Category: Dreams

An Unsettling Dream

After an outrageously fun dream that had me grinning when I awoke, a later dream stamped its imprint, unsettling me.

The second dream was about a friend. Oddly, I can’t recall ever clearly seeing him. I can’t give any description to him except to say he was a contemporary, male, white, and both in our early twenties.

He came to my house and told me that he’d stolen twenty thousand dollars. No details about that were shared. The dream and I focused on what I should do, how can I help him? He’d already told me that he’d told others.

He suggested that he needed to hide the money. I agreed, telling him that I would help. Next thing I know, we’re at his house, a suburban home, in a lower level, in a small den. There’s one oblong window at ground level; I keep looking out it. Dusk is falling.

Green shag carpet covers the floor. He lays down on the floor, face down, legs stiffly together and straight, arms out at ninety degrees, like he’s on a cross. He’s wearing a yellow top and red shorts. I tell him that I think he needs to get out of there. He doesn’t answer. I’m pacing, worrying, and tell him the same thing. He seems to have given up.

I start telling him, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you.” That’s when I realize that I stole the money with him, bewildering me. I don’t remember doing that, so how was it possible?

I’ve hidden my share, which was also twenty thousand. I repeat, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you. Where is it?” Sirens are getting louder. I don’t doubt they’re coming to his house. He’s given up, so they’ll catch us both. Even if I have escape, I’m sure that he’d tell them who stole the money with him. He’s already told others. The dream ends with the sirens growing louder, me pacing, glancing out a window, running a hand through my hair, trying to understand what to do, and him still in a cross position on the green shag carpet.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: focused

We’re celebrating Aug 9 2023 in Ashlandia, where the morning is cool and the afternoon is hot in the summer. Nothing special for this day for me, but happy anniversary and birthday to anyone out there celebrating those things. Congratulations on your promotion, your accomplishment. Well done on finishing that task, doing that work, completing that project, writing that book.

Another night where I ran through a complete slate of dreams. Most of it had to do with being in England with my wife, ironic as we’ve both been to England, but not together, and knowing where we were and getting things done. Not a surprising dream, given where I’m at.

I’ve been forced to dig down and try harder on a few things this week. Like others, I have a MO for it; I isolate, cutting access to me, and digging deeper for energy, narrowing my focus to laser intensity. It can be sustained but it’s one of those things that can become ingrained and diminish my satisfaction with life. Better to use it to achieve what’s needed to be done, and then step back and breathe and celebrate the outcome.

With that trying in mind, The Neurons dug Janis Joplin and the Kozmic Blues Band out of the gray vault, pumping “Try (Just A Little Harder)” (1969) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark surreal). While Janis is singing about romance and her man, her exhortations on trying is great stimulation for breathing deep, settling up, and going back in for another determined push. Yeah, in this case, I’m speaking of the solitude and angst of finishing a novel’s first draft.

So here’s a look at Janis and her band on the Dick Cavett show from a day over sixty years ago. Thank you, technology.

Stay strong, be positive, and keep moving it forward. I’ve have some coffee but I might be up for a little more, yeah? Sure. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Moo-day’s Theme Music

Mood: a bouncing flow of changing lights and colors.

He said, “It’s Monday.”

And all the cows sang, “Moo-day.”

Which left him speechless.

Yes, we’re on the Monday segment of the seven day perpetual merry-go-round. Never stops. Never pauses. Might slow or speed up. Actually, it might stop but we might all lose consciousness when that happens because having time stopped doesn’t fit with the mold of our existence.

Today is August 7, 2023. Politics are still on my mind. Can’t help it. I read political news and it swats me over the head again, again, again. I think, I want to know what others are thinking. I don’t understand their conclusions. But I try, and I fail. We are realities apart on some matters. Not going into more than that today.

Weather is same as it was yesterday — blue, 68 F, high of 86 F.

