Category: Dreams

Dream Slices

To say that I didn’t have dreams last night isn’t correct. Nor is it correct to say that I don’t remember them. More correctly, I don’t have sharp, coherent memories of them.

I have slices of remembered dreams. One involved cars. I’d gotten out of one car. We’re at like a busy outdoor fair. Someone had been driving me. Another couple arrived in a car. I notice it, a convertible. They have the top retracted. A man I meet says something about it being a special car. Someone else asked why. I replied, “It’s an expensive car, a Maserati, isn’t it?” The man replied, “Very good, you noticed. You know your cars.”

I’m then off to be driven away again. I comment that the car that I was in was a Jaguar. “I’ve looked into buying one,” I said to the driver. He’s become quiet. I wonder why. He was smiling and talkative before. When we walk around the car, I discover that the car I’m to enter is a glistening black Mercedes stretch limo. Then, taking a more focused look, I realize that it’s extremely long, maybe forty feet. I then realize that’s probably why the driver became quiet. How did I mix up a Jaguar with a Mercedes stretch limo?

In another slice, I want to order a beer. That beer isn’t available; “Only one kind of beer is available here,” I’m told. “I know, I know,” I reply, accepting an opened bottle of that beer.

Then there is a bizarre sequence involving a water spray, lush green grass, a water sprinkler, and a hose. I’m soaked. I have both ends of the hose, one in each hand; it seems like I’m holding both of those ends up to keep the sprinkler from running so that the giant water spray can do its job. I don’t know what its job is now, although I knew in the dream.

Altogether, it seemed like a lot of unfocused chaos. Maybe that’s because I don’t remember enough, or maybe it was just chaos. Seems odd that three different makes of cars were seen, but all of them were foreign luxury cars, one Italian, one German, and one English.

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Another Writing Dream

This one was long, complex, and layered. After thinking about all of it (an exercise in itself), just sharing a few segments.

I was at a writing retreat on an island. At one point, I was in a room with other writers. We all stopped to take a break. Many were out on the balcony in sunshine, watching fog roll in. Thinking about joining them, I went to the refrigerator to get a beer. The frig was fully stocked but I decided to pass and went back to writing.

Later, I took a break from writing, left my room, and went running around the island. It wasn’t a big item and writers were everywhere. I realized that’s how I’d been spending my time, writing, with breaks to run/get exercise and sunshine, and I was enjoying it.

I decided it was time to leave the island. I was almost done with my work in progress and decided I’d finish it elsewhere. After making initial arrangements for my flight out, I followed up at the front desk. An old but big white man, who was the owner, worked the desk. He asked me if I wanted food for my trip out. He spoke in a low, garbled voice. I was constantly asking him to repeat himself, leaning forward to hear him. He shoved a piece of paper at me and a new yellow pencil. “Fill this out!”

Looking at the paper, I answered, “Fill what out? There’s nothing there.” After pulling back the piece of paper, he realized that a form that was supposed to be attached was missing, found one, passed it to me, and then turned to helping others.

I couldn’t complete the form because the pencil wasn’t sharpened. New, it’d never been sharpened. Instead of trying to get the old man’s help, I found a used pencil. As I filled out the form, I discovered the food I was ordering would cost $1500, an amount I found shocking. I asked the old man, “How long is this flight going to take?” He didn’t answer. I decide in the dream that it takes a lot to leave writer’s island.

Paperwork done, I walked out of the office and down an outside walk. A young female writer, white, short dark hair, short in stature, came up and put her arm around my waist. I reciprocated with an arm around her shoulder. She and I walked like this, with her telling me how much she liked my writing and admired me.

There’s a period of driving around. I’m a passenger. The young female writer is the driver. She keeps going the wrong way down streets, concerning me. It’s only after the dream that I wonder how there’s so many cars and roads there when the retreat was originally a small island.

I realize I’m carrying half a book. A classic, it’s literally torn in half, with the final half missing. Someone asks about it. I explain that it was a gift from a friend, a joke. He told me that whenever he asks me how I’m doing, I always answer that I’m about half finished. He thought it was finished to give me half of a published book.

Later, I’m worried. I don’t remember packing my clothes, computer, etc. I’ve already checked out but we’re back by the office. I stop by and ask the old man if I can check my room to see if I left anything behind. He gives me the keys and says, “Help yourself.” I go to the wrong room. Realizing that my room number was six, I find and enter it. It’s still the wrong room. I remember that my room was up two flights.

