Category: Dreams

Friday’s Theme Music

As I’ve done on other days, I selected today’s music because it was streaming in my mind when my dream ended.

“While You See A Chance” comes from Steve Winwood’s Arc of A Diver (1981). It’s not my favorite song from the album, but some of the song’s lines were going through me.

When some cold tomorrow finds you
When some sad old dream reminds you
How the endless road unwinds you
While you see a chance take it
Find romance, fake it
Because it’s all on you

h/t azlyrics.com

I thought those lines were being remembered because I was thinking that it was an old dream that I was remembering, one that I recalled dreaming before (and thinking, oh, great, my dreams are in re-runs — or maybe I’m remaking them, rebooting them, in accordance with the current television and film trends — and scoffing), and it was a cold morning. Perhaps subconsciously summoning the song, I thought about the endless road of life and drifted into tangents about my life’s minutiae. Then the song streamed in.

I had a final laugh, then, because a cold tomorrow had found me, and then got up to feed some beasts and hunt down coffee.

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Multiple Dreams

I had multiple dreams last night. Most remain in pieces in my mind like debris after a storm. The essences:

  1. I was plotting a murder and intent on carrying it out. I don’t know who I was killing or my motive.
  2. A cat was the size of an American nickel. A happy little animal, he was kept in a jar. I watched over him, ensuring he wasn’t lost or injured, and played with him.
  3. The third dream found me playing a game that may have been a show on television. I was winning by answering questions and advancing through levels. It seemed to combine physical prowess and the ability to answer questions.

Not much further information is available on the murder dream. Awakening and thinking about it, I attribute it more to my writing muses than an intention to kill another person. I’m always thinking about escaping, surviving, killing, investigating, flying, traveling, exploring, and robbing places. They’re exercises for my imagination, IMO.

The cat dream was a simple anxiety dream. Quinn hasn’t been well. His breathing bothered us. We’d endured a summer of wildfire smoke and hazardous air, so I put his breathing problems down to that. We’d been keeping him inside and addressing his breathing issues. When he didn’t improve after the air improved, I thought I’d take him in for an antibiotic shot.

But the vet found a lump on Quinn’s neck, so we’re going through the challenge of treating him, keeping him hydrated, and feeding him. We’re not certain of his issue, yet. Never a large cat, he dropped two pounds and now weighs just five. He’s mostly perky, though, but not eating and drinking enough on his own. I take comfort and hope in signs like him rubbing up against me, jumping on my lap, stretching, trying to claw furniture, and yawning.

Meanwhile, I’m going through the process of letting him go. I’ve endured this with other pets, so I understand some of the emotional, physical, and intellectual dynamics. It’s always different, of course, and it’s never easy.

I enjoyed the game show dream. First, you’d press a button to start the big wheel spinning, and press the button again to stop it. The big wheel had activities and numbers. If it landed on the activity, you did it. Doing the activity, such as twenty push-ups, authorized you to rob a competitor by taking a token or moving them back by a spin on the punishing wheel.

If the big wheel landed on a number, that was the number of spaces you’d move. Climbing, crawling, jumping, and swinging on ropes were required to move along squares. After moving forward and stopping on a square, you were asked a question. Fall to answer it correctly — it was timed, but you had three chances — meant you faced the punishment wheel.

Come to think of it, there was a television audience cheering us on. Writing about it today prompts comparisons to an updated game of Life combined with Trival Pursuit, which sums up my writing life, I think.

Spinning wheels, killing time, chasing trivia, and hoping to advance, it’s a writer’s life.

2

The Collusion of Confusion Dream

It was such a muddle, with an interesting cast of my wife and her family, including her late parents. One of her brothers-in-law were present, and a niece and nephew. Three dream aspects were most prominent.

  1. The dream took place in a huge rambling home cluttered with junk.
  2. I wanted to use the toilet but the filth, clutter, and lack of privacy prevented me.
  3. My deceased father-in-law made a startling confession.

Other things that were included is that it was on a place called the property (which was weedy and brown, with a few green bushes), and a young naked man had a cameo appearance, along with car salesmen, and a seven-year-old brat.

I’m in the middle of this, of course, but that’s the dream’s essence. I was in the middle of everything, and sought privacy to use a toilet. This house, never seen before in life, was an old place, circa 1940s, painted pale yellow and brown, with multiple floors. While I don’t recognize it, a tenet of the dream was that I was returning to the house to check its condition. My sister-in-law and her hubby were supposed to be taking care of it, but it was a disaster. They obliviously cackled and laughed when it was mentioned to them.

