Tag: direction

A Three-fer of Dreams

I was traveling a long distance with a group. We reached out destination and prepared to return. I engaged the leader. He had a large, laminated map. Using it, he showed our segments of travel and the energy expended during those times. He planned to do the same for the return. We entered a back and forth about the energy. I insisted that the total energy should be considered a final sum and that we could then break it up any way we needed, that we didn’t need to use the same energy, time of travel, etc, on the way back, but were free to do whatever we preferred. After lengthy discussion, he agreed.

I was then with a group of ex-military. We’d been working on projects that involved previous military resources. No longer used or needed, we were repurposing them. This included buildings, furniture, vehicles, and sites. All of us were demoralized because the work we’d previously finished in this manner was each time then successively destroyed or plowed under. As our leader laid out the newest project and exhorted us, I asked, “What’s the point of this?” I pointed out in detail what happened to the three previous projects and asked, “What’s there to make us believe that it won’t happen to this project, too?” He couldn’t argue back. At my suggestion, we abandoned the idea and agreed to put our energies into something else. We began to search for that.

I ended up with childhood friends in one of their houses. The house was gorgeous, very impressive. It had an infinity pool, which really impressed me, because it looked like silver and some to go on, well, for infinity. We played and splashed in the water. Coming into the house, I was embarrassed for us because we were getting water everywhere. I ran into his mother who waved away those concerns, laughing while telling me, don’t worry about that.

We decided it was time to leave but needed to dress first. I put on a pair of blue jeans. Pain lanced down my leg. As I reacted, I saw a large white and black striped coral colored spider dropped onto the floor. It was about the size of my palm. I considered stomping and smashing it but didn’t. Checking my leg, I verified that I’d been bitten. A large purple and red welt was rising. There was pain but it had plateaued.

The spider scurred off to the wall. Others wanted to go after it but I urged, “Leave it alone. It’s not a threat to anyone.” Conversations mushroomed about the evidence to the contrary, that I’d been bitten. I pointed out that the swelling was already gone. So was the pain, and my skin was returning to a normal color. Therefore, that was all temporary and no big deal. I finished dressing and hurried out after my friends.

Dream end. All in all, very positive and energizing.

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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 Overlooked Dream

A dream found me returning from a trip. As I arrived, I was informed that the performance reviews for a subordinate hadn’t been done for two years. His contract was for two years, and he’d been there for four, so he was threatening to leave, because he had not had a review.

I was pissed and stunned. That’s so unlike me, for one. I immediately started phoning the guy and looking for him while concurrently stalking the bureaucracy to find out why this oversight had taken place. I should have received notices that they were due if I’d somehow overlooked them, right? The company was uninterested in that; they just wanted it fixed.

The subordinate’s shop, a small brick and glass cubicle, was closed, with only night lines on inside. Meanwhile, in parallel, I’d been practicing my baseball for a big game. The news spread through the crowd that we’d won, 2-0, on a last inning home run. I believed that I might have been the one who hit the home run, although the logic behind my dream me completely escapes RL me. Highlights were being shown on television. I watched again and again. Was I the baserunner? No. Was I the one who hit a homer? No. Well, then, who was I? How was I involved? How was this possible.

Wait, wait, wait: dream self realized: I must not have been put into the game.

Big sadness then. But there was not time for that as I was still trying to fix the problem with the subordinate. Management, though, brought me forward to work on other problems, to help other departments and their heads. While I did those, no questions asked, I kept circling back to my issue. But night was coming on. More people were circulating through the crowded open-air work environment. I ended up lost in the crowd.

Dream end.

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The Hand-Washing Dream

I dreamed that I was in a small, well-lit bathroom over a white pedestal style porcelain sink. Watching myself from a side angle, I saw part of myself in a narrow mirror over the sink. I would go out and do something, and then return and wash my hands. My hand washing took on furious scrubbing. But as the process progressed and evolved, I learned that I had different hands. How I washed them would modify what I could do and change my personality. As I experimented with the hand washing, I was joined by people around the sink. All these were white men with white or gray hair and beards, and all were in dingy white togas. As I washed, they would comment on how I was washing my hands, which hands I was washing, and then predict the results of my hand washing. Their commentary agitated me; I thought I’d do better if I just washed my hands myself and learned the results. I eventually turned on them, telling them to leave me alone and to be quiet. They did eventually quiet but kept washing until, filled with resentment at their presence, I stopped.

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A Chaotic Dream

It began with me as a young man. I came into a situation where the atmosphere buzzed with chaos. We were outside. People were everywhere. It seemed like they were all carrying something and were on the run. I looked for signs about where to go: none. I tried talking to people, but all were rushing around like a children on a playground sugar high.

