

“Hartford, Connecticut,” Mark said.

“Why Hartford, Connecticut?” I said.

Mark laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re going to fly out of there. Trust me.”

We drove in our vehicles, me following him. In a surprisingly short time, we stopped. We weren’t in Hartford, Connecticut, but in someplace we’d stay until we could go on. My wife went ahead with Mark and his wife while I stayed behind to help a homeless person, chatting with them while giving them food and money.

Then I went to the hotel. I told the desk agent who I was and who I was looking for, but they knew me, and said we were already checked in. I prepared to pay, but they told me it was all already paid for, and showed me into a luxury suite. It was gorgeous, with a private dining area for the suites on that floor that was on a balcony overlooking an amazing vista. That’s where my companions were sitting and chatting.

Mark had it all arranged. All I needed to do was to trust and follow him. I agreed to do that.

After buying some food for our trip, we departed. Two cats traveled with me. Sometimes they were in a kennel, but sometimes they wandered about freely. It seemed like we were traveling in our suite at that point, confusing me. I’d get in my car to drive, but the entire place would go, not requiring me to do anything but trust Mark. My wife and I socialized with him and his wife.

His wife had a birth defect that left her without feet. Instead of feet, her legs ended in two knuckles that she walked around on. She had several animals, too.

An issue emerged with her. She was eating soldiers. As this hubbub arose, I rushed to learn what was going on, and to basically get involved. What she actually ate were small plastic soldiers. While it appalled me because they were plastic, probably didn’t taste good, and lacked nutritional value, I defended her against the rest, and they agreed. They didn’t like it but she wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

After that, I fed my cats and found several extra sandwiches that I’d bought for the trip. They were in my car, in a compartment made to hold them. The sandwiches were of the kind called submarine sandwiches, or subs, like I bought at G.C. Murphy’s when I was a child. I didn’t eat the sandwiches, because I had food, but hung onto the sandwiches to eat them later.

That’s where it all ended, giving me a lot to think about on my walks today. We were still enroute to Hartford, Connecticut. It was the place to go, according to Mark, and we’d get there, if I just trusted him.

I’ve already taken some ideas from it. Chiefly, Mark is my muse, and I need to quit second-guessing him. If I do, I’ll get where I want to go.

Hartford, Connecticut? It’s not a matter of the name of the place, but rather a destination that I don’t know. It’s named, but it’s a surprise.

There was another dream, but I feel too exhausted from thinking and writing about that one to go into now. I’ll write about it another time.

Trust me.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