Tag: anxieties

A Writing Dream

It’s a disheveled dream, with a complicated cast and strange twists. I start out in a parking lot, a young man. My wife drives up in her gray Honda Civic, the one driven in yesteryears. I tell her to park and to make sure she locks the car. I point out a parking slot and she drives away.

Others are met. I tell them I’m waiting for my wife to park, but I’ll see them inside. I’m by my car of yesteryear, my first RX-7, a light blue vehicle that we bought brand new. My wife comes up. I ask her to park the RX-7 for me and tell her where. As she gets into the car, closes the door and drives away, I walk off toward a building. I pass her car; she’s left the door open. I’m dismayed, asking myself, what’s wrong with her? Her seatbelt is hanging out of the door, so I theorize that its position prevented her from closing the door and she didn’t notice. I fix all that, and then head on to building, a multi-story, long, white modern edifice with black windows, one of those places seen in business parks across the U.S. As I walk the loaded parking lot, I see my parked Mazda. Its door is open. What is wrong with my wife that she’s left doors open and unlocked in two cars?

In the building, I enter an apartment. Mom is there, along with her boyfriend, Frank. She waves hello to me. I find my wife in the kitchen preparing food and tell her that she left the doors open and unlocked on both cars. She mutters something defensive back. I answer, “That’d be fine if it was one car, but it was two. You have a problem.” I walk off.

Someone comes by to give me the book I’m working on. It’s a big, clumsy book, totally unfamiliar. When I open it, I discover nonsensical words and phrases written in a large, sloppy style using crayons. I recognize that it’s Frank’s book. I protest, “This isn’t my book. Where is my book?”

I go through the house to find my book. As I search, I find sandwiches overfilled with meat, cheese, and lettuce. No one else is there so I wonder aloud but to myself, “What’s with all of these sandwiches.” I continue going through, looking for the book, confounded, picking up a sandwich and eating it as I go. I begin noticing piles of coins on end tables, coffee tables, window sills, and the floor. Someone else is walking through the room. I turn and ask, “What’s with all these coins?” They reply, “I don’t know, you left them there.”

“I left them?” I ask back, but I’m alone. I realize that I’ve eaten my sandwich. It’s gone but there are plenty more. There’s also many more piles of money that I didn’t see before. They’re everywhere, growing taller and wider, filling with silver coins.

Dream end.

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Chaotic Clothing Dream

Everything whizzed by in this dream. With few exceptions, chaos ruled.

I began by entering some sort of dark, busy pavilion. Plants hung down from the rafters. The inside was filled with tables. It could have been something like a flea market but I never knew for certain. As I walked around, I visited with a dog, petting and talking to him. Coming to another entrance, I then encountered a large, black dog. I reached out to visit with him. I snapped his teeth at me and then began growling. I shrugged it off and walked. The dog followed me, growling me. I turned and told him to stop and then threatened to hit him with a sock I had in my hand. The dog backed off.

I continued. Some people (hazy) asked me questions. I seemed to know them. I answered and then told them that I need to change my clothes. I went to do this and realized my clotherees were in suitcases. After finding one, I realized my other suitcases were elsewhere. I knew exactly where, though, and rushed to them. But then it was like, okay, what will I wear, oh, the underwear is in the other suitcase, there’s the light blue sweat I wanted, all while answering others’ questions as they walked past me or stood behind me.

Dream end

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The Waves Dream

I was in water, which seemed to be an ocean or sea. Others were in the water, which was a light aquamarine in color. An azure sky ruled. Waves licked and tumbled over flat, white, sandy beaches.

The warm water wasn’t up to my waist, but reached the bottom of my trunks, which were flowers on dark green. I soon noticed the water was rising. I couldn’t figure out why. Others didn’t seem to notice, or maybe just weren’t commenting. As the water rose over my waist, I decided to go ashore.

I found I couldn’t. The waves weren’t any more threatening but strong currents were dragging me further into the water. It was happening to everyone. All were struggling to keep from being taken out to sea.

I tried fighting the current and lost. Then I thought, maybe I could go with the current and then break free and return to land via another direction. I quickly learned that wasn’t feasible.

The water was up to my neck. It was warm and comfortable but frightening as I coped with a fear that I could drown. I tried again striking out for the shore but ended up with water up to my chin and splashing into my mouth.