After some bit of this, I managed to see a door and went through it. In there was the information I sought about my role. I was given a tall stack of thick folders. Most were manila folders, but some were red, green, and blue. I started shuffling through them, flipping through pages, assimilating information.

I was to be given a presentation to prepare so that a decision could be made about something, but there was confusion about who was receiving the information and what outcome was desired. I was smiling as I went through the info. I was familiar with all of it. Within a short time, I’d tossed all the folders except two aside. One was a plain manila folder; the other was red with a red and white cover on it, with large block letters in red: 5774.

The 5774 information wasn’t needed for the moment, I decided. That would be used later. First, clean up the presentation. Make it. Get the decision. Then, after that, do the 5774 stuff.

Okay. With that clarified for myself, I pursued that course. A decision was made.

Around me was instantly calmer and more relaxed. People quit rushing. They smiled at one another and started talking.

Okay, good. I went to a car for a rest. Others were heading to a large celebration. I planned to join them but first needed rest.

Others came by to follow up on the decision. I was groggy with sleep and tried explaining to them that the information they wanted was in the 5774 folder. Just find it, and the messages and information inside that, and they’d be fine.

They went off. A young woman in a green 1950s era Chevy pickup truck picked me up and took me to the celebration. The grounds were rutted with mud, but it was like a huge carnival. After I was given some food, I discovered that I was entered in a competition there. Contestants were taken to a center stage. Questions were put up on a screen for them to answer. They were given ten questions. Whoever was most correct most often won.

I watched the other contestants as they were asked questions and failed and was immediately eager for my turn. I knew I was going to ace this thing because the questions were all from the 5774 folder. I knew it intimately.

My turn finally came. Well, in theory. An equipment malfunction put a halt to the proceedings. The dream ended with me in the green pickup, grinning, eager for my turn, certain that I was going to win.

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The All-Male Dream

To begin, we were in a huge, pale gray auditorium. A long and low empty stage, softly lit with white light, is across the front. The seating is set up in blocks that are thirty wide and twenty deep. The blocks were three wide across the auditorium but I don’t know how many blocks it went back. Every seat was being filled. Filling it were men of all races, but of about the same age range, in our mid-thirties. All are dressed neat, in business casual. I wore black jeans and a long sleeve maroon dress shirt. We were excited and happy because we’d finished a course and were graduating. Seating myself in the third from last row in the middle front block, ten seats in from the left, I was impressed by the event’s sheer magnitude.

We’d seated ourselves, quieted, and were waiting for the speaker to arrive and begin when an argument emerges between two men. They’re out in one of the broad aisles between the blocks. I know both of them in the dream, though they weren’t familiar from RL. As the argument rose, it appeared it was going to escalate into a fight. I went out there and separated them, talking them down from fighting and arguing, encouraging them to return to their seats.

I returned to my seat and sat. The speaker, a man in a suit, came on stage and began talking. He surprised me by mentioning my name and citing me for my leadership. I was hugely surprised, flattered, and embarrassed — I always prefer to avoid attention.

Then, in a dreamshift, the ceremony is over. I get into a car with my father. The car is a gold sixties muscle car with a black vinyl top, chrome wheels, and chrome straight pipes. I don’t know the make or model but it was a two door. It remined me of a GM product, maybe a Chevelle.

Dad is driving. We’re going to another event. We’re on a divided highway, four lanes in either direction. Dad is driving fast, which doesn’t bother me — he and I always drive fast. The highway twists and turns, rising and falling as it follows the land, but we’re driving through a city.

We come up on another car in the left land. The car looks almost identical to the one we’re in. As I’m commenting on that, Dad pulls up close on the other car. The driver applies his brakes. That infuriates Dad. The other driver is pissed but moves right to let us pass. I note to Dad that the guy — a younger driver, who has rolled his window down and is shaking his fist — is angry. Dad says it’s because we’re faster.

As we go to pass this guy, we find our way blocked by a stopped brown UPS truck. As Dad goes to drive around it, we see head on traffic coming. We’re astonished; why is there traffic coming from the other direction? Then, I look and see that we’re on the wrong side of the highway. But how did that happen? It’s not possible because there is a cement barrier dividing the two directions.

A pause in traffic goes. We go around the stopped truck. Looking back, I see other cars following us.

A dreamshift brings me into a large courtroom. I’ve been empaneled as part of a jury. There are only men present. I’ve been accepted as a juror after passing an oral examination. Others are being questioned. It’s a festive atmosphere. I realize that I’m there to judge entries and award prizes.

Dream end.

4

The Confused Writing Dream

I was in a small building where there was a small office busy with people. It had a feel that seemed lifted from a 1950s movie. They had published something. Different authors were asked to read it and express what they thought. I was one, and my response was not like everyone else’s, triggering a new path.

