Category: Dreams

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Fridifferous.

Greetings to my life companions on Earth. We are annotating today as Friday, March 22, 2024.

Spring is supposed to be here, but last night’s air was thick with wintery smells and feels. The palette for this morning’s sky had no blue but a great range of greys. Some were smoothed across with a palette knife. Others were swept around with fan brushes, merging and muddying the shades and shapes.

The sun wasn’t included as an element in the sky. 54 F now, some say we’ll surmount 62 F today. Doubts are stirring as rain falls and the clouds maintain a firm front against sunlight.

Multiple dreams are recalled from last night’s sleep session. One emerged almost intact as a short tale about cats and their nine lives. Others were recorded. Might share one of the others.

My wife told me that today’s news was so depressing. I had avoided reading news by focusing on my dreams and reading a novel which is engrossing me, so I asked, “What news?” She shared the projected profit which Donald Trump might realize with the Truth Social/DWAC merger. The rich get richer.

Then there was The Donald’s claim that he has $500,000,000 in cash. Does it surprise you if I told you that’s contrary to what his lawyers have been saying in public and telling the court? Does it make you question that if that’s the case, why hasn’t he been able to get the bonds he needed? Certainly makes me wonder these things. I’m not an expert in any of it though.

As WaPo notes, “Trump’s suggestion sharply contrasts what his lawyers told a New York appellate court earlier this week that it would be “a practical impossibility” for him to post a bond covering the full amount. His lawyers cited rejections from 30 bond underwriters in their request for a stay of enforcement on the judgment.”

I bet this will raise some questions in the Judiciary.

Shouldn’t be a surprise with the quagmire of thinking in my head that The Neurons delivered Asia and “Only Time Will Tell” to the morning mental music stream (Trademarked over a million times, maybe a billion times). We’re wanting on the outcomes of several Trump trials, along with a few SCOTUS rulings, and trials for other Trump-aligned individuals, like Rudy G. and Mike L. Only time will tell, we often tell one another.

Anyway, Asia’s song was released in 1982. Easy, simple lyrics, and a robust but progressive rock sound made it a hit.

Stay positive, lean forward toward a better future, and vote. Coffee has energized The Neurons. Here we go. Enjoy the music. Cheers

0

The Third Life

It was a night of dreams. This tale emerged from one.

Death came hard.

He hadn’t expected it. A loud noise behind him made him jump, turn, and stop as he crossed the street. A car raced toward him. He heard it but didn’t see it. The impact was short but hard.

Next that he knew, he was rising from his body, an unseen spirit slicing through the night. Below, his furry ginger body cooled on the asphalt. Stars peered through the dark, moving clouds, witnessing it all.

He was entering the quantum tunnel. Humans enjoy calling it the rainbow bridge. Amusing to him and many floofs but most respected most humans. Humans were often loyal, loving, and fun, and offered pretty good food.

He’d already used two lives, when he was two and five. First one was the stabbing. Loud voices spewed from his people. They wrestled and grunted. Glasses broke. Thumping and crying ensued.

Noises like that scared him. Fireworks. Arguments. Noisy machines.

Refuge in a dark closet among the shoes was sought. He didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t care. He never paid attention to anything not directly affecting him.

Silence fell. Body low, tail lower, he crept out.

His woman was crying on the kitchen floor. Salty snot and tears covered her face. She sagged against the dark wooden cupboards. His man was sprawled a few feet away. Blood expanded around him. A knife rose from his side.

He sniffed her, and then him, identifying anger. Love. Frustration. Pain. Death.

The decision to return the man to life was instantaneous. That wasn’t enough. The fight had shredded his people’s relationship. He not only needed to return the man to life but to a time before the fight.

Sitting, calming, eyes narrowing until they remained as emerald slits, the ginger boy focused on going back in time. A time bubble emerged in his head. He expanded it until it slipped out of his mind and into the air. Once it held him, he thought back through the hours, ignoring the shifting and burbling lights and sounds. Hard to do, because they mesmerized and threatened him.