Had an uncomfortable night. Kicked in with a dream festival. It ended suddenly when the smoke detector started chirping about the need for a new battery at 3 AM. Said detector is located on a hiiiigh ceiling in the master BR. No ladder in my possession is tall enough. But I have a ladder that will reach a ledge (yes, the bedroom has a ledge on the high end), and then I can stand on the ledge and change it. Wasn’t doing that at 3 AM, though. Also, didn’t have any 9 volt batteries on hand. Used the last one in the multimeter for another project last week. So, off to the store I go today.

But first, it’s time to deliver for food and friends one more time. We’re due to leave for that in a few. My wife has returned from exercising and is sipping her fresh coffee. Love that smell. I’m two-thirds through my first cuppa.

Thinking about going to the store, I thought, I need to go today but maybe I’ll go again tomorrow. Just thoughts about what I needed to buy, wanted to buy, and the balancing of activities and priorities. From that blend of thinking, The Neurons introduced Stevie Nicks and “Edge of Seventeen” into the morning mental music stream (trademark locked down). Makes sense; there’s a line in the song which states, “I went today, maybe I will go again tomorrow.”

Stay pos and upright, motor on into the distance. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel. Let’s do this. Here’s the video. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Today’s microexistence is Sunday, Aug 6, 2023. I’m in Ashlandia, where the deer eat everything and many people are annoyed. 70 F now, the bottom line for how high the temperature will go is 89. Sunset and sunrise are now contracting our daylight hours. We’re pushing through August. September lurks, waiting to hustle in autumn for us.

Another night of riotous dreaming was experienced. The most surprising one had me as a young gunman trapped in a suburban house with three others. We had automatic weapons and were in this situation because we’d shot and killed another young man, apparently in conjunction with a gang feud. Now, trapped, we decided we were going to break out blazing and make, a shoot and run to escape. Corporeal I was protesting my dream I’s thinking and behavior, cursing him for being a fool, urging him not to do it. But whatever I urged him not to do, he did it anyway, damn him. Real me couldn’t stop dream me. I twice forced a redo, but it went the same. It felt like the dream scene was my subterranean neurons cooking up a movie to show my battle between different sides of my self.

I awoke, thinking about that dream and others, and ended up ceiling staring in thought. Running with that cue, Der Neurons started streaming “Brian Wilson” by the Bare Naked Ladies (1992) in the morning mental music stream (trademark existential). At least I readily knew the connection this time. One line goes, “So I’m lying here, staring at the ceiling.” Okay, well done, Neurons. Take a mental bow.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of when my wife and I married. Totally other existence when we did, when we were young in 1975. Been a bumpy road. Almost went over a few cliffs. I enjoy her company and have great admiration for who she is. I think she likes me, too, although I exasperate her. Well, she does exasperate me as well. Love is a spectrum, as is hate — hell, marriage and all the emotions are spectrums. We constantly slide back and forth, finding and losing balance, opening and closing the distance between us.

Stay pos, be strong, find the course and follow it, correcting as is needed. Coffee has already slipped past the guards and is supplying The Neurons with needed energy reinforcements. Let’s hear some music.

Cheers

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Salutations, and welcome to Saturday in Ashlandia, where the growers’ market is open and the coffee is brewing. It’s the 5 of August, 2023. We’re feasting on the cool mountain air and the remnants of the night’s chill offerings. Just 70 F at the moment, today’s high will gallop up to the low nineties. Air quality has been an off and on issue as the wind and fronts deliver wildfire smoke to the valley. It’s clear now, the and skies are not cloudy.

I asked Bing’s AI app yesterday, “Where is the smoke in Ashland, Oregon, coming from?” The AI’s answer really impressed me. It said, “It can be coming from anywhere.” It then went into a history of fires and smoke from previous years. I’m really worried about AI taking over. It’s gonna drive us all crazy with non-sensical answers and then slide into control after we’re all babbling idiots. Some of us are already pretty close to that edge.