I dove under. The water was darker and colder. I kicked out and then started using my arms, swimming underwater, taking whatever the currents let me. I wasn’t sure what direction I was going or where the land was. The water kept growing darker and colder.

I came free. I don’t know how or where. I suddenly found myself striding over volcanic rocks, sputtering water and gasping for air. I was on land but didn’t know how I’d made it. Looking back for the beach, I found it. The water was still that pleasant aquamarine with light waves, but darkening clouds had gathered overhead.

Dream end.

4

A Facilitating Dream

The commander, a colonel, was walking in, talking on his cell as he came. I knew he was speaking with his wife. I overheard him: “Seidel? Yes, he’s here. He’s always here. He’s everywhere.”

A blush of pride bloomed in me in the dream. That was toward the end. It’d been another military dream, a chaotic one. Whereas most of my military dreams after my service ended has been about my chosen career field, command and control, or about traveling, this one was about facilitating. I’d spent the last three years of my career facilitating special project teams. This dream took off from there.

People were arriving for the session. I knew them and was prepared for them — or so I thought. Things started going wrong. Like Mom showed up. What was Mom doing there? I saw her but then she wasn’t there, so maybe I’d imagined her.

It threw me off my game. A squadon commander, black and and light colonel, arrived. I was pleased to see him, greeting him by name, showing him in, asking him if he’d like something to drink. Coffee, water, juice, tea? “Tea,” he agreed. Excellent, we have multiple kinds. What would you like? He selected (can’t remember what it was) and I went off to get it.

But I couldn’t immediately find the tea. Interruptions hampered the search. Sisters are arrived. I didn’t know what they were doing there. The phone kept ringing. Other team members were arriving. Someone knocked over one of the white boards. And the cookies weren’t put out.

I was scrambling, racing back to the light colonel to tell him that I’d not forgotten his tea, that it would be right out. He was taking it well, smiling and nodding, relatively unconcerned. I was also trying to be a good host with other arrivals and trying to corner one of my sisters to inquire about why she was there.

Someone suggested we play a game. They found something sort of roundish and suggested volleyball. Cheers met the suggestion. Although I first resisted because I had an agenda, I acquiesced. Be flexible, right? “Okay, why not,” I agreed.

We went out. There were five on one side and one, a female, on the other. They were going to play volleyball but there wasn’t a net. The lumpy thing being used as a volleyball turned into an actual volleyball. I told the one woman that I’d be her teammate. We’d take on the rest. Some volleying was done. I was told to serve. Everyone tensed because they thought I’d have a power serve but I kept missing the ball completely.

I finally served the ball and a volley ensued, then we lost the ball. Someone came up with some misshaped black thing, smaller than a volleyball, to use. I argued against it, demonstrating that I couldn’t even hit it right. Nobody else had yet tried. They all encouraged me to keep trying. I did, and suddenly began hitting it spectacularly well.

Others arrived so we quit playing. I hurried back to facilitate because some were up asking about the talking points posted to a white board. I rushed to explain. That’s when the commander arrived talking on the phone, and the dream ended.

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The Sister Dream

Wasn’t sure what to call this dream but the sister aspect spoke to me more in reflection.

First, it was me as a younger man with a car I once owned, a silver 1985 Mazda RX-7 SE that I bought used in California in 1991. I had parked it at a familiar convenience store in West Virginia, where I was visiting. Dream perspective changed: I looked at the parking lot with the car parked and me walking away from it, toward the store, as it could be viewed from the store’s security camera.

Another car drove up and parked on top of my car. This car was an old maroon Datsun sedan. Beater was an apt description. A young woman drove with another young woman as passenger. Both were white. They were laughing, laughing at her parking effort, laughing at being on top of my car, laughing at wrecking my car.

I stormed over there and shouted at her in my coldest, angriest voice. I told her that I owned her. I would see her in jail. Contempt crackled through every syllable. The driver sat in the car, holding the steering wheel, and crying. Her friend tried to talk me into being more compassionate, but I remained relentless. I called the police.

Scene change. I was driving the same car. A young white man drove an old white car into the side of my car.

I was livid and incredulous, thinking, the same car has been hit twice. I stalked to the offending white car, yelling at the driver. My brother-in-law showed up. He told me he’d take care of it because the driver was his son.

