Tag: black dog

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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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Yesterday was a gorgeous day locally, and today extends a promise that it came be the same. Today is May 17, 2022, a Tuesday, as it goes. The sun crowded into the valley at 5:48 AM. It was already in the mid fifties by then. Now it’s up to the low sixties, and we expect a high around 73 F. As I noted, it’s much like yesterday. Sunset should come at 8:27 PM.

We breakfasted out this morning, the first time we’ve eaten breakfast out locally since Feb. 2020. See, back in 2019, we participated in an auction to support exchange students with our sister city in Mexico. One of the things we successfully bid on was a gift card for one of our local favorite restaurants, Brothers. My wife has some anxiety that COVID-19 will surge back into the area as tourism kicks in and people become complacent, so we took advantage of the low local numbers to use our gift card. She had mushroom and onion omelet while I did the Mediterranean scramble with artichokes, dried tomatoes, feta cheese, kalamata olives, and spinach. It was a pleasant, relaxing, and welcome change to our routines of the past two years.

I ran into a very friendly big black dog while I was out walking yesterday. Muzzle grayed with age, his body went into a hyper frenzy of wagging, like we were favorite cousins encountering one another after decades away. I was in the street so I worried that he was a stray but his person came out and reassured me. The dog and I spent a few minutes together and then he went home with his person, back to his yard. After I resumed walking, the neurons unleased “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin into my mental music stream, where it still resides this morning.

So, here’s the music, and there’s my coffee. Stay positive and test negative, you know? Right. Cheers

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The Black Dog Dream

This was another military dream but, with twists to it that made the military component less significant.

So, yeah, in the military, young again, running a command post, killing time. I’m waiting for something to happen, so I start going through the daily logs. First, I’m superintendent and I’m expected to review and initial the logs each day. Second, the logs should reflect what checklist actions have been taken by the controllers on duty. I want to ensure they’re doing their jobs as expected when I’m not around.

I go through a bit of that, making comments. The command post is lightly busy around me, slower than a typical day, with people calling in on the radios and the telephones ringing and being answered. My mood is buoyant; whatever I’m waiting to have happen has me hopeful and excited, full of anticipation. Going through personnel rosters, I note that we’ve lost several people, which lowers the assigned total to perfectly fit all needs. That delights me to bizarre levels. Every position filled, and no one left for me to ‘find a job’ for them. Great. I go through the names, recognizing people who worked for me before, and then do a casual audit of the communication security code books on hand, ensuring they’re being properly maintained. Everything is in perfect order!

I’m abruptly changed into civilian clothes, which surprises me, but it’s a good thing, I decide, ala Martha Stewart. Then I’m looking for my dogs. I should have three. (NOTE: In RL, I’ve never owned a dog.) I find one of them. I recall the second one passed away, which saddens me. But the third, a small black Yorkie in my mind, should be there.

I begin walking around the command post, looking for the missing black dog. As I do, others question me about what I’m doing. They don’t seem to be able to comprehend my answers. As I’m responding and still looking, I see the dog bounding down a small ravine. Well, there he is, I think, happy to know that, and going after him.

I leave the command post but can’t find the ravine. I know that’s where the dog, so how do I get there? The dream ends as I’m turning in circles, trying to understand where to go to reach the dog…

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The Philospher-Musician Dream

It began with a dark, rainy night. Walking along on a windy tar road under a tall highway overpass, I was looking for a specific house, one where a French philosopher and musician lived. I had some vision but it was extremely dark and wet. As I walked, I realized an animal was not far from me. I veered a bit to go around it and realized it was a large, black dog. I changed course again, then just shrugged off the dog’s presence and walked past it. The dog ignored me; I looked back and found it was two large, black dogs, but they weren’t paying any attention to me.

I arrived at the house I sought. Children let me in and led me to a bedroom. Her ceilings were low, the walls were wood-paneled, windows abounded, and the lights were soft, yellow glows. After a moment, a woman entered; this was the philosopher-musician I sought. She was short and fair, thin, with a black bob. I explained to her that I had an original song trapped in my head. I wanted to get it out but I wanted to duplicate it so others could hear it. Could she help?

Yes. I sat on her bed on white sheets. She asked me to describe the song. I listened in my head and described soft violins that swelled and fell. She began playing music, asking, like this? That kept on until she had that piece down with my corrections. So it went, with different instruments, until she’d captured the entire song in my head. The children sometimes interrupted, coming in to peek at me or asking Mom for something, but it was overall a very productive but intense session.

She gave me a copy of the recording for my use. I left, retracing my steps through dark pouring rain. Seeing a shortcut through a yard, I ventured to follow it, where I saw a bird riding on the back of the turtle. The turtle went through a pool of water and then out onto the land again. The bird was almost dislodged but resettled. Both looked at me. I wondered if the bird was a burden to the turtle and considered trying to remove it but decided against it.

I went on and came across a large party under sunshine and tents on the grounds of a Marriott Hotel. I knew it was a Marriott because of the big, red letters. It wasn’t raining; I was dry and the land was dry. I saw two of my tall cousins. Going to them, I said, “Hey, let me buy you a drink,” and handed one a twenty. Each already had a drink in their hand but stopped and looked at the money.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s not enough,” one cousin answered.