I go up to the right room. My baggage is there. Everything is packed. As I’m walking around, looking, just to be certain, another writer enters. We chat while I’m searching the room. I find a large cache of papers behind the desk. They appear to have fallen there. Drawing them out, I realize they’re old and handwritten, and they’re not mine. As I comment on that, the other writer starts crumpling them up and throwing them away. I ask him why he’s doing that, and then follow up, “Don’t you want to read other writers to see what they’re doing?” He stops trashing the papers and begins trying to uncrumple everything, which makes me laugh.

I decide to shower and change clothes, but I leave the room door open. After leaving the shower, while I’m toweling off, I discover a young doe in the room. It’s missing the top half of its head. It’s bloodless but like its head has been sawn off above its eyes and its brain scooped out. Friends enter to tell me good-bye. I wrap a towel around my waist. I’m about to warn them about the deer when one friend mentions it, making a joke. I’m surprised; the deer is completely whole and fine. I wondered why I thought it was missing part of its head, and then decide I’m always looking for the worse, even when it’s not there.

That’s where the dream ended. As mentioned in the beginning, it was complex, and offered a lot to unpack.

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The Security Lawnmower

I was helping others create security devices. That’s how it was put in the dream. It was a firm, and we were working outside, in the world. My security device ended up looking like a lawnmower chassis, the sort with a little gas engine that you push and walk behind. There was no engine, handle, or wheels, just that shape, from below. Hope you get the visual from this explanation. The kicker was that it was huge, and high up in the sky.

I pointed it out to people, laughing about its lawnmower resemblance. “I didn’t realize that when I created it,” I said. Then I went on to tell them that it would perpetually filter the world against security threats, and never come down. Then they showed and told me about their security devices.

Weirdest thing about this dream is that I had three other dreams. In them, I’d look up, and there was my security lawnmower. I laugh even now remembering that.

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Another COVID Dream

COVID-19 and wearing a mask featured in this dream. There was also a meatloaf cap, fruit for cars, and I was back in the military again.

Arrived at a new assignment, I was learning where to go. A new joint base (name unknown), the buildings, walks, and streets were all newly constructed and of the highest order, a very impressive place.

I was attached to the command staff, so my office was in the headquarters building. Leaving there, some kind of plan to paint a sign with black paint was in my head. I don’t know what the sign was supposed to say, but I had black paint on a brush. It kept dripping, marking the unblemished new walk, mortifying me. Staying in a wheeled office chair to go paint the sign exacerbated the mess. As I was outside, I don’t know why I was in that chair. That realization came to me in the dream, and I abandoned the chair and paint.

Next, I needed to find my way to my new quarters. I had a rough idea of where to go. First, though, I ended up in the lobby of the visiting officers’ quarters. Recognizing my mistake, I made to leave. At that point, I realized, I don’t have a mask on. I hadn’t been distancing. Oh, no. Others were sometimes masked but most were staying six feet apart.

I was still in the lobby and made my way to leave. At that point, a young couple, both officers, were trying to leave through the door. Their hands were full, so I held the door open. But I couldn’t keep six feet away and help them. Aha, there was a doorstop. I put it in place. Problem solved, I left.

I was now along a food court where military people in uniform were eating. Along one side was also a small commissary. I saw an advertisement for meat loaf. Then, I saw sliced meat loaf being worn on a cap. As I expressed astonishment, a young woman near me explained that it was a promotional gimmick. I then saw that it was being worn on a friend of mine, Randy. Randy had passed away several years before, so what was he doing here?

I wanted to catch up with Randy but he disappeared in the crowd. With a dream shift, I was in my car. This happened to be an orange 1974 Porsche 914 that I used to own. I was happy to have the car again. Before driving away to the quarters, I decided that I would put fruit on the ground for other cars. Leaving the car, I spaced a peach and an apple at a distance about five feet apart. I figured that spacing would let the car pick it up more easily. Even as I was thinking this in the dream, I was thinking, WTF are you talking about, in the dream. How would a car pick up fruit? Why would it want to? But I persisted in this plan, rationalizing that there were be opening under the car, and I was putting them at just the right space for the opening.