I was stunned. That was his son? I didn’t recognize him. My BIL went on, “Your sister just inherited some money. It should cover the damage. I’ll sign the check over to you.” He took out yellowed parchment paper and showed me the check. It was for $950. “Will that cover it?” he asked. Yes, I replied.

My BIL signed the check and then used scissor and cut it away from the rest of the document. As this happened, I wondered, who die? Who did my sister inherit this from? I saw that the document was an itemized list of household objects in large letters.

I took the check and began crying. I stood in my dream crying my eyes out. Then I decided to go see my sister.

I found my sister at home. She told me she needed a ride to get somewhere. I told her that I would give her the ride. I took her someplace. A party seemed to be going on. After dropping her off, I returned home. I awoke later in a panic because I thought I’d overslept and needed to pick up my sister and bring her home. As I rushed about, scrambling to leave, another sister asked where I was going. I told her I was going to pick up S. She replied, “She’s already home. Someone else gave her a ride.” I went to find my sister and confirm she was there. On the way, I stopped and peed in the bathroom. Then I looked in a bedroom and saw my sister asleep in a bed.

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The Screwing Up Dream

Dreams of screwing up have beset my nights. For example, last night had me helping to build houses in the first dream, just simple wooden structures. I wasn’t in charge, but had joined the project after it was long underway. We were building on a high steppe rich with emerald green grass. The steppe ended on a cliff. Below in a a hazy blue distance were landmarks from a city. Beyond, an ocean breathed with rolling swells. Peaceful and comforting, I was happy to be in those surroundings, proud to be part of that project.

But, I suggested a change to where we put the houses. Then I acted on it. Only framing had been done (bizarrely, we seemed to be building without foundations, which is probably a clue for me), and after I moved the houses, they all began collapsing, like slow motion dominos falling over onto one another. I realized the last would fall over the cliff, so I rushed over to keep it up before that happened. So there I was, holding up part of a house frame as I teetered on a precipice. End dream.

The anxieties continued in the next dream. This had something to do about testing and storing blood. I was involved in helping assess how doctors did this. Yes, it’s all a little surreal. Each little package of blood had the doctor’s name, a date, and a patient’s number. Details of my role were vague but again, I decided I could change it into something better and proceeded to screw up. My wife then informed me as I was screwing up. I laughed her off, then realized as I walked off that she was right. By trying to improve it, I’d cut open the bag, not in a way that was acceptable, but some other way. All the blood was then gone. Alarmed by what I’d done, I kept trying to figure out a way to fix it, then started complaining about the system. It was the system that was at fault.

Trying to hide my error, I walked away from everyone and everything. No answer was coming to me, though. I then thought, this is a dream, just go back in time and stop myself from doing that. I laughed at that in the dream, and then reconsidered the bag. It had been blood; now it was full, but it was water. A doctor came by. Tall, lean, and dark, he gave me a contemptuous look. I thought he was going to say something and readied myself to reply, but he kept walking. Saved, I thought, walking quickly away.

At this point, I was alone in large, white room. Bright with light, rows of small desks that were as white as the wall, ceiling and floors precisely filled the room. Stopping at one, I worked on the bag. I was surprised to discover, yes, it was water, and the bag wasn’t cut. All the information was intact; there wasn’t a problem. “What have been worrying about,” I asked myself, looking around. Nothing was wrong. It had not been blood in the bag, but water. But, I thought, how did I mistake such completely different substances? One was clear, the other red. And why were doctors collecting bags of water from patients? I then realized that I was completely mistaken about the nature of the bags, that these were prepared to be given to the patients.

Dream end.

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The Reassurance Dream

One of last night’s dreams had me traveling.

It was all going wrong. It began with me leaving an aircraft and discovering that I’d been on the wrong flight and had subsequently landed in the  wrong place. Knowing that I was on a tight schedule, the realization sent anxiety tremors through me.

As I began to sort the situation, I discovered that besides being on the wrong flight, I didn’t have my tickets. I also didn’t know where my luggage was, or where it was headed.

Chaos ruled the airport. Noisy and crammed with travelers, flights seemed to be screwed up for many. My heart was sinking with the magnitude of the mess. Weariness spread through me.

A tall man in a airline uniform called my name and approached. “We know you’re having some problems. Don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you and make sure you get to where you’re going.”

Two women in airline uniforms were with him. One woman said, “I’ll make sure that you get on your flight and get to where you’re going. Don’t worry about it.”