Exhaustion skinned him after he finished. But worth it. They were happier. He took turns indulging in prolonged naps on their laps, attuning himself to their energies. When they moved, he moved, staying with them, wrapping around their legs to read their energy. As time tipped toward the remembered fight, he bit their arms or ankles, meowed and purred, or chewed their hair until their energy shifted.

“What’s with you, Gingerbread?” they asked, scratching his head and ruffling his fur. “You’re acting strange. Are you hungry? Do you want to play?”

Days passed without a fight. His purrs expanded into a loud, proud rasp. He’d succeeded.

The other life was a simpler matter, bringing the man back from death after a heart attack. After Gingerbread restored him on the sofa where his death had happened, the man awoke with Gingerbread curled up on his chest. Looking at the cat, he rubbed his mussed hair. “Wow, Gingerboy. That was some nap. I must’ve really been asleep. I feel so much better. Guess I needed it.”

Gingerbread purred back.

Yes, he decided as he floated down the quantum tunnel. His life was good. He loved his people and would miss them. He would go back.

Pushing against the growing energy currents, he pressed the other way until the night opened around him again. A light rain was slicking everything, turning it all black. His body remained where he’d succumbed. Getting back into it was a little hard because of the time which had passed, but he persisted, just as he had when he’d shed the collars they put on him. He would never wear a collar. Hated them.

“Ginger,” the man called. And then whistled.

Springing up, Gingerbread ran across the street and up to the front door. “Finally,” the man said, bending, petting him. “Was that you in the street? What were you doing? Don’t you know how dangerous that is? That’s why I worry about you.”

He picked Gingerbread up. “Come on, GB. Time to go in. Tomorrow is another day.”

4

The War Dream

War was just becoming a reality in this dream. No details about who although I was alert for militia to and individuals or small groups to come in.

Details are likewise sparse about the location. Along a lazy ocean. Cloud-streak greyish blue sky. Sands and grasses, a desolate place. Nothing familiar.

I was in my forties or fifties. Friends and family were absent. But I belonged to some sort of community. I told them war was going to commence. The majority were doubtful but being pretty certain, I set off north to collect intel because I’d heard some opposition was up that way. I had a feeling they were preparing to come down to our location and cause problems.

I was in flatlands. Staying along a road that ran parallel to the coastline, I walked, taking my time. Others accosted me about who I was and what I was doing. Two of them, a man and a teenage male, joined me. The man carried a small dog. We all had handguns but that was it.

Some opposition was spotted. We hid in scrub grass and watched. Seemed like they were looking for us. I headed toward the water and circled around them. Backtracking down the coastline from the road’s other side, I saw my companions were spotted. A man was aiming a gun at them.

Hurrying, I found another long rifle on the ground sticking out of the grass. Grabbing it, I shot the gun man three times. I then slipped forward and shot another gun man. He had a WW II Nazi helmet on. His skin became ash and fell from his body, leaving a skeleton in clothing and a helmet laying in sand and grass.

Returning to the other two, I urged one to take the rifle because I thought myself a poor shot and believed they’d do better. Continuing north, we encountered others who wanted to join us. By the time we returned to the community where I’d started, fifty men, women, and children had joined me.

We had few weapons, though. From what I’d gathered, I decided I knew where the enemy would come and set up a series of ambushes for them. Someone reported to me that the Army was arriving. I went out and met some of them set up as a watch. Speaking with them, I urged them to move because they were out of position and would be overtaken by the attacking force. They told me that I didn’t know what I was talking about. I discussed it further with them. They threatened me so I snapped and dressed them down. The senior of them said that I needed to talk to the colonel.

I went off and made my case to the colonel about why his forces were placed wrong. He dismissed my concerns and basically claimed that he knew better. Writing him off, I returned to my force. They asked me about the Army. I told them that they weren’t moving but when the enemy came down, they’d eventually realize they were wrong and move.