Stampeded by dreams last night. The most vivid and everlasting was one in which I realized there was a serial killer. Nobody else was aware. That annoyed me, so I tracked down the serial killer and stopped him. Not sure how that last was done. Seemed to be off the dream stage. But I came back and told everyone else about the serial killer and stopping him without specifying why. I finished by informing them, “Now we can move on and get things done.”

Out of that, The Neurons inserted “Bette Davis Eyes” (1981) by Kim Carnes into the morning mental music stream (trademark insanity). It was a big song that year. In May of ’81 we moved from San Antonio, Texas to Okinawa, Japan, as part of my military service, and that song was being played everywhere. As the song looped through my head today, bringing back memories of those days, and I fed the cats, dressed, and made brekkie and coffee, I demanded of Les Neurons, “Why that song?” They smugly replied, “You know why.” I think they’re in cahoots with the AI to drive me nuts.

Stay positive, be strong, and persist. The coffee has already been sampled and I can assure you, it’s the real deal. Here’s the music. Cheers

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The Space Traveling Dream Again

2:58 AM.

I awoke. Alarm seizes me. I don’t think I’ve set the rechargers for the house.

Was I supposed to set the rechargers for the house?

Does the house — can the house be recharged?

But it has to be recharged. Its engines need to be recharged.

Does the have engines? No, it doesn’t have engines.

Then how does it move?

These were my thoughts as I sat up in bed, suddenly awoke, coping again, with the dream about the house flying through space. I’ve dreamed this seven times recently, posting about it a few times. In it, my house and plot of land have been lifted from the Earth. My wife and cats are with me, and I’m actually impressed and pleased that we’re flying through space. Aliens have done this, I know, but I don’t know why.

After awakening from the dream, I visit the bathroom and check on the cats. Papi, the ginger blade, is drinking from the water bowl on the front porch. Tucker, the black and white enigma, was on the back porch drinking water from that bowl. Interesting symmetry. I returned to bed, and to sleep. Other dreams were experienced but whenever I awoke, I thought immediately of the house flying through space, and whether I’d recharged the engines.

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The Dad & I Dream

Don’t know my age when it started. Seemed like I was a young adult.

Dad and I were sharing a smallish but modern apartment. A winter storm howled outside, snow pummeling the world in unending shovelfuls. A general sense of disturbing chaos reigned.

I had a few cats. I was trying to feed them but they were running around, attacking each other, hiding. In the midst of this, in the living room by the stereo, I discovered a large window was broken. I stopped to check on it, inspecting it, confirming, because it was hard to tell, yes, a panel is gone. You’d think that’d be easy to see with snow falling, cold weather, a murdering wind, but it required earnest consideration of it for me to figure it out in the dream.

Yes, the window was broken. Several panes were missing or shattered, laying in pieces in a growing snowdrift. The cats tried to get out. As I lunged to pull them back, they retreated on their own, discouraged by the storm. Confusion seemed to paralyze me.

Dad came in, talking about a need to go somewhere, to get food, I think. Impatiently, he told me to hurry up. I was grabbing a cat, checking on the cats, looking at the broken windows. Concern over the stereo getting ruined rose up, so I moved components. Dad shouted at me to come on. I locked the cats in another room and followed Dad out. As we went, I was telling him, “Dad, there’s something you should know, there’s a window broken in the living room.”

It felt like it took some repetition of telling him this before what I was saying sank in. Then, he responded in alarm, “You should have told me this before.”

Next thing I knew, we were going back home because he was worried, and I was defensively trying to tell him that I’d been checking out the window, and I tried telling him but he wasn’t listening.

Then we were in the living room. The heater was running, hot air coming out of vents but snow dusted the floor and crusted the sofa, table, and chairs. Many things were turned over. Things were missing. The stereo and television were gone. We realized people had broken in; we realized, looking out the window, it was teenagers. They were running away with our stuff.

Dad said with bitter disappointment, “You didn’t do anything. You knew this had happened, and you didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you do anything?”