Yet, I was never certain what was going on. I’d read and commented on something, but it seemed vague throughout the dream. My response made them ask me attend a conference with them. An old friend, a college professor, was going, too. He and I would go together, driving across country in a big, dark blue Lincoln Continental. He prepared to go in a hectic frenzy. I seemed baffled about everything he did and confused about what was going to happen next. Yet, soon we were in the car, driving across the country through light rain.

He was driving. I said something about seeing people needing a ride and wishing we could help them. Next thing that I knew, he pulled over for a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker climbed into the back. I offered to take a turn driving but the professor insisted that he was fine.

Seeing several more people on the side of the road, he pulled over and offered them a ride. I was leery of this, feeling that we didn’t have the room, but people crammed into the car. I looked into the back seat; it looked like a small, cluttered room. A blanket covered the rear window. That was to keep out the light so people could sleep, I guessed, but worried that it was illegal and we’d be pulled over. I again offered to drive, but he dismissed the offer.

We arrived at the conference. My impression was that it was a giant flea market, although it was indoors. People selling junk seemed to cover every square foot. Moving was done slowly, carefully, patiently. Food was being sold. I was hungry but passed on getting something to eat because I was reminded that we were having a big banquet. Someone gave me cookies, which I ate.

The head, a tall and bald white, middle-aged male wearing hornrim glasses, gave a short speech. He told everyone else that I was going to write about my impressions of the article they’d published. That startled me. Everyone applauded except me. Bewilderment was overtaking me. I was to do what, when? I didn’t understand but didn’t know how to ask the question.

Then, without me doing anything, the professor told me it was time to go. I realized that it was the weekend and that he needed to be back in order to teach Monday morning. We rushed around, packing things into the car. I offered to drive, since he’d driven us out there. He agreed. The dream ended as I entered the car and put my hands on the steering wheel.

7

The Graduation Dream

My wife and I were attending a graduation. We were young adults but were back to watch our high school’s latest graduation ceremony. We thought it would be ‘fun’. She and I were dressed business casual, although she wore a light blue sun hat.

We arrived and milled around, part of a large crowd in a huge cafetorium. I met a woman about my age. She wore a dark purple skirt and a lighter purple blouse. Brunette, she and I hit it off, flirting with one another.

An announcement was made for everyone to find a seat. My wife and I selected some advantageous seats up by the front, by the stage. As we looked around, we realized that we were alone in that section, which was about twenty by fifty feet, because it was marked off by tape. Somehow, we’d missed seeing the tape. Meanwhile, the woman in purple and I spotted one another across the room and exchanged waves. As I looked around, I saw that everyone was staring at us. The rest of the people were either on one narrow end of the cafetorium or were behind the tape on risers behind us. Most were dressed very casually; one young bearded man that I saw looking at me was wearing a sagging, worn yellow tee shirt. He reminded me of the actor/comedian, Chris Elliot.

“We need to move,” I told my wife. “I think we’re in the graduation area for the students.” Which, kind of made sense; why else would it be blocked off? But chairs weren’t provided for them. I didn’t see anyone in cap and gown and guessed that maybe they’d enter and stand in this section.

We stood to do so. At that point, an announcer said something that we didn’t understand. All the people behind us on the risers rose, turned and went up and out of the building. The people on the left remained, but stood and began chatting and collecting their items to leave.

“They’re not having a ceremony,” I said, realizations arriving. “It’s over. They’re all leaving.” It was the strangest thing I’d ever witnessed.

We walked around, talking to others. I didn’t seem to know anyone. My wife said something about saying hello to someone just as the woman in purple arrived and greeted us. The woman told me she found me very attractive. I thanked her and answered, “I have to go find my wife!” Then I scurried away, peering through the crowd for her. It took several minutes of walking around but then I spotted her hat. For some reason, I then said to her, “I can’t believe that you slept in that hat.”

The dream ended.

0

A Ragtag Dream

I was staying in a disheveled sort of place, a ramshackle series of hotels connected to a large, decrepit aircraft hangar. The hangar was white; the hotels were pale green and light pink. A number of friends and my wife were there. We seemed like refugees trying to pull it together and move on.

Activities were taking place in all of the hangar. One person with us was S, a short, energetic woman who’d been an office manager where I’d worked. S and I met up by an aircraft in the hangar. The jet was something like a 737. We planned to take it to leave. But before we could board, S said, “We need to have all the rivets sealed.” She had a rag and some stuff. Showing them to me, she went on, “A little of this needs to be rubbed on each one.”

Looking up at the aircraft, I answered, “We would need to start at the top and work our way down, section by section.”

S said, “It needs to be done in about an hour. Can you organize people and get this done?”

