Tag: coins

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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The Divorce & Money Dream

My wife and I divorced. We then went on a vacation together, where we stayed in a mid-range luxury condo. Her sisters were there, in adjoining places, along with their children. We were all younger than in RL by thirty years or so. My wife – B – and I had dinner and then attended a presentation on the environment and climate change in a huge, packed auditorium lit with golden chandeliers. The speaker was a good-looking man with a gold tan who had bestselling books on the subjects. My wife met him after the presentation. They fell in love and married.

I went back to my condo. My wife came to visit. We could see into her new husband’s place, as it was next door. Large and modern, it featured realms of glass. Golden lights lit it inside. B told me that the home was enormous, taking up two entire floors of the luxury townhomes next door, and that her new husband was dying. He passed the next day, leaving everything to B. She announced that as part of that, she was receiving over $13,000 a month in royalties.

I was happy for her but startled by that amount. We’d been there for almost a week and I needed to leave soon. I didn’t have reservations to fly out but had a day and a half left before I needed to get back so I decided not to make reservations yet. I was very busy at that point. The condo had become a little cluttered with piles of coins. My nieces and nephews began collecting them and taking them to my sisters-in-law and wife, who kneeled on the carpet divided the piles of coins among themselves. This didn’t worry or bother me because I’d discovered large caches of cash which belonged to me. I was happy for them to take the coins, but every time I turned around, I discovered another pile of coins.

Then, oh no, I was late for leaving and I hadn’t made a reservation! I chastised myself, thinking if I had made reservations, I wouldn’t be late because I would have had more structure. I succeed more with structure.

A man came by and informed me that I needed to leave, and that if I didn’t I would be fined. I laughed at the threat and noted that I had cash on hand and my ex was receiving $13,000 a month in royalties. The man left. I told the rest of my party that I needed to leave and would be departing shortly. My ex-wife said something back about the need to take care of her new inheritance. She was to go into her ‘new place’ to inventory its contents. I asked her about the hold up, and she said, “There’s a lot of places,” and held up keys. One key ring with keys were hanging on another key ring of keys. “He has places all over town. And you should see the cars.”

Dream end

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Three Dreams, No Waiting

I call the first dream the 6¢ Dream. The other two were flash-dreams.

The 6¢ Dream

It’s called the 6¢ dream because I was looking — wait. I’ll begin at the start. It ends a little ghoulish.

I’m living with my in-laws. Two SIL, brother-in-law, MIL. My wife isn’t there. The house is a long building. Tall for a house. Off-white, with many narrow, vertical windows. Built in a straight line going up a small grade in the middle of a dirt road. The road’s dirt is ochre-colored.

After being presented with an outside shot of the house, like the opening of a sitcom, I find myself in the house. I’m looking at its floor plans. Each room is labeled. The room that I’m in is priced at 6¢. Others are priced at 3¢ and 4¢. I tell the others about my find. There’s a door going out the side toward the house’s rear. I decide I can build a little wing off that. I fumble about what I want there. Then, voilà, the wing is completed. I have a small conference room and an office where I can work. The result pleases me.

My BIL and I take a walk up the dirt road. The ochre soil becomes ankle deep. Soft as talc. We chat and laugh about it. I return to work.

Then he approaches all of us in the kitchen. Apparently rent is due. We’re supposed to be paying regularly on every room used. We didn’t know. Maybe it was presented to us and we forgot. I’m concerned about the new rooms I’ve added and what that will do to the rent. It’s not mentioned, though. The required payment is announced: my late father-in-law’s head.

I’m horrified but the others are matter-of-fact. Give it to him. They joke, he’s not using it any more. This shocks me. Per instructions, they toss my FIL’s head out. It looks nothing like him. Looks like an old, misshapen volleyball. It bounces around after landing, then rolls around, like it has its own will.

Dream end.

The Found Money

This dream came on the interstice between consciousness and sleeping. I was cleaning up. A pile of U.S. coins were on a credenza. Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters. I’m sorting and stacking them when I look up and see a twenty-dollar bill folded behind a monitor. I exclaim, “There it is. I’ve been looking for that money. Thought I lost it.” Dream ends as I pick the twenty up and look at it.

The Mustang Crash Dream

I was outside between two buildings with other people. One was a tall red brick building. The other building — where I had been — was a shorter, white stucco and silver metal building with a glass-in lobby. I don’t know what I was doing in there. Don’t know any of the other people. We were milling, like we were on a break. The area was a cement walk bordered by grass and bushes. General, brief chatting was underway.

Sound draws attention. Sounds like an aircraft. Seconds later, we see a dark blue aircraft with yellow stripes flying around overhead. I identify it as a P51 Mustang. D Model. My second-favorite WW II aircraft. I call all that out to people. The aircraft is getting lower. We all realize, he’s going to crash. I realize more sharply, “He’s going to crash here.” As the aircraft crashes, I throw myself down and ball up, trying to minimize what happens to me, while others try to run.

There is no explosion. I get up. The others creep back.

