Category: Dreams

A Writing Camp Dream

I was at a drama and writing camp. Maybe forty others were present. I didn’t know anyone else. Some of them knew one another. Ages ranged from mid-twenties to mid-sixties. Though I’m a RL 68, I’m around 40 here. It’s a rustic sort of setting.

One of the more popular people is a younger, dramatic person. A large black dog accompanies her everywhere. While we’re at one of our outdoor gatherings milling around, her dog eyes me, and then cuts through the crowd to visit with me. So does a cat. The dog’s actions surprises everyone. After a friendly visit with him, he returns to his person. The cat rolls around and is given affection.

The oldest person there comes to me with a sword. I’m not a sword expert but it reminds me of a US Civil War calvary officer saber. He points it at me at first, talking about it a while, and then presents it to me for my inspection. I’m mystified and leery by what he’s doing. It seems a little off center and nutty. He sort of brusquely pouts and asks for me to give him back his sword. Naturally, I do and he walks away. Okay, fine.

Well, sometime during the night (in the dream), I then write a long short-story about the woman with the dog and the man with the sword. I don’t know how but others come to me, explaining that they’d heard I’d written a short story. They wrote something too, and they think that we can combine the work. The woman with the dog knows about it, too, although she only knows me as the guy who dog went to. But, since her dog likes and trusts me, she wants to work with me.

So I agree, and then sit and edit, rewrite, and revise, adding more, and breaking the story up into four parts. Four us, including the women with the dog, come together to read and combine what another guy has written. They start reading it aloud, and the rest of the camp comes to listen, including the man with the sword. When he hears it, he comes to me to have his part expanded and reveals some things to me.

With the black dog and the cat beside me, I quickly revise and write more. Everyone is really pleased by the results. People are telling me, “I think you nailed it.” They want to know what else I’ve written, and are giving me other ideas for story, because they think I’d be the best person to write it.

Dream end

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Military Dreams Again

The dreams flowed together. All were of a military sort but had nothing to do with my military career.

The first found me with others outside, beside parked cars outside of apartment and business complexes. My wife was with me and the others. All the folk were dream acquaintances, no one from real life.

My wife said with alarm, “I just heard that they’re going to set off a nuke.”

Disbelief coursed around the group. Several said, “They wouldn’t.”

A muted boom froze us. Turning like one being, we looked across and over trees. A bright white light flashed.

“They did it,” someone said, a comment echoed by others.

“We’d better get away,” people said, “get to shelter. Run, hurry.”

The rest ran. I stayed by a car. I wanted to see what would happen to me when the nuke’s energy struck. Seeing it coming as a red light, I closed my eyes and ducked my head, then flattened against the car’s side. Red radiation painted my skin. As I rose, looking at my skin, I thought, I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.

But it was done.

Next, I was with an army in place outside. We were all in woody camo gear. Thin, steady drizzle dampened our spirits, clothing and equipment. Across the valley was a like enemy encampment. We were waiting for them to attack.

The waiting was so tedious. Boredom overtook me. And I was cold, wet, and underdressed. From this, I decided to sneak away to get a outerwear. With continuing glances to ensure I wasn’t observed but also that the attack wasn’t imminent, I stole away from the woodsy front. Behind it was a village with widely spaced dwellings. Free of tension, relaxed, it was a wholly different state. I found the cottage where I’d been staying, went in and found my gear. After changing, I added the coat and headed back out.

Outside, I saw our commanders talking, heads down, close together, strolling. I slipped in behind them, following them, to see what I could learn. Eventually, they went to a place where a whiteboard had a map drawn on it. They wrote on it. Continuing to spy, I realized that the two men were in love with one another but wouldn’t address their relationship, and that was paralyzing their abilities to think, plan, and lead. Dismayed, I headed back to the front.

Back there, I settled back in. Nothing had changed. I stayed for a while, watching, drizzle falling, chill air kissing me, until someone came by and told me I was relieved so I can sleep and eat. Fully dressed, I settled into a bed. Someone else was on my left side. As I slept, others would join me and I’d wake up. Typically a woman, they would curl up against me for warmth, slept for a time, and then leave. Waking to return to duty, I knew that had happened nineteen times. One had been my sister, who came by, laughing, confessing that she’d heard I was warm and comforting.

I returned to duty. Looking through the drizzle across the valley, I saw a smiling white woman with frizzy brown hair and glasses appear. The enemy commander, I knew. I passed the word that she was there and warned others to be ready because she was working her way down through her troops, and I thought they might be preparing to launch their attack. We got ready to fight but the commander went down and disappeared from sight.

Suspecting subterfuge, I began watching our flanks. In a moment, I saw her appear, coming to us from the left. “There she is,” I told the rest, rising to go and confront her. As I went out, though, she transformed into another person who looked almost the same.

Surprise surmounted me. Had I been wrong, or was this a trick? I divided my time between watching her and surveilling the enemy across the valley, waiting for something to happen.

Dream end.

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Two ‘Project’ Dreams

In the first, I was in a dark place. Not threatening or anything, just limited light, like narrow sporadic spotlights. Third person personal POV, I couldn’t discern my age but I’m younger than now. I heard a brief comment, always in a male’s voice, and sensed the presence of someone much larger than me watching.