“Isn’t this happy hour?” I returned.

“Yes,” the other cousin said, “But my vodka is nine dollars a shot, and this is a double shot.”

Dream end.

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The Green Parrots Dream

Millions of bright green things floated and twirled through the sky toward me and the rest. They reminded me of green snow flurries. A companion said, “What’s that?”

I was recognizing them as bright green parrots. Reaching out, I collected a handful of them and confirmed, they’re green parrots. Small as peas, they were much lighter, and they were alive.

“Tiny green parrots,” I said, offering a cupped handful of parrots to another, careful not to injure the birds.

It was an odd interlude in an odd dream. Before that, I’d been helping others. First, I was at a small business. Like a food kiosk, it was a wooden structured attached to the front of a large office building. The kiosk needed painted. I was told to paint it brown. It wasn’t the best color, in my opinion, but I would do as told.

Midway through painting the kiosk, I took a break. After wandering, I came across shack. Inside was a young boy and his dog.

The boy appeared to be a ten-year-old Mexican, and the dog was black and large. I’d found the boy in a shack. Asking questions, I confirmed that the shack was where he lived. He had little food or clothing, and his body and garments reflected that.

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand. “You’ll live with me. I’ll give you food. Bring your dog. You’re a package.”

We went to my house, which had no remarkable details in the dream. Taking the boy in, I asked him his name (I don’t remember what it is), and fed him and the dog. My father entered with another man. I introduced the boy and his dog, and told my father, “He’s living here now. Take care of him.” I left.

Heading back to the kiosk, I saw a can of light blue paint. I decided that would be a better color than the brown. I don’t know whether I took the paint or bought it, but it was now mine. Heading back toward the kiosk, I encountered another kiosk. I was also painted the same brown. Meeting a woman there, I lamented about the lack of business and product and then realized that I was speaking to the owner. Confirming that, I suggested we paint her business with the light blue paint that I had. As she vacillated, I said, “I’ll do it,” and started painting it. That made her happy.

We talked while I painted. I told her that I owned the other kiosk (which had apparently transpired as I was going about) and that I was also painting my business the same color blue, and that I was adding white and gold dream. That seemed to make her happy. I told her that I’d do the same for her business.

Friends came by and began helping. We needed more paint, and I also wanted to begin painting my business, so some of us left. As we walked and talked, looking for the needed paint, the green parrots arrived.

After the green parrot interlude, I returned to my business. Friends had already arrived and were painting it the new colors. That made me happy, but a man in uniform approached.

A badge was on his shirt pocket. He was looking for the boy. I told him that he was with me. The officer told me that wasn’t acceptable. He wanted to take the boy away. I took the officer back to see the boy and show him the boy was okay. The officer still wasn’t happy, but left, promising to come back. I asked the boy what he wanted to do, and he said he wanted to stay with me. I said, “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The dream ended.

 

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Three Strange Dreams

Three strange dreams afflicted me last night, one after enough in a line of dreams.

  • I dreamed I’d removed my penis from my body and was making pencil sketches of it that I shared with others. There was no blood loss or discomfort. I was showing the drawings to friends and families, and was holding my penis in my hand. They never noticed that I was holding my penis, but were surprised and appalled by my sketches (which were very realistic, in that style of drawing that I used to do).
  • The second dream placed me in an uncomfortable backwoods setting. I was with people that reminded me of the folks I knew in West Virginia. These folks are hard, shallow, and bitter people, with little empathy. Their circumstances might make them that way (although I also think, if it’s so fucking terrible, why don’t you leave and find something better?). I was looking for change to make a call. They weren’t concerned with that, but instead obsessed with how ignorant I was. This was because I’d found change in a stream (a quarter and a penny), but a dead body was in the stream. They thought I was going to get sick by getting in water with a dead body. I insisted on doing it because I needed the change. I thought there was more there, so after looking elsewhere, I returned to the stream and searched. As I did, I looked at the dead body, which turned out to be a large, black dog. I wondered how he died and arrived in the water, and hoped that he hadn’t suffered.
  • In the third dream, I was in an all-white place, like a ship, wearing an all-white flight suit. Others were there, dressed in the same way. There was no one familiar to me but I knew them in the dream. We were concerned mostly with the toilets, and which toilet to use, and why the toilets was dirty, and whether the toilets worked. I was less concerned about this, and kept trying to direct the conversation and activity to something other than fucking toilets, but it was a challenge; these people were obsessed with the damn toilets. We finally got around to other things, like, hey, we’re supposed to be flying. An involved conversation about who was supposed to be doing what, like flying, developed. I was dismayed and perplexed by how the others all wanted to assign people narrow tasks. Moving off by myself, I went ahead and flew. That impressed others, who weren’t aware that I could fly, and peppered me with questions about how I’d learned and what else I could do. Their questions amazed me. I told them, it wasn’t hard, I’d always known how, people only made it hard for themselves by thinking they had to be special to do things.

Yeah, weird dreams. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

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