The plane has crashed. Blue and yellow, it is a Mustang. Caught vertically in the space with the nose pointing toward the sky, the plane appears unscathed. The cockpit faces us. The canopy is gone. Someone else begins running toward it as they say, “We need to help the pilot.” I turn and shout to another, “Call 911.” In a bang-bang moment, we all realize that there’s no pilot in it. Must have ejected, we guess. We say, “We should go find him.” But when we turn to leave, we discover guards have arrived. Light blue uniform shirts. Dark pants. White helmets. Carrying rifles. We go to leave. They shake their heads. One says, “No one is leaving.”

I go into the building. Bunch of noisy teenagers are in one room. Looks like a smallish living room. They’re shouting, talking, and laughing in cliques. I try to yell to get their attention. They scarcely notice. I yell again, louder, “Hey.” Some impact. Third time, I form my hands into a megaphone. “Hey.” That gets almost all of their attention. A woman in charge of them says, “Everyone be quiet. Michael is trying to tell us something.”

With everyone looking at me, I announce, “An aircraft crashed outside. There are guards out there but I think someone should call 9-1-1. It’s a Mustang.”

Dream end. Took a lot longer to type it than to experience it.

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The Nineteenth Game Dream

I was introduced to a game. I’m not strong on remembering details, but coins were involved. These coins were copper, brass, and gold. They had patterns cut into them. The game was about matching and stacking coins in precise patterns. As each pattern was completed, the player advanced to the next game, which offered more complexities. The nineteenth game was the hardest game level.

Playing the game soon absorbed me. I played alone under a light, on a table. Sitting, bent over the table, I examined the pieces, selected the stacks and positions, arranged them, re-arranging them as necessary. If you had a piece wrong, the game ended. You had to follow a predestined set of arrangements.

I finally screwed up. A buzzer announced that I’d lost the game. Lights came up. A man entered. He informed me that I was playing the nineteenth game. Surprising news for me. He went on to say I was very close to finishing it, which pleased me, and then informed me that I was the only one left playing at that level. With those circumstances, they’d been streaming my play globally for the last twenty-four hours. Everyone was watching, cheering me on, hoping that I would win.

The experience left me happy but eager to begin again to reach and finish the nineteenth game.

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Another Changing Dream

Found myself wealthy with dreams last night. This was my favorite.

I’d left the military and I’d change clothes, twice. We were in a busy olace, an amalgam of city, countryside, stores, restaurants, and airport. It changed with where I ooked. That seemed right.

Now I was running late. Friends (K and W) and wife (B) accompanied me, and waited. I told them, “I need to take care of some of my change. There’s so much, I want to deal with some now.”

They mildly complained but I laughed them off and went to my car. Hard-edged and shiny, it was bright lime green wedge, exotic, expensive, and new. Yet my things were in it.

Young, energized, feeling liberated, I opened a panel up, revealing a long, light gray tray. Normally hidden from view, it went half the car’s length. Phones, electronic gear, clothing, paper money, and silver coins were in this tray. I couldn’t reach them because it’d all slid to the back, facts pointed out (with a laugh) by K, W, and B.

I replied, “Watch.” Jiggling the car caused the stuff to shift forward, letting me grab it. “There’s so much change,” I said, laughing. The others asked me what was funny but I didn’t explain. I put handfuls of change in my pocket to use, and then took some clothes to put on, and took a blender and a phone and put them into other parts of the car.

Traffic was heavy. We needed to go. After putting sunglasses on, we took off. The trip was short and fast. I swear that lime green car was flying.

After parking it and exiting, a dream about shopping began

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The Sci-Fi Dream

Yeah, another dream post. I’ve been avoiding them, but…well, here I am.

We were in a dark, dark future. It seemed like most of the light was sucked out of the world, but that may have been because we were confined to a small, claustrophobic keep. Blue dominated. It seemed like everything that was lit was indigo blue – clothes, walls, and machinery. There weren’t many of us, we didn’t have much food, and we were dying.

We were trying to solve multiple huge problems to stay alive. To do that, we’d learned how to look into the past. To solve the future problems, we discovered that, while seeing into the past, we could move people into the future, where we were. That was helpful. We then tried moving objects, like food, medicine, equipment, and machinery into the future. They couldn’t be moved. Whenever we tried moving anything but people into the future, it turned to blue and black dust.

We were puzzled; why could we move people, but not food and other things? Why just people? The question was never answered.

***

In an aside, I then dreamed that I was making my bed. When I untangled the sheets and covers and began straightening them, I heard jingling. I pulled back the corner of the sheets and found a pile of silver coins.

 

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Dreams of Change

Last night’s dreams were all about change. Of what I remember, one was a vignette where I made coin change for people, including my wife and other family members. Another sequence featured me searching for and trying to change my clothes, which originally were white and light gray, and then trying to change my shoes. That moved into me trying to change the cat kibble, and being totally confused about what I was doing and why I was doing it. An additional series had me helping others change things. In one, I helped my father and friends trying to change a tire.

They’re laughable in the morning light. I realized that each scene and story shared elements.

  1. I was confused about what I was doing and why I was doing it.
  2. In the end, nothing that I set about changing required changed.