I replied, “Sure, okay.”

She thanked me. We parted.

After we walked away, I thought, we don’t need to do that. That’s overkill. I’ll talk to S about that.

I kept going. I saw some other friends just arriving. They had some clothes. I recognized the clothes as some stuff I’d left behind. They were returning them to me.

But we didn’t meet up. I needed to get back to my room to get my wife ready to go. As I wend through people across the hangar to my hotel section, I saw another pile of my clothes on the cement floor and scooped them up to wear, then went to the room.

My wife was still in bed. I roused her. Our room was small and cramped, with a bed and a tiny bathroom. She was confused about what was to happen. I went about, explaining it to her while packing. She climbed out of bed; she was wearing gray pajamas. As she started moving and looking for clothes, she went into the bathroom. In there, I saw a huge cobweb with a dead mosquito eater hanging in it. I pointed it out to her, saying, “That’s been here the whole time that we’ve been here.”

She agreed, then as she moved around it, we saw other, larger ones.

We exited the bathroom. She said, “I need to think.” She took out four small gray rectangles from a bag, then set them on the floor, spacing them about four feet from one another. I didn’t know what she was doing.

Bending to the first one, she pressed a button on it. Music began playing. She repeated this with the next two. I recognized the music with each. She began dancing and singing to the music coming from the third. It was an old pop song by Abba, “Dancing Queen”. Then she moved to the fourth and pressed its button. She stopped dancing and singing, listening. I realized that it was playing “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen and sang along with it. She seemed unable to hear the music and stood listening.

Dream end.

3

The Weird Restroom Dream

Well, here we go.

My wife and I got into a car. This was a used car that she’d bought. Champagne gold color. Small four-door. Japanese manufacturer. She wanted me to drive it. I started it. The engine idled rough. I revved the engine mildly to keep it running. Looked for a choke. Figured out that the air vent in the middle also served as the engine choke. Pulled that out to adjust the idle. Then tried explaining that to her. She wouldn’t pay attention. Didn’t matter; we’d driven across a large parking lot to our destination.

My wife went off to do things. I circulated, looking for something to do. I encountered a group of women. I was young; they were the same age. One of them was immensely attractive to me. Slender. Pale white. Short bobbed dark brown hair. Mild makeup — red lipstick, a little rouge and eye shadow. She wore a black and white top and black pants. I could tell by her smile and look that my interest was reciprocated.

It was a busy place. Like a huge nightclub. We were all drinking. I was getting drunk. I kept circulating, wondering where my wife was, drinking, talking to other men — strangers — and looking for the woman with the dark hair. I’d see her and she’d see me. We’d try to meet to talk. But we never did.

I had to pee. All that drinking. I queued up with other guys to use a restroom. But it was strange. From where I was, I could see toilets not being used. I crashed the line and moved inside.

Weird, weird, weird. No toilets. Iron pedestals on legs, all painted black. I said, “I just need a urinal.” There were no urinals. No sinks. No toilets. No stalls. No piss pots or buckets. But I was certain that I’d seen toilets. Nevermind; I needed to pee.

Woman thronged the sides, watching men pee. Men were embarrassed. I decided that I didn’t care; I needed to pee. I stepped up to one of the funky pedestals. Peed beneath it. My urine was bright yellow and a strong flow. A woman circled around to peek at my junk as I peed. Another woman scolded her for being so bold; the other replied, “I don’t care, I want to see if there’s anything beneath the surface.”

I finished peeing, left, found a place to wash my hands. Then I sat and passed out. Recovering, I decided, I need to leave.

I circled around to where I’d left my brief case with my laptop and other items. The laptop and briefcase were both black. I repacked everything. I discovered I’d been walking around in black socks. I was wearing all black clothes; jeans and a shirt. I had two pairs of shoes. Both were black. Two shoes were shiny dress shoes; the others were flat black activity shoes. I decided I wanted to wear the activity shoes. I sat to put on the shoes. Talked to other men as they went by. They were telling me that they needed to leave. I was agreeing with them, telling them that I was doing the same.

I stood and looked down. Although I planned to wear the activity shoes, I was wearing the shiny dress shoes. Damn it! I sat down, untied and removed the shoes, and went to put on the others. Other people passed. One was the woman with the dark air. We chatted for a minute. I told her that I was leaving. She was disappointed. Wanted me to stay. Sorry, but I needed to go.

I stood. Looked down. I had the wrong shoes on again. Madness! I kicked those shoes off without untying them. Put them in my bag so I wouldn’t put them on again. Sat down to put on the activity shoes. Found I was putting on the dress shoes again. But stopped myself. Put on the right shoes. Joked with myself that putting on shoes shouldn’t be so hard. Packed up the dress shoes. Left.

Dream end.

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