The house was well-lit with sunlight coming through multiple windows. Trying to get through the rooms was like walking in a junk yard. Old furniture, books, catalogs, tools, and appliances cluttered every available space, including the bathrooms and commodes.

My wife’s parents, sisters, brother-in-law, and I tiptoed about, looking and talking. We tiptoed because it was hard to get around things. We all appeared to be in our forties, including my wife’s parents. After some time, I needed to use a toilet. Finding the bottom floors useless, I went upstairs. Everyone followed me. I figured that if I could find a reasonably clean commode, I’d tidy it and use that. I found a bucket of water to help me flush. I considered using the bucket for my toilet if I couldn’t find one that would do the job.

The problem was, everyone kept following me. I couldn’t get the desired privacy.  As several simultaneous conversations went on, mostly about buying cars, and mostly about buying a BMW, I went up another flight, and perhaps one more, to the top floor. It was just as cluttered as the rest. A young naked white man and young woman (white, with brown hair, dressed in blue) were on the top floor. Appearing about twenty years old, they were strangers. I didn’t care; I only wanted a toilet.

Not to be. It was now, too, that the seven-year-old brat appeared. I have no idea who this white, bespectacled child was, but he was more of a nuisance than the rest.

My father-in-law, hands in pocket, made his confession. He said, roughly, “You need to be careful, or you’ll be swindled. I know, because it happened to me.” It was longer than that but that’s the gist. His confession embarrassed him, and we were struck by his honesty. After making his speech, he walked away, going back down the stairs. The naked man said, “That took a lot for him to say. If I were you, I’d never talk about it to anyone, out of respect for him.” We all agreed that was the case even as I wondered, who the hell is this guy? I questioned him, and he didn’t know my father-in-law. The young woman acted like a cheerleader for the man, laughing at everything he said. I wanted to know why they were there. Without giving reasons, he and the young woman left.

I resumed my toilet search. Finally locating one that might do, except it had only half walls, I told everyone, “You need to leave so I can use the toilet.” Some joking was made of this. My wife and the seven-year-old didn’t go, though. The child thought it was funny to pester me.

I grabbed him by the throat and told him, “I’m serious. If you don’t leave, I’ll kill you.”

He left.

My wife came in. I told her what I’d done. She thought it humorous but I was troubled. I asked her to leave so I could use the toilet. She told me that she wanted to use it after I finished, and urged me to hurry. She would stand outside the room with her back to it and keep everyone back so I’d have “privacy”.

Experimentally flushing the toilet, I found it worked. It flushed all manner of red, yellow, white, green, and blue beads and pebbles away. But the water, which was clear, kept running. I worried the toilet would overflow, and started to panic.

It didn’t overflow.

Relief flooded me. I completed my business and went downstairs. Someone asked me a question, roughly, about how to do locate a car and know its condition. I replied with a brief explanation about a device that could be used. A used car salesman stuck his head out a room and verified what I said, elaborating on it. I thought the elaboration was unnecessary.

My wife and I walked to the front door to leave. The dream ended.

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The Naked Dream

So I said, “I’ll take my clothes off, if you do.” And I did without waiting for the other to respond.

It was a nebulous, quicksilver dream. My dream doesn’t have markers but that part happened deep into it. To begin, I was visiting a think tank. Don’t think of Rand Corp or anything, think small, barely funded radicals with computers and ideas. They were an interesting group of mostly young men and women who were interested in ideas and data. I have just met them. I’m a visitor. It’s a little awkward. I’m not socially graceful, and neither are they.

I don’t remember much of the conversations. Flashes come back to me, like, “She has the network firewalled to limit exposure to outside events so that our thinking won’t become polluted or maligned.” I said back, “I can connect you to the outside world through my laptop.” This was declined, but we went back and forth about whether I would be able to do what I claimed, the philosophy behind the firewall, and the perceived advantages and disadvantages.

But many conversations were going on with people coming and going. As that conversation rolled, another was taken up about Derrick’s study. Becoming interested in what was being said, I wanted to see Derrick’s study. Then it was mentioned that Derrick — a morose looking white fellow with a mop of dark hair in jeans and a pullover — always did his data collecting in the nude. That’s when I made my offer as part of an effort to cajole the data out of Derrick. Derrick does not take his clothes off. He seems like a downer to be around. The whole group is like that.