It was amazing. I’d make change for peoples’ dollars, and then they’d discover that they had the right change and didn’t need anything. They’d thank me and move on, leaving me standing there with change. The tire that we were trying to change was okay, just a little low on air, giving us a laugh. My clothes were the best choice, so I ended up not changing them, and the people with the other clothes suggestion left, and the cat kibble bowls were full, and the cats were eating them, so, confused, I realized, nothing was required of me.

Hmm, I wonder what message I’m trying to convey to myself with this night of cryptic dreams?

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A Dream of Threes

One dream. Three interwoven elements.

Three suicides.

Three coins.

Three people.

What the hell does it mean?

I witnessed two of the suicides. I wasn’t certain the first one was a suicide in the dream. Then I was told it was.

A brief recap: I was on a winding mountain road. The road was in excellent shape, paved and lined. Walking with friends, energy bubbled through me. A mix of tall, green pines and hardwoods covered the mountain’s sharp edges. Looking up to a blue sky troubled by a school of cirrus clouds, I saw a small economy car come off a mountain and sail down to destruction in a ravine. I think the car was red and white, but I don’t know the make, model or year. The moment as real as any reality I’d ever experienced.

We were shocked. The accident site was hundreds of feet below us, so we couldn’t reach it to check on survivors. While we were discussing this, a speeding vehicle’s sound was heard on another mountainside. Hearing it sound, we turned in time to see a burgundy Toyota pick-up truck race up another mountainside on the wrong side of a double-yellow line. As it reached the peak, it turned into the vehicle it was passing, clipping its left front quarter panel. The truck continued with little change, driving off the road onto a wide, dusty run-off area, and then off the mountain, into the air and down to the other vehicle’s crash site.

I was certain that the second was a suicide and told that to friends. As I did, a former Sheriff came up. I explained to him what we’d seen and my theory. He confirmed that they were young lovers. The girl was driving the little economy car, and her boyfriend was in the Toyota. She’d been told he couldn’t see her anymore, so she drove off the mountain. Learning she was dead, he did the same, to join her.

We were shocked but continued on. Meeting a female beggar, I gave her a coin, which made her happy. I don’t know what the coin was. My group discussed where we wanted to go. Decisions were made. Seeing another female beggar, I gave her a coin. She was thankful and ecstatic. Some of my group didn’t approve of me giving money away. I didn’t care although I was knew I was running short of funds.

We kept walking. When we met others, I would tell them of the suicides. When I did, I clearly saw the scenes as sharply and clear as though they were happening at that moment.

Digging a hand down into my jeans pocket, I came up with a handful of coins. Among pennies, dimes and quarters was a silver dollar. Then I found a gold dollar. That pleased me because I had more money than I thought. Spying what I believed was another silver dollar, I noticed it was larger, so I looked closer. It turned out to be a four dollar silver coin. I was surprised; I didn’t know such a coin existed.

While that took place, a third woman approached me. I prepared to give her some chain and was just deciding what it was to be, when word of another suicide reached us. I don’t know who it was.

The end.

Well, that’s where the dream ended, but not my thoughts about it. Usually, clarification comes when thinking and writing about my dreams. Today, the only conclusion I reach is that I have more than I realize. That’s seems shallow and incomplete.

Trying to find answers, I look up suicide in dreams and find Jeremy Taylor’s site.

Suicide in Dreams

When “death” appears in a dream, it is a very reliable indicator that the dreamer is growing and changing so profoundly that only the “death” of the old “me”, (or part if “me”), is an adequate symbol of the psycho-spiritual process that is taking place.

But I’m not thinking about killing myself. Yes, I was thinking changes were required, however. While not writing much the past three days as I visited with family and travel, I kept thinking about my writing. I’d concluded, changes in the novel-in-progress were required, changes in my approach were required, and changes in my attitude were needed.

Yes, I supposed that could be three suicides.

Turning to the three coin, this interpretation on dreambible.com spoke to me:

To dream of finding coins represents positive feelings about gains being made in waking life. Feeling good having more than you did before. Insight into problems, increased power, or freedom gained. It may also reflect feelings of being lucky. A lucky discovery or rare coincidence in waking life. Missed or lost opportunities that have reemerged. Awareness of the value that something in your life holds.

Three beggar women? No explanation I found scratched my itch so I relegated it to background thinking. From that morass came a new approach.

I’d not witnessed the third suicide, but had been told about it. That happened as I found the third coin, when the third beggar woman approached me. Three became the critical link. The first suicide was the past; the second was the future. The third suicide, unseen, was the future. It came as the third beggar approached. She wasn’t given anything but it was during this period that I found the third coin, a unique “four dollar silver coin”. That’s a special coin, so the future will be special.

The past is paid and done; the present is paid and finished; and the future awaits, special.

Nah, I’m reaching. Maybe that’s all wishful thinking – or wishful dreaming. (Hah!) Perhaps a better answer will come to me. Maybe the dream means nothing and I’m consuming precious neural energy tilting at windmills.

Or maybe I’ll dream a more satisfying answer.

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