In my car, driving toward my quarters now, the dream ended.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Dream music, once again. That is, music that cropped up after some dreams. Particulars of this is that I had one of my standard recurring dreams about flying. Essentially, I’m flying on a commercial airliner. All is going well. I land and need to make my way through the airport but become confused about where I’m at and where I’m going. Then I work it out, etc.

Today’s flying song is by Pink Floyd. It comes out of the period we’ve labeled “1987”. Such labels help historic references and memories like what songs were playing the year that various things happened, and drifting through sketchy recollections of events. What prompted the skate down memory lane? That’s one for the neurons to answer, and they’re remaining incommunicado on the matter. Although the song, “Learning to Fly”, is about learning to fly, it’s also a metaphor for acquiring new experiences and skills. In that regard, it’s a decent song for the next-to-last day of 2020. 2020, by most accounts, was a trying year in which we had to learn a chunk of new processes, like how to wear a mask, properly wash your hands, and stay six feet away from other humans in social settings. With 2021 coming upon us and a change of administrations in the U.S., what new skills and knowledge will be required?

Here’s le music. (Or is it la music?) Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated.

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A Dream of Angst and Symbolism

Dream hits keep coming. In another busy night, one stood out.

I was welcomed into a luxury hotel, room 506. There, I found wonderful devices. Connected to my brain, they enabled to accomplish things with simple thought. Think the words and they’re typed. Imagine a food and it’s there. Ponder a drink and it’s at hand.

Wow, of course, right. I was giddy with amazement. Enjoying myself, I went off. Dream time zipped by. I found myself lost. Struggling to find my way back to my hotel and room, I ended up down on an airport tarmac looking for a way in. A woman gave me a white cap. Realizing everyone was wearing one, I put it on so I blended in. Then, trying to sneak into the building past the others (I was casual about it), another woman with a loud voice accosted me, demanding that I write three things on my cap. That confused the hell out of me. (Love that expression: look, no more hell in me! It’s a temporary state, though.) I asked, “Why should I write that on my cap?”

She snipped, “Because you’re part of my security team.”

Removing the cap with a smirk, I answered, “No, I’m not.”

I just walked past her after that. Suddenly back in the hotel, I asked the staff, “Where’s my room?” They replied, “Who are you?”

Although it irritated me, I gave them my name. Then I asked, “What room am I in?” They told me that I should know my room number. Irritation growing because they weren’t helping me and I couldn’t remember my room number, I began guessing. I recall something about two. “Two something, two something. Two oh five. Two oh six.” Then it hit me, no, no, it’d been eleven. One and one was two. I’d reached that by adding the numbers together. Right, five oh six.

Knowing the room number and suddenly the key, a card, was in my hand. I rushed to my room. Shock and dismay quickly displaced my happiness and satisfaction. The room had been trashed. All my neat stuff was damaged and broken. Walking around, I demanded, “What happened? Who did this?” As answers didn’t come, I thought, I must fix these, and began picking up the pieces.

That’s when this dream ended. Yes, this one was weighted with all manner of symbolism and angst. Still fun, you know?

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A Healing Dream

It was another busy dream night for me. Of all that I remember (or think that I do — who knows?), this one was the most intriguing.

I had an elderly cat. Tired, I could see that he was hurt, aching, and in pain. Thinking that I had to do something, or wanted to something but had no other recourse, I put him on my lap, talking to him, petting him, and willing healing energy into him. Someone witnessing it laughed and mocked me. I shrugged that off, thinking the contact made the cat feel better and cost me nothing.

When the cat left my lap, it seemed like he moved more easily, like his pain was gone. That delighted me. When I stood, I discovered pain that I had was also gone, surprising me. Noticing I stood had some pain/discomfort, I decided to do another test. I took the cat onto my lap and held him longer, stroking him, and willing him to feel better and be better. As I did, I was certain I was feeling better.

I awoke feeling enormously refreshed today, feel of hope and energy. I hope others can enjoy these sort of dreams, but they always cause me wonder about the nature of dreams and existence.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

This one started after having a dream, then was recalled and reinforced when dealing with the cats.

“Gimme Little Sign” was a 1967 hit for Brenton Wood. (Yeah, I had to look that up; didn’t recall the name at all.) I was eleven when it came out. Discovering girls and trying to understand them in my subsequent teen years, the song made sense. “Just gimme some kind of sign, girl,” you know? Do you like me or what? Want to go to the movies? Wanna go steady?