Later, I’m nude.

I feel a little self-aware and conspicuous, but nobody is paying my nudity much mind. Someone else is going to share Derrick’s data. We all go down to another room where a slide show is presented. I’m fascinated, but others drift away. New projects are offered and discussed. I’m engaging with others about their projects. Some projects are about diet habits. One in particular, led by a woman, interests me more. I’m enlisted into working on it. About to go out to collect data after volunteering to do that, I joke, “But first I’ll dress.” Standing up, I pull on my pants. Nobody laughs.

Strange group, I think. Fade out.

2

A Twofer Dream

In the first dream, I was somewhere taking a test with others. We’d been together taking classes for a few days, so they were familiar, but they’re not anyone I know from life. All were male, but of various ages, physical builds, and races. Cluttered but comfortable, the classroom seemed like something from a form follows function design school. It had desks, windows, pale green walls, grey tile floors, and fluorescent lights.

The mood struck me as relaxed and comfortable. I didn’t feel any pressure or tension. Mustached and wearing glasses, the teacher was a short, white, overweight bald man in a white shirt and black suit with a black tie. He was a bit jocular.

For some reason, I began the test, was distracted, and came back to discover it was almost over. Although not distraught, I didn’t want to fail, but it seemed my fate was inexorable. Then I learned from watching another student that the test could be modified and administered orally. Hearing that, I pressed to have that done. I was confident in my knowledge and knew I could pass.

The administrator, a tall, white woman with blond hair in a bun, came in. She and the teacher discussed the option. It was agreed that would work for me. The oral test, of three questions, was given, and I passed in time to leave with the others.

The rest were in another room. They cheered me when I entered. Some joking followed, along with travel-plan conversations. They’d already eaten, but when they realized that I hadn’t, several got together to find me some food. I was telling them, “No, I don’t have time, I need to leave,” as I was putting up my coat. They brought me bags of food. I realized it was from McDonald’s. That amused me because it’s been over a decade since I’ve eaten at a McDonald’s.

They were excited to be leaving and eager to be home soon. One asked when I’d get home. I told them that I had to fly across the country, and that I’d be traveling for twelve to fourteen hours. Even as I answered, I reconsidered my response because I knew that weather delays were lurking.

The dream ended, and the next one began.

I was at a swimming pool. A few others were there. Again, these weren’t familiars from my life but people that I’d just met. I decided to use the diving board. After climbing up, I dove in. It was a decent dive but I felt dissatisfied, thinking, I can do better. So I went up again.

I began to dive, and then tried to reconsider, but it was too late. My last minute indecision affected my form. It was off as I dove this time. I didn’t have time to bring my arms together, and my body was falling over as I hit the water.

I knew it hadn’t been a good dive. What amazed me though, was how deep I’d gone. I couldn’t see because of bubbles surrounding me, but when I swam toward the surface, it took so long that I wondered if I’d ever reach it.

Breaking the surface, I looked around. The others were still swimming about. I waited for someone to say something about my horrible dive, but no one said anything. I waited for someone to mention how long I’d been under, but nobody said anything. Nobody had seemed to notice anything, or maybe there wasn’t anything to notice.

With those thoughts, and with me paddling around the pool toward the side to get out, the dream ended.

 

2

The Family Dream

IN THE DREAM’S BEGINNING —

I’m in a dim corridor with dusty, wooden floors, walls, and a ceiling. It’s not overly narrow, about wide enough for two people, but it’s rickety, uneven, and crooked. It’s also familiar in a way, as though I’ve been in here before. I’m walking slowly and carefully. Although the light is dim, I don’t know it’s source and I’m not certain where I’m at or what’s going on, so I’m being cautious.

I reach a juncture. The way is blocked by what I determine to be a paper wall. After some experimenting, I push the wall aside and advance. Another paper wall is encountered. This happens three or four times. By that point, I decide that I’ll attempt to smash through the wall instead of moving it. After doing that three or four times, I exit.

I discover myself exiting off a bus. I’ve arrived at my destination, and I’m happy. The destination is an old wooden building built on the side of a grassy slope. Others are there, as I’d hoped and expected, because I’m here for a family reunion.

Walking around, I meet others. I’m carrying a large orange doll of uncertain sex. The doll is precious to me and to the others. They’re impressed that I have the doll. I’m proud of it.