I saw some enemy soldiers moving along the beach. “Here they come now,” I told the rest. “Don’t shoot until more are here. Try to take them alive if you can but don’t put yourself into danger.”

Dream end.

0

Sun(less)day’s Theme Music

Mood: Snogitation

Hey, fellow inhabitants, it’s Sunday, March 3, 2024. Snowstorms continue in Ashlandia, where it’s now 34 F. We anticipate a high of 41 F.

Weather alerts, winter advisories, and storm warning remain active through Monday evening. Snow kept up until mid-afternoon yesterday, resuming after midnight. Snow continued its shift until today’s early hours and knocked off again. We’re expecting more, but we’re also expecting rain, which should laden doing anything outside with icy delight. Temperatures are expected to boing back and forth, low thirties to mid forties, for the week, with rain and snow playing together. By Thursday, rain and snow is expected to wind down and we’ll see temperatures in the fifties by Friday.

More dreams, more music! That one dream, about using magic to protect a young magic trainee, was fascinating. Meanwhile, The Neurons have several songs bubbling through the morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks). Some are extended plays from yesterday, but “Snowblind” by Black Sabbath and “Snowbound” by Donald Fagan are both now in the mix. But another, the R&B song, “Da Dip” from 1996, is dominating. I heard the Freak Nasty tune on the radio yesterday afternoon, and those lines, “I put my hand upon your hip, when I dip, you dip, we dip, you put your hand upon my hip, when you dip, I dip, we dip,” is all over the MMMS. It’s fun singing along with those lines. I struggle with the rest because

Be positive, vote, remain strong, and keep leaning forward. Now halfway through my first cup of coffee, I feel like I can do the same. Here’s the music; hope you enjoy it. Cheers

0

A Book Dream

A short dream recap.

I was in a room, high walls painted sky blue, tall windows which looked out over a hill which lead to a beach and see, white ceiling. ‘My book’ as I referenced it was on an old but polished dark brown table that I’d been using to write. My book was finished and had a cover which I partially saw: sky blue, yellow, with a red frame around some scene and the title in red.

I left the room and returned, finding the table gone, along with my book. I hurried back into the other room and asked what someone to tell me what had happened. I’d been half expecting the table to be taken away but having my book removed upset me. A tall, angular woman with short brown hair told me that the mover had taken the table and inadvertently took my book with it. They’re realized their error and were bringing the book back. I was looking out the window while she spoke. “There they are now,” she said, pointing out.

A helicopter was high in the sky coming toward us. This was one of those heavy lift Chinooks with two rotors. A large white lighthouse with a red tile roof dangled on a hook and cable. “Yes, I see it,” I answered and settled down to patiently arrive, and begin hearing its distinctive helicopter sound getting louder.

The helicopter arrived and lowered the lighthouse. When they finished, I went into the original room and found my book. Unfortunately, it was high on the wall and out of my reach. I searched for a ladder. None was available, so I returned to the other room and complained to the angular woman. She said, “I’ll get it moved so you can reach it.”

I went back into the other room. The book had been lowered. Standing on my toe tips and stretching fully out, I was just able to reach it. With it finally in hand, I opened the tome and began reading.

Dream end.

After I awoke and thought about the dream, I realized that my dream self had equated the book as the lighthouse, and meditated a while about what that meant.

0

Friday’s Theme Music

Mood: Alright

March 1, 2024! And Friday.

It’s a late start again for me as far as writing and posting go. Friends are in town and we met for a big coffee gathering. See, there’s a tradition established around a M-W-F exercise class. It engages at 8:30 AM. Finishes at 9:30. Then a group goes off for coffee. The female side of the visiting friends was part of this coffee klatch, so she did the class and then all joined for coffee. Several husbands and I, who are a normal part of the gathering, joined the gathering to see our friends and socialize. The visitors lived here in Ashlandia, then moved to Portland, and now are in the process of moving to Spain. That last isn’t an easy process but they’ve been going every year during the last three and are committed to making the move.