A dream about a game kicked it up out of the subconscious basement. In the dream, as the game started and I faltered, I said in exasperation, “Give me some kind of sign about what I’m supposed to be doing.” Then, watching others, I suddenly grasped the mechanics and rules, and was all, “Oh, yeah. Now I get it.”

Later, as I was up and processing the dailies and the cats and I interacted, they seemed to be all over about what they wanted. Impatience gaining traction, I asked Boo, “Can you give me some kind of sign about what it is you want?” Which then rekindled memories of the dream and the song.

It’s like a personal game of six degrees.

Here’s the music. It is a redux, as I posted it in 2017, but it’s a classic from that era, so I hope you enjoy it. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. Cheers

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A Change Dream

Dreamed I had a large house. One story, it was white and long, like an extended ranch, with many windows. Attached to one end of it was a business in a garage. The unspecified business, now closed, used to be a hangout for gangs and drug dealers.

This was about me, but I wasn’t the me that I am now; I looked different and had a young family. Someone told me that the business used to be used for different gang meetings, the first I learned of it. Gang members, motorcyclists, white supremacists, etc., kept showing up. I was turning them away but worried about my family. The only weapon I could find was an air rifle. I used that, constant vigilance, and threats to call the police to keep them at bay. That didn’t stop them from breaking in a few times and insisting they had a right to be in the business because that’s how it used to be. Sometimes, they would try to sneak in on the other end of the house. I kept telling them, sorry, you need to go because that’s all changed.

Despite this short synopsis, it was a lengthy dream. No violence ever took place, it was taut with tension throughout.

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A Dream

Last night’s main feature on the dream stage was a lengthy one, like Boyhood length (two hours forty-five minutes). (So it felt in the dream.) Expressing several layers, I thought I’d touch on highlights.

I was traveling on a jet. I knew that because I was told at the beginning that we were leaving on a jet, but never saw the aircraft. It was big; I had a large suite with several bedrooms on it. That was at the end of a long hallway.

Toward the middle of the dream, a friend (B) visited from Alaska. She and I sat at a window drawing with pencils. When she finished, she handed me a detailed drawing of me. Her skill amazed me. “I drew this for you,” she said. After thanking her, I studied it a bit, then decided it could be improved. I commenced doing that in stages. I showed her and told her what I’d done. She answered, “It’s yours, so do what you want.” She went off to get a drink.

My cat, Rocky, drew my attention. As an explanatory note, Rocky passed away about sixteen years ago. He was the only survivor of a litter found in a hoarding situation when we lived in Germany.

Rocky was approaching a square hole in the carpeted floor. I worried about him, as a red creature had been spotted at that hole, threatening a child earlier in the dream.

Rocky went up to the hole and stopped. The red thing came out, as I’d feared. Rocky retreated. The thing went after him.

I jumped up to go help Rocky, but Rocky swatted the thing off a ledge, which knocked it out of the aircraft. “Smart kitty,” I said. He then went off exploring, and was looking over the edge, out of the aircraft. I told him to be careful.

Then I was busy with other things. One thing I noticed was that the suite door was open. I closed it. When I turned around, I saw Rocky disappear over the ledge. Rushing over, I called him. There was scratching at the door. I hurried over and opened it to Rocky. He strolled in, nonchalant as ever.

The dream continued. I’m leaping forward in it. The others, who were my wife’s family and traveling with us, had returned. Someone ordered a beer from room service. We were talking about what we were going to do that day. I had one of my old Blackberry phones. On a whim, I decided I wanted to call the voice mail from the past. I couldn’t remember the number but just told the phone, call voice mail. A woman started talking. Assuming it was voice mail, I pressed some buttons to stop that. The system asked me if I was certain I wanted to reset it. I pressed escape.

After starting over, I heard the same female voice talking. I put her on my speaker. Then I realized that it was a live call. I wasn’t certain if she was calling from the past or if I’d slipped into the past. She was telling me a conversation with one of our engineers. “We use BlackICE 2.2 to run our security. It’s just a basic installation. He thought we’d still be able to do it but we’d need a key to do it and needed to talk to you.”

BlackICE was a startup that I worked with around 2000. All of what she said aligned with my BlackICE role.

I told her, “No. It can’t be done. That was almost twenty years ago. BlackICE 2.2 would no longer work. It’s no longer a product, and the company has been bought by other companies. I’m afraid that you need to move on.”

The dream continued — it was long, believe me — but those on the highlights for me.

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