Arrangements and suggestions are made. I want to shower and clean up. Before I do, I want to bath the doll. Finding a wash basin, I fill it with warm, soapy water and gingerly lower the doll into the water until just the top of its head is visible. Beaming, I think and say, “Perfect.” Others come over to admire what I’ve done.

I don’t recognize any of the family from my current family, that is the people I know in this life. Five ideas come to me in this order.

  1. I’m in a movie.
  2. Or a book.
  3. Or another dimension.
  4. Or a past — or future — life.
  5. The people I’m meeting are all me.

The last idea seizes me. I like it. That they can all be me excites me. I think, I’m exploring myself. Walking around, I look at them more carefully for clues that they’re me. I don’t find any, but I’m undaunted.

Returning to the wash basin, I gently scrub the doll, and then rinse it off. This done, I show it to the others. They’re all impressed, clapping and making supportive and encouraging comments. With the doll clean, I’m free to clean myself. After some wandering around and talking to others, I’m pointed toward the showers. Other family members are present. As I strip down, shower, and shave, we talk about what to wear. My choice (which I can’t remember now) surprises some, concerns a few, but pleases the rest. I’m pleased and proud that most are pleased, and satisfied, that is what I’ll wear.

The dream ends.

0

The Good-bye Dream

I’d been thinking about J on and off during the past week, a typical melange of, “How long has it been?” blended with “I wonder what he’s up to?”

Easy math answered how long, coughing up thirty-four years. I choked on a “wow” response as tangent thoughts about his children’s ages and lives bounced through. Thirty-four years since I’d heard or seen him, thirty-four years since I’d heard anything about him.

These thoughts boiled into my dreams, bringing a visit from him in a dream last night.

I was in a steel, glass, and concrete complex. Dust motes surfed wind currents as people walked along the corridor. Hot, I squinted against sunshine through the windows. I thought, it’s winter outside, but it’s so hot an stuffy in here. Then I paused, looking ahead at an intersection.

His back was to me but I knew it was him. “J,” I said, increasing my stride. As he turned, I caught up, but we didn’t close the distance.

Always a smiling person, even when pissed off, he was smiling and much, much younger in my dream than when I knew him. “Where you been?” I said.

With the smile hanging on his face, he said, “It’s okay, I’ve moved on.” Giving me a wave and a shit-eating grin, he walked on down the corridor, leaving me behind.

Awakening, I wondered what that was all about, and whether this was a signal that he’d died. I searched for him through social media this morning, but he has a common name. Not the first time I’ve search for him, but it was the same results.

Not surprising. He didn’t trust computers as they were emerging. He didn’t really trust society and the government. Buying and stashing gold and silver coins in a safety deposit box, he planned to buy a large plot of land after he retired.

We’d always had good times together, and we’d work well as a team. A few years older than me, a survivor of the Vietnam war (although served in Thailand), I wish him well, whatever he’s doing, and wherever he is.

0

That Damn Dream

Had another one of those damn depressing dreams again where I was in the military. I’d been out, now I was back in.

It was just in time for a military parade and change-of-command ceremony. We were dressing in our Class A, or what is also called our service dress uniforms. I was behind, behind in knowing what to do, where to go, and when to be there. My hair was shaggy and needed to be trimmed to mil standards. I was racing to get my uniform pressed and check on my fruit salad, and worrying that my uniform was still in reg. Then I didn’t know where to go. I was running behind and people were both giving me grief and being supportive.

But they were leaving because it was time to assemble until I was alone, still scrambling. I still had to much to do, racing through a shower, getting the uniform on, and then checking the hair on my neck. You can bet, on reflection, I found it ironic that I was back in the military for a change-of-command ceremony. Changes are needed, I’m telling myself, or you’ll be exposed!

So much anxiety in that dream, a perfect exposure of the imposter syndrome.

Damn.

0

A Rising Dream

When I awoke from this dream, I held the last scenes in my mind’s hands and thought, wow, that was empowering.

Only snippets of dream fragments come to mind now. I remember struggling and coping through a morass of frustration and weariness. I don’t know the specifics of that dream’s chapter, but then I started rising. I grew taller, bigger, and stronger. I knew and felt that in the dream. As I did, I took control, because up where I was, I could see how everything connected, and how the mechanics and leverage worked. Up there, I could tell others where to find answers or how to see things. I kept growing until I was a giant. Then I used my fingers to move and show things, and help others. The last piece was that I, as a giant, was showing a young girl where something fit. By that point, the world appeared to be an enormous periodic table to me and I told her, “Forty across, and eight down.” It was then I woke.