The winter storm they’ve been warning us about slammed into the valley. For a while, we hung at 34 F as snow charged down and clung to the Earth, building its base. Warmer air crowded in. Snow became rain and melted all the snow at our elevation. Bright sunshine now smothers the valley, and the temperature is working close to the expected high of 48 F. Friendly white clouds are driving in a blue sky.

My morning mental music stream (Trademark coming in two weeks) has been like a radio station. A sample of today’s music heard in me head:

“Our Day Will Come” – Ruby and the Romantics, 1963

“Little Red Corvette” – Prince, 1983

“Turn the Page” – Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, 1973

“The Luck You Got” – The High Strung, 2005

“I’m Alright” – Kenny Loggins, 1980

“Our Day Will Come” seemed like a dream remnant. The Neurons plugged in “Little Red Corvette” because I’d seen a red Corvette the day before, a 1984 one, like Dad’s, except Dad’s was Navy blue. “Turn the Page” is a natural arising from on month’s ending and another month’s start. “I’m Alright” was cranked into the stream after I completed my daily self-assessment, done after walking around, seeing if anything is misaligned, malfunctioning, or gone, as far as my body and mind goes. Another two or three songs were featured in the MMMS but I went with “The Luck You Got” by The High Strung because it demonstrated the strongest presence.

I learned about The High Strung from an episode of This American Life I was listening to while driving one day and then sought their music on the net. Of course, I did hear “The Luck You Got” not too long ago when my wife and I checked out the US version of “Shameless”. We’d watched the Brit version back in the day and were leery of what an American version would be like. When I heard the theme music I thought, hold it, I know this song. Weirdly, just as I began looking it up, I fully remembered it.

Be strong, lean forward, vote, and remain positive. Fortified with coffee, I’m right there with you. Seize the Friday. Here’s the music. Cheers

0

A White House Dream

I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.

And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.

The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.

Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.

While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.

Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.

Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.

The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.

What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.

The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.

5

The Protection Dreams

My wife and I received another round of COVID=19 vaccinations yesterday. We agreed that one kicked us harder than the others.

We received them at 11 AM. Other than pain and stiffness at the injection site, all was going well. After meeting with friends for beers in the late afternoon, I returned home and exercised. Then, about 10 PM, it seemed like someone encased my body in concrete. My newfound stiffness stunned me. Reaching down, sitting down, standing up, movement of any kind was met with defiant resistance.

Next, cold invaded my body. It reminded me of being in Korea one winter. Heavy shivering gripped me. My hands and feet felt so cold, I stuck my hands down my shorts against my groin to warm them and gasped at the shock of my cold hands. I normally sashay through the house in gym shorts and a tee shirt. Now I applied additional layers, including socks. Socks! The indignation. Then came headaches and a mild fever. I woke up at one point soaked with sweat.

Meanwhile though, I dreamed when I slept. I was heading a horizon. Tall, dark walls were being erected. That’s my protection against COVID-19, I told myself. I had variations of that dream three times during the night. The walls were different each time. In the second dream, I said, “I need bigger, stouter walls, taller walls.” Someone — a male — replied, “They’re coming.”

All three of these dreams were short. They felt like they were less than a minute, and in each, it was only me, darkening skies, and protective walls.

0

A Dream Shard

Hearing something — can’t even saw what it was — today when I was in the coffee shop writing, I suddenly see a forgotten dream from last night. Really, just a shard. First person personal point of view, I’m driving in a car along a winding country highway. Leafy green trees blur by on either side. It sometimes seems like someone is with me but that’s inconsistent. I mostly seem to be alone.

Everything is going smoothly. I’m on a long road trip. Ahead is where I’m going to leave the country highway and jump onto the Interstate. The first road is climbing and turning. I split off. Cresting a ridge, the on-ramp veers left and goes down a steep hill and into intense banking as the ramp joins the Interstate and the Interstate goes left. Sunshine bathes the cars and roadway.