The man said, “I’m going to get the flight ready. I’ll come back and check on you.” He walked off.

The other woman said, “I’ll be here to help you. Just come and see me if you have any problems or issues.”

I felt a lot better, and flattered. “Okay, thanks. But I’ll be okay.”

“We know,” the second woman said. “We’ll make sure of it.”

I found myself in a packed waiting area. Finding space on the floor, I set down the one bag that I carried. I planned to call people to tell them what was happening. When I looked for my phone, I discovered it where my wallet was supposed to be. In a flash, I realized that I’d packed my wallet with my identification and credit cards in my checked baggage.

I felt sick. Someone could open my bag, find my wallet and steal my credit cards, and my identification. As I grappled with that, a small calico cat came up to me through the terminal. Butting her head against me, she purred, meowed at me, and sniffed and rubbed against me.

Others noticed the cat and were envious, telling me, “How sweet,” and, “Can I pet her?”

The cat allowed herself to be pet and cuddled, but she always came back to me. I told everyone that I’d never seen her before. Someone said, “That’s your protector animal.”

My phone, the old Blackberry that I used to have, began ringing. It was an old friend who died a few years ago. “I got a joke for you,” he said.

“Why’re you calling me now? I don’t have time for jokes, Randy,” I answered.

“Sure, you do. This won’t take long.” Then he told me a joke (which I don’t remember).

Another old friend, also dead, then called. He also wanted to tell me a joked exasperating me. “I don’t have time,” I said. “Yes, you do,” he replied.

The second woman approached. “We have your luggage,” she said, and then, there was my luggage. In a rush, I opened it. My wallet was in there with my ID. My credit cards were in there, but they’d been cut in half.

The woman said, “They saw your credit cards were in your luggage, so they cut them in half, to protect you.”

While I appreciated them looking out for me, I was upset because my credit cards had been cut in half.

Then the woman put her hand up and said, “They ordered new credit cards to replace those, so you won’t have any problems.” In her hand were replacement credit cards.

The first woman then announced to the waiting area that an aircraft was ready for us. A small cheer came from the passengers in response. As I stood and began gathering my items, the woman came over and called my name. “You need to come first,” she said. Then she told the others, “We want him to get to where he wants to go.”

Everyone nodded in understanding as she led me forward to the waiting aircraft.

4

J’accuse Dream

First, this has nothing to do with Zola’s letter, except the title. This is about my dream, aspirations, and doubts.

As background, I finished writing and editing a series of novels called Incomplete States. With that finished, I was moving into the next steps of what to do when you’re written a novel and want to get it published. Options are available.

My dreamscape has been quiet for several days so I didn’t think my decisions would show up in my dreams. But, boom, they came. When I awoke and thought about it, I laughed about what I’d dreamed.

The dream began with a new venture. People were expecting me and had high expectations for what I would do. I was relaxed, going about getting acclimated. As the dream progressed, I learned that I was in the military (again), involved with command and control.

Awakening, I thought, “Of course the military would be included.” I’d spent twenty years in the military. The structure helped me succeed without stretching myself. It was a comfortable existence. I often retreat to it in dreams.

Things quickly began going awry in the dream. I felt constantly behind and a little bit lost. I couldn’t find my uniform. I discovered I was already supposed to be somewhere, and I was late. Scrambling, I rushed to find my uniform, shave, dress, and get to work.

I was naked when my wife came in. “What’s this?” she pointed at my side. I couldn’t see what she referenced.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” she said, and then steered to a mirror. “I think you’d better take a look.”

She pointed out several boils on my side. Horrified, I tried lancing them, and failed. The effort put me behind. Now I really had to scramble.

Awakening, I realized that I was facing my anxieties. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” That question seemed like I was trying to pretend to be someone else, and that I wasn’t clearly seeing myself and the situation, that I was misleading myself. And look how I’m blemished and flawed, the things I don’t see about myself, how I’m fooling myself. I took all of that about my publishing ambitions.

Finding shaving cream, I hunted down a mirror and started applying it to shave. The shaving cream was thick and brown. Crude and unfinished, I thought after awakening and reflecting on the dream, just as I worry that others will think about the series. 

Another military member in uniform stuck their head in the window. “What are you doing?” I said.

“Looking at someone using a mirror,” he said. “I’ve never seen that done before. I was wondering what it’s like.”