The dream wasn’t a great surprise. Just as I fall into dark airless abysses or find myself in caves or tunnels about every twenty-five or -six days, I find myself rising, too, feeling invincible and empowered. When the dark side comes down on me, I hunker down and endure. I’m grateful when the light side lifts me up, re-igniting my hopes and optimism.

0

A Soul-sucking Dream

I thought I’d made it through the dark tunnel once again. I endure the dark tunnel every month, a cycle of conspiracy between hormones, energy, genetics, and whatever else is in my frothy concoction of life. Last night’s dreams proved some tunnel remained to be traversed.

Bottom-lining one of the dreams without dwelling on details, I dreamed a younger self was being given an opportunity by a man named Rob. Just as he was celebrating that, another person came up with a better opportunity. That involved three positions (unspecified in the dream) but the potential was so exciting. I was pleased to be offered such an opportunity. The man offering it told me he had to make some calls, but that was just a formality. He’d get back to me, he said, and went off.

Meanwhile, I was working a job and doing a damn fine job of it – cleaning and detailing cars, a job I didn’t hate, but I was ready to move on. Off on the sidelines of my dream-life, I coped with a validation process. All males were required to be validated. We were given one inch cubes. They were different colors. A raised number signified the top. My number was four. My cube was green.

I stepped into line behind a few young boys. Another young boy was there. He didn’t know what to do. I told him I’d help him.

The process began. As we moved forward, a longer line formed behind us. The process involved us taking our cube up to a man in a lab coat. He put the cube on a reader, then he peered at something, made some annotations, and handed the cube back. He never said a word.

My turn arrived. Another man stepped out from the line’s middle, walked up to the lab man, and gave him his cube. “No,” I said. Marching up, I removed his cube and handed it to him. I pointed to the front of the line, and said, “That’s the order. We’ve all been waiting. It was my turn. You have to wait like the rest of us.”

I was seething, partly because the lab idiot running it hadn’t noticed or done anything about it.

Afterward, validated by lab-coat idiot, I took the boy out with me after he’d been validated, too. I told him, “We’re validated.” He didn’t understand what that meant, so I explained the word’s definition while admitting that I didn’t understand what it meant in this context. Then I found where he was to go and sent him on his way.

Afterward, I returned to another job I had. This was in a chaotic place. I decided to organize the processes. Part of this involved men pissing. They were pissing everywhere. I determined that if we pissed in one place, that piss could be collected and dumped, and everything would be a lot better. To that end, I found a small, square metal receptacle to be a pee-holder. Setting it up in a specific spot, I spread the word, piss here. As I caught others pissing elsewhere, I’d re-direct them to piss at the place I’d established.

When it was time for the piss receptor to be emptied, I discovered it’d been leaking. Piss was all over the dark carpet. This upset me, but I thought, I need to find a better location and receptacle. I was about to do so when the man who’d offered me the great position arrived.

“Walk with me,” he told me. “This way. Let’s get something to eat.” I told him that I’d just eaten but I agreed to walk with him.

We passed under an arch and arrived at an avenue. There he said, “I have some news for you.” I was optimistic and expecting to hear that I was due to start the new position, but hearing his tone and reading his face, I knew otherwise.

“It’s not happening, is it?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“Well, I guess I’ll go with the job Rob offered.”

The man gave me a silent look.

“What?” I said, but I knew the look.

“That dried up, too,” he said.

Heavy disappointment beset me. “I can’t believe this,” I said. “I don’t mind what I’m doing, but I was looking forward to doing more, to being more.”

“I know,” he said. “Sorry.”

He departed. I returned to polishing a car. I realized it was my father’s red 1969 Thunderbird. I’m not going anywhere, I thought.

The dream ended.

The dream depressed me (as all of last night’s dreams did). I woke up thinking, for whom does the bell tolls? It tolls for me, followed by a rant about facing facts about not having writing talent, being a miserable writer, etc., to the point that I encouraged myself to give up.

I know though, that I’m not the best judge of myself. I know that I can’t predict the fickle future. This is just some feeling sorry for myself bottom of the trash can crap. I can indulge in it, but I can’t let it guide me.

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