Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Didn’t see much of myself in this dream. I was there doing things under others’ guidance. The first part was about taste, eating, and ingredients.
I was given six ingredients and told to make something to eat out of those. I don’t know any of the ingredients at this point. But as I started working on it, a woman came by and said, “If you have any problems, call this number: 220-4076.” Okay, I said, got it. Will do.
I began working with the ingredients to make things. With quick experimentation, began intuiting that the food would guide me. In fact, if I let them, the foods would choose by themselves which ones should come together and that the best results came from just using three ingredients.
People, including my wife, arrived and tasted my food. Expressing astonishment, they asked, “Did you make this?” As I told them I did, they were in disbelief because it was so good, in their words, making me proud and happy. Same asked me for cooking insights and I happily shared what I’d learned, telling them that the food would come together by itself so just come together and let it. They then watched as I told a group of six foods to make something. The food pieces began moving, shifting into groups of three, and then shuffling their proportions by themselves. Everyone reacted in amazement, exclaiming, “You were serious, it does make itself.” I said, “I just need to cook it in whatever way needed. That’s where this phone number comes in.” As I looked at the phone number, something clicked and I said, “But I only need 220, the first part. The rest doesn’t matter.”
Finishing up there, I caught up with my wife. She was jewelry shopping in some swanky store where the sound was completely muffled by thick-pile blue carpet. When I arrived, she was engaged with a sales clerk but turning to me said, “M, I dropped an earring. Can you see if you can find it?” Questions and answers were exchanged about where she’d lost it etc. Getting on my knees with a flashlight, I searched the carpet and found the earring, a tiny but exquisite little silver piece. She was so pleased I’d found it, telling me that she’d been confident that I would, but then told me she’d lost another, so could I find it, too?
I did so with little trouble. She was still shopping so I walked to another part of the store and then out of it. Beyond the store, it was hot, dry, and brown with dust. The dust was blowing in my face, coating my lips and smarting my eyes. Grimacing against all that, I walked around behind the store. Turning back, I saw that I’d wandered a long way from it, and the store was just a smudge on the horizon, and so started making a direct and determined effort to walk back to the store fast.
As I walked though, I bent my head against the dust and wind, keeping my eyes toward the ground. Slowing and shielding my eyes against a particularly sustained, hard wind, I bent down and saw stones. Picking them up, I discovered that there were cut yellow diamonds. From what I knew, they couldn’t be worth much, because wasn’t yellow diamonds a lesser color? Still, they should have some value, I told myself, and picked the diamonds up. A huge cache covered by dust was found.
Wondering if the diamonds belonged to someone, I called 220. Without even explaining who I was or why I was calling, the person answering said, “The diamonds are yours if you want them. Take what you want. That’s why they’re there,” and then hung up.
Dream end.
Believing that something is possible can be a stimulant to greater effort and success. But there must be a starting point.
Another slice of the nocturnal mind’s workings to share.
To begin, I’m with my father. Each of us are similar to our real life appearances but I think we both were a little younger.
I’m getting an award. I don’t know what it’s for. Dad wants to attend. He tells me, “We’ll go together. We’ll drive there.”
He gestures toward a car. A silver behemoth, it may have been manufactured in the 1930s and features a long wheelbase — think of a large SUV here — running boards, an upright radiator, and spindly, narrow wheels and tires. Its condition is show-car perfect.
“What is that?” I ask. I see from looking around that he has other, more modern cars but still several decades old. All are well cared for. A graceful, polished gray model’s dazzling shine catches my eye from one.
In answer, he says, “You drive. We better get going. It doesn’t have a high top speed.”
I am floored. At that moment, two sisters arrive. They want to go with us.
Dad is against that. Telling them so, he finishes, “But I want you there. Take one of my other cars.”
A large steel garage door which was previously unnoticed grinds open. Behind it are modern sports and luxury cars. “Take one of those cars,” Dad says.
My sisters are already clamboring into a new red Mazda Miata. I say, “Why can’t we take one of those?”
Dad responds with non-sequitors. I interrupt him. “If you want to ride with me, why don’t we take one of those cars?” I see a BMW in the garage. “Like that blue BMW. Why don’t we take it?”
Evasive as before, Dad basically declares, “I want to take this car.”
We climb into his old car. I ask, “Is this a Bugatti?”
Dad doesn’t respond. Firing up the old machine, I keep looking for clues about what it is.
That’s where the dream ends.
I tote this dream down as another manifestation of unspoken worries and doubts about my life and where it’s at. Pretty standard stuff. Retired from corporate and military careers, I’ve staked a lot of time and hope on writing fiction. I’m driven to write, but will it go anywhere beyond my computer? Or, as the dream suggests to me, am I interested in trying another vehicle?
As I pass over the post again, though, the driving theme raises new questions. Writing = driving. Whether I want to or not, I need to go on. Some of my choices seem taken away from me by some deeper driving force within me.
Looking at it another way, though, I can point out, it’s a silver car I’m being forced into, a classic which is in good condition, and I’m driving off to collect an award. Looking at it that way, my subconscious is encouraging me to go with what I’m doing.
It’s amusing how these dream elements can be addressed. Even if I find success beyond writing for myself, I think that I’ll always be wrestling with the drive and need to write, and my doubts. Just part of my imposter syndrome surfacing again.
I dreamed again I was in my home. It’s the third dream in the series. I’m my current age, appearance, and so on. I’m aware that my house, with its yard, has been lifted from the earth and is traveling through space. Like before, I have a cutaway scene where I see this.
As in the prior dreams, my windows are open. Space’s darkness is beyond their screens. Unlike the previously experienced dreams about this, I’m unconcerned, because I know there’s some kind of protection around the house and yard. We are safe, traveling through space.
I’m at my desk, typing on my computer. I’m aware this time that a man is present. Off to my right, he’s not a shadow but is in like a shadowy orb. I don’t know who he is. He doesn’t bother me; he just seems to be a present to know. I also understand that he’s not grounded but hovering in the air. I think about speaking to him, but I don’t. I just continue typing.
Dream end.
Michael Seidel, writer 