How absurd, I thought, but, awakening, I realized that I was questioning even the most basic aspects of myself. I remembered reading about experiments involving animals mirrors. Looking in a mirror and realizing that you’re seeing yourself is used to explore animal intelligence and self-awareness. By implying that I (as another entity in the dream) didn’t know how to use a mirror was a question about my self-awareness and intelligence.

A phone rang and I answered it. “We have an inflight emergency,” a male voice said. “We need you here to decide what to do.”

I was appalled. “But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then you’re not coming?”

“No.” I hung up.

I didn’t need to think much about that aspect after awakening. The message behind the words seem nakedly clear, as did the next dream segment.

A chief master sergeant that I’d worked for during my first tour called me to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this isn’t working out. To be honest, I expected more of you. It didn’t work out so I’m sending you back home.”

“‘But Chief,” I protested, but he wouldn’t listen to me.

Yes, it was all there, all the doubts, uncertainty, and uncertainty, along with rejection by a person in authority who I admired.

I thought I’d mastered these things, demonstrating again how easily I can fool myself. Yes, those doubts exist. Hell, they exist with the majority of efforts that anyone does. To reach and succeed, failure, ridicule, and exposure must be risked. These doubts are always in me, no matter how many times I’ve succeeded, or how often I’ve been reassured by myself and others. That’s just part of who I am.

While it gave me a good laugh to see how earnestly my subconscious mind (and thus, me) attacked me, it hasn’t changed anything. It’s there, and I know it, but I’m stepping out.

Cheers

 

2

Battering Dreams…

The last two nights’ dreams have battered me. Tempestuous and often shocking, they uncovered memories, eroding the foundations of my confidence, prompting A.M. shakiness.

In one dream, my wife and neighbors had killed another neighbor. He was married to one of the neighboring females. I didn’t understand why they’d killed him nor why they were unconcerned.

The police rounded them up. My wife and neighbors had skinned the body, though. As I heard it, they planned to eat the man. While I struggled to clarify what I heard, they cheerfully entered the police station. They weren’t being arrested. It turned out the police had already arrested one of the perpetrators for the crime, but now my wife and neighbors were picking him up. He was being released. I didn’t understand how or why.

Another memorable dream had people secretly plotting to kill a wealthy, powerful family. This dream took place in faded green light. Little was clearly seen beyond silhouettes. The powerful family — husband, wife, and three children — was being betrayed. A missile strike was being planned to take them out.

Learning about it, I furtively warned the family. The covertly relayed that they’d been suspicious and thanked me. I kept an eye on them and the man betraying them. I saw him on a telephone, on of those big and corded push-button desk phones that were popular last century. Sneaking up, I overheard him telling the killers to call off the strike because I’d warned the family.

He noticed me spying on them, so he hung up and I left. Coming around later, I heard him on the phone again, telling those on the other end to wait to launch the missiles until he called them. He wanted to kill me at the same time so that I couldn’t cause them trouble. The missiles were launched, but then recalled.

Another dream was about powerful rains. Heavy charcoal clouds thickened overhead, and then pouring rain shuttered visibility. Rain sluiced off roofs and overflowed storm drains and gutters. Torrents filled the streets. Pedestrians and drivers were freaked as cars and feet splashed through fast, rising water. The water rose until where I walked was a turbulent lake. The lights dimmed under the rain’s relentless pounding.

However, caught in the rain myself, I tried reassuring everyone. Telling them not to worry, I kept saying, “It’s just rain. Don’t worry. This will pass. We’ll be fine.” I couldn’t find anyone to stop and listen to me.

Then memories were uncovered of things others said about me. It was a miserable version of “This Is Your Life”, asshole. Bitter things I’d heard, things that I hadn’t realized that I learned about later, as people spoke behind my back.

Awakening, I realized how much of this is because I’m on the cusp of achievement and decisions that prompt reflections and fears, all around writing and publishing, sharing my work, baring my efforts to others, and being fearful of exposure as an untalented poseur.

A long walk on the way to write pacified much. Thinking about the dreams, I realized that in each, I was never personally affected. I was witness, observer, and bystander, relatively unscathed by the swirl around me. That took me to conclude, this is about emotions and uncertainty. Writing it out now helped me navigate my fears and struggle free of my negative energy, at least momentarily, make some decisions and take some actions.

Time to write and edit like crazy, at least one more time this year.

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