In front of me were a line of orange building blocks. They seemed like they were made of foam but I knew they were more substantial. I also ‘knew’ that I was part of a project. We’d been chosen to align these blocks in some way to harness their energy, and that the blocks were full of creative energy. Although I was working with others, I never saw anyone else. As I walked and studied the blocks, I concluded some things and moved them, sometimes physically, but as frequently by using my mind. As I worked, I heard the voice say, “They’re figuring it out. They’re coming together.” Dream end.

The next dream found me now arranging black blocks in almost the same situation, except the background was gray instead of dark. Again, I was moving the blocks with my body or mind, trying to bring them together, and I felt change taking place around me as I worked. Sometimes other blocks would appear and I would understand that someone else from the project had put the blocks there. As I connected my blocks with their blocks, I remembered the previous dream and realized, the first dream’s blocks were about generating creativity — that’s why they were orange — and these second set of blocks were to build from the orange blocks by using logic.

Dream end.

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Garbage Dream

I’m outside, kinda young. Rolling deep green grass, where a music festival is due to start. I’m excited about it but worried about unspecified stuff. I’m alone, don’t know anyone there. A few others are starting to arrive. They’re all younger, with my teenagers among them, mostly female.

I’m busy, though, boxing up containers of trash. Collecting it, putting it in boxes, sealing it up. Don’t know why I’m specifically doing it; seems to be a compulsion. People keep arriving but I keep boxing up trash. By the time I’m done, hundreds have arrived, and I have about thirty small, square boxes of trash.

I need a place to put them, and that worries me. I have some of them stacked on a small peeling white trailer which is attached to a small green minibike like one I had in my early teens. I plan to use the bike to pull the trailer and unload the garbage boxes somewhere else, but where?

There is a small white frame house. Single story, white siding, two windows on the front, a screen door in its center. I know that this is the office of the young men organizing the music festival. There are three, dark-haired young white men in their early twenties. I know this without seeing them. I can hear them talking and laughing. Part of their conversation is about me and my minibike pulling the scarred white trailer loaded with boxes of trash.

Piles of trash are not far from the house. I’m thinking about unloading my trash into this collection, but I feel guilty, as if I’m breaking a law, and that holds me back. Yet, racing around, watched by a growing number of people, I can’t find anywhere else to put the trash. I feel like this is my only choice.

Aware that I’m being watched, that others are commenting about what I’m doing, I try pulling my trailer of trash. It won’t go. I reattach the green minibike with its fat knobby tires. The little bike easily tugs the trailer across the way.

From inside the trailer, I hear the organizers discuss this development. One suggest, “It’s alright, let him be.” I feel better about that. I start unloading the trailer. People are commenting about how fast and hard I’m working. Some appreciate that I’ve cleaned up trash. Buoyed by what I hear, I quickly unload the trailer, drive back, and fill it again. Now finished, I stand still, sweating and breathing hard by my little minibike and its empty white trailer.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Mood: moderate

I blinked, and it’s Sunday once again. Seems like it was Sunday just last week. Ever get tired of that routine? Maybe we should expand the names of the days of the week. The government could have a big auction. Proceeds would go to education, homelessness programs, Medicare, and Medicaid. So we could have Appleday, IBMday, Floday (sponsored by Progressive Insurance), Fordday, MCUday, Primeday, etc. It’d be odd at first, sure, but we would adjust. They would earn the rights for a quarter. That way, things could be seasonal, or used for movie promotions. Sunday could be Barbieday.

Today is August 13, 2023. 77 F and climbing. Gonna be a hot one. Like seven inches from the midday sun. 103 is expected.

The Neurons stirred “Head Over Heels” by Tears for Fears (1985) into the morning mental music stream (Trademark hot). The CD that song was on was Songs from the Big Chair and was part of my long-distance rotation while going on temporary duty assignments in ’85, when I was stationed in South Carolina. I’m not surprised Les Neurons plucked this song out of memory, as I was head over heels in dreams last night. Nothing particularly interesting. Mostly anxiety dream varieties. That’s what’s been dominating.

Smoke entered the valley last night so it was shut the windows, keep them closed, and stayed inside. Air Quality Index entered the Moderate zone. I smelled and felt it, though, eyes tearing up and drying up, nose developing a drip, throat growing sore. Amazingly quick period before that all happened. I suspect that it’s a COVID leftover from last year’s bout. Never used to be like this for me. Of course, it might be just aging.

While still mesmerized by Hawaii’s disaster, news in the state today is about the increase of cougar sightings. The article pointed out that the cougar population has grown to 6,000, and that the growth of security cameras in houses and increased trail cams has increased our awareness of them. We have almost daily stories of them here in Ashlandia, where the people are worried, and pets are kept in sight.

Time to kick off this Oppenheimerday. Stay pos and be strong. Remember to love yourself a little. Nothing freaky, okay? Coffee? Mine is black and hot, without sugar, thanks. French roast.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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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.

1

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

3

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

2

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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