I won’t be on this road long, just a few miles. As I hit the banked curve and merge with the traffic, I press the brake pedal and recognize, I’m not slowing. Speed picks up despite greater pressure on the pedal. I announce, “I don’t have any brakes.” Someone in the other seat replies, “What?”

I repeat what I said and lean their way. But no one occupies the seat. I mutter, “I’m not on the road long. My exit is just ahead.” I can see it, a long, lean hill that ends at an intersection with a traffic light. “But I’m going to need to stop. I’ll add some brake fluid when I can. I think that’ll fix it. First, though, I need to stop.”

The car hits the exit ramp. It’s flying over bumps. Grinning, beginning to laugh, I kick out the floorboard. “Just do it like Fred Flintstone.” I put my feet down onto the cement road. Pressing the soles down with all my strength, I drag the car to a stop.

Dream end.

1

The Puzzle Dream

I thought of this as the puzzle dream but it could also be the cookie cutter dream, or the surprise flying dream.

Started, I was younger, in my early twenties, outside, part of a huge crowd of people, all about my age. They were passing out these white pieces that looked like plastic cookie cutters to me. Looking at it, I’m like, “What am I supposed to do with this?” No one close to me had any answers. Like me, they were regarding their piece with confusion.

But playing around with it, because that’s my nature, I discovered that I could make two pieces just by tugging on a side. That caused a new one to slide out while the original’s mass and structure didn’t change. Others were finding this, too. I wanted to know how many one piece could yield and soon found I had ten pieces. What the heck was I to do with them, though?

I thought the pieces were hard but since I could pull one piece out of another, I wondered if they were malleable, so I started twisted them and found, yeah, they were malleable. I could make them bigger or smaller. Someone else suggested, “Try putting them together.” I didn’t see a way at first but kept working it. Suddenly, I found that if I put two pieces edge to edge and then squeezed hard on the joined edge, they’d be one.

I rapidly began making more pieces, putting pieces together, and shaping them into something big. I had no idea what I was making. The shapes just pleased and interested me. What was boring was the color: these were all white, like, bright, refrigerator white. So tedious. I wanted to make them into another color.

A nearby female said something similar and then others spoke up, agreeing. Then a young man kind of gasped and said, “Look!” He’d changed a piece into red. We all asked, “How’d you do that?” He answered, “I don’t know.”

I started looking at mine and thinking as the others still questioned him. Holding a piece, I thought, blue, and it was immediately blue. The female who’d first mentioned the colors did the same, and we started talking about it. Then she and I and two other guys started putting pieces together from different sides, creating a four-sided thing together.

I wanted it bigger. Pulling my pieces back apart and explaining that to the rest, I asked some others to join us. We soon had a group putting pieces together on several sides, creating something big. Someone asked, “What is it?” My first thought was, “It’s a building.” Someone else said that, and another replied, “It’s a building that’s a city.”

Then I said, “No, it’s a spaceship.” I told them, “It’s a multi-generational spaceship so that we can live in space and travel to other parts of the universe.” Questions about it were asked of me and I answered, developing a greater vision of it as I did. People protested that it’s not big enough. I answered, “This is a model so that we can build the real thing after we figure it out.”

Then a man came by and told us, “Stay playing with the blocks.”

First, I didn’t think of them as blocks.

He continued, “Take this. I want you to learn out to use them.”

“Use them for what?” a woman asked.

“To fly,” the man answered.

The things he was passing out while talking were like plastic white shoelaces about ten inches long. Four of them were attached on one flat end so the strings were parallel to one another. I, like others, was skeptical. “We’re going to fly with these?”

“Yes. Twirl them over your head.” The man held up white streamer and twirled it over his head. “Just do it like that.”

I laughed, completely disbelieving of him. While others questioned him, “You twirled it and you’re not flying,” I twirled mine. They were more difficult to twirl than I expected. I kept changing my grip and trying different speeds. Suddenly I took off. As soon as I did, I stopped twirling, surprised by success, and dropped back to the ground. Others had seen and rushed over, demanding, “How did you do that?”

Dream end.

7

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