I was an adult now, and shocked. He was right; why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I take action? I could have called someone to repair the window, or put up boards. I could have done something, but I didn’t.

Dream end.

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A Dream of Friends

It was a short one. I was young again. Looked like I was in my twenties.

Hustling along through a building, I passed through a doorway and down a short fight of steps. In there were many friends and co-workers. (I realized on awakening that all were male.)

I don’t know how many were there. None of these people have been seen in the last dozen years, and most haven’t been seen or spoken with since the last century.

We were all wearing tee shirts, the sort worn to support sports teams and rock bands. All were young like me. Several of us took seats in a semi-circle around a fire pit which had no fire. Others took seats behind us. We were talking, joking, laughing, playing tricks on one another and just acting silly. I recognized at least Jeff, Gil, Ray, Jim. An ex-brother-in-law was seated beside me on my right. Gil was two seats over on my left.

A man began playing guitar and singing. Dressed in black trimmed with silver, he was seated in a chair off to one side, an amplifier beside him. Despite the amp, he played and sang low. We all needed to stay silent to hear him. The song was his own composition, I was told by another. I don’t remember any of the lyrics or melodies. I remember thinking that he could be a professional. Gil said, “It’s like we’re at a concert.” Ian answered, “We are at a concert.” That exchange brought out some chuckling.

The concert ended. We all stood, socializing. Jeff, who I saw earlier, came in. He was wearing a different tee shirt. It had Roberto Clemente’s likeness and number on it. Clemente had been my childhood hero. Grinning, I went to Jeff and said, “Hello, Roberto.”

Jeff was much smaller than I remembered him being. He was taller than me in RL. Although he looked as he did back when we worked together, he was now a foot shorter. “Hello,” he answered, grinning.

Dream end.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: low-energy. Don’t know if that qualifies as ‘mood’. Feels like my batteries are blinking with a ‘recharge now’ message. Or maybe I just have the Wednesdays.

Yes, Wednesday, July 26, 2023, pulled into Ashlandia, where the skies are not cloudy today. Low was in the upper fifties this morning and the high will pull the numbers into the lower nineties. While the fires continue burning north, east, and south, and advisories warning us about our air quality is out, the sky is blue and the air is smoke free. If we can play keep away with the smoke, a lovely summer day will reward us.

After another dream invasion, I awoke thinking about dreams, my mind, and memories. Last night’s thinking about doors in my mind and event boundaries just before going to sleep probably contributed to that. The Neurons ended up plugging a 1967 song by The Amboy Dukes called “Journey to the Center of the Mind” into the morning mental music stream (trademark imagined). This song has a bit of prog to it — reminds me of several Moody Blues works — with a psychedelic edge. The lead guitarist knew his stuff. It’s a guy named Ted Nugent. I don’t usually share his work because I consider him repugnant. On a scale of one to ten, he goes to eleven. It’s about his interest in sex with thirteen year old girls and his comments about not every man being created equal. It’s not a question of his politics; he’s just hateful.

But we’re going with this music to satisfy Les Neurons (who just fired up “Satisfaction” by the Stones in the morning mental music stream). You be strong, safe, positive. Work it as best as you can, right?

Okay, my coffee is singing to me. Here’s the tune. Cheers

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Car Dream

I usually dream of sports cars, especially Porsches. Last night, I dreamed I was standing on the side of a divided highway. Seemed like an Interstate. I never saw myself so I don’t know what dream version of me was being offered up.

I was waiting for a car, though. A white Chrysler was coming. I wasn’t familiar with this Chrysler — I’ve never owned one and I would’ve been five when this car was on the road though I’d naturally know them as used cars — but I knew the one coming, a sparkling white convertible from the early 1960s, with a large chrome grill and front reflecting the landscape as it came on, was the car I awaited.

That’s all the dream was, except when I saw it coming, I thought, at last. Looking it up today, here was the car of my dream.

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