They came while I slumbered, stealing into or from my mind, leftovers, prophecies, or beginnings, mysteries to study with eyes open. We call them dreams, and despite centuries of co-existing with them, we’re not sure what they’re about.

I attach significant interpersonal meaning to my dreams. They tend toward the authentic, but with elements of illusions. For example, scenes switch instantaneously, dissolving without even the notice of doors opening or closing.

First up was a snowy town outside. There I am, out there, but this POV is first person. I’m experiencing it and can’t see myself. It’s night, the snow is falling and has collected. Ruts on the streets mark how long its fallen and its resilience. Vehicles can’t pass and they’ve abandoned the efforts. Illuminated by yellow streetlights, a steady wind blowing, people go where vehicles can’t.

There is a cry, followed by a call, “Cougars.” Excitement rising in their voices, children call out to their parents that there are two cougar kittens running through the snow. I see the animals, tawny silhouettes  dashing through the grayish yellowed snowscape. They’re not small but they are juveniles. Others want to chase them. I protect them. Unleashing a snarl, the cougars race off and disappear around a snow rutted corner and up a hill.

I’m in a home with a friend. I know she’s a friend but she’s not anyone I know. She and I are waiting. We talk quietly. Coping with others’ illnessess, we’re sharing a spartan home while we visit them in the hospital. I don’t know who either of us visit nor what’s wrong with the others.

Awakening (in the dream), I walk through the house. I find my friend in one shadowy room, a chair with a blanket, a radio beside it, and a board game in a cone of light. The game is Monopoly. I’m quizzical. “I was playing,” she explains. “By yourself?” I ask. “Yes,” she answers, “I won two million dollars. I won it all.”

Going into another room, I sit on an old sofa and pull a blanket around me. Sitting on a small chair opposite, she motions toward me. I lean in. We tentatively kiss, and then kiss longer, but gently, and reach out to stroke each other.

An interruption breaks up the scene. I’m still with her but in another place. Daylight enfolds me. I’m a little confused. My house has disappeared, leaving only my bedroom items surrounded by a white picket fence and sitting on a large green lawn. Someone has stolen my house. It was children and young adults. Now they’re sneaking around, stealing other items, like my computer, and my bed and clothing. I’m angry but no one is around. I try learning who took my stuff, where it’s at, or the thieves’ locations, and how I can get my stuff returned. I complain to my friend but she’s distracted. Her patient has died. I’m sorry for her but then she is gone and I’m left to pursue collecting my stolen goods.

I’m in a small, older house with two stories where I believe the children have taken my goods. Young adults are present. They taunt me. I break up a chair and use one leg to threaten them. Some scatter but one smiles, bemused, arms crossed, dismissing me with insouciance that infuriates me. I poke at his chest and shoulder with the chair leg, issuing demands for my stuff, until he becomes uncomfortable. Swatting at the leg, he tries moving away but I keep him cornered.

Another young man watches and laughs. I turn to him, asking him what’s funny. We’re in a dining room. There is a table. He begins to dissemble. I threaten him more, then I begin hitting him with the stick, seeking an intelligent response, and I awaken.