Tag: direction

Another Lost Dream

Here I go again. I’m in a military service but it’s again not the USAF in which I served twenty years. Some other dream-imagined service. I was enlisted as in my USAF but very senior. Wherever I went, my rank brought me respect, honor, and VIP treatment. I was a happy camper.

I’d been away. Now I was returning to my base. My base was a huge indoor structure. Civilians lived there as well as military. The structure also housed schools, a mall, shopping, and a train system with several stations.

Arriving back, I’m informed that they changed my rooms. Sorry, but they moved everything for me. My new room number was 316. Oh, no problem, thanks, I’ll go there. I went to where I had been housed, expecting my new room to be part of that area. Wrong; that room wasn’t there. After some fiddling and walking about, I was able to contact the housing officer. Oh, sorry for the mix-up, I’m told, that’s 316 but it’s in another area. Someone is sent to lead me over there.

This is a dream, so this young kid is immediately there. White, lanky, short blonde hair, doesn’t look like he’s ever shaved. He’s in awe of my rank, which actually makes it hard to deal with him. I joke with him to put him at ease as we walk around. We arrive at the correct area. I go to room 316. My stuff isn’t there. Two other, lower-ranked people are there. My assigned handler is appalled; the two in ‘my’ room are alarmed. I want to know where my stuff is. I’m angry at this point. I’ve been traveling; I’ve been moved without prior notice; my stuff is gone; no one seems to know where it is.

I’m given the names of the people who moved me so I can get answers. They’re students in college. Zip, in dream-fashion, I’m in the school part of the structure. Children of all ages are running around from class to class, level to level — there a number of stairs and levels, all under a huge glass dome where sunshine streams in. We walk around, looking for the college section, following signs and directions from people stopping to help us. I learn the three who moved me on are another moving job. My handler and I jump on the train. We’re transported to the mall section. It teems with shoppers. There’s a growers’ market underway as well. All this complicates my search efforts.

At last they’re found. They insist they put my stuff in room 316 in the cited area. My anger grows: I was there and my stuff wasn’t there. The five of us now — three movers, my handler, and me — all round a corner; we’re right back in the housing area where I’m supposed to reside. The two people in room 316 are confronted. Oh, they moved my stuff. Someone gave them permission because I wasn’t there so they thought it would be okay, and this room is much nicer than their assigned room.

The handler takes over as I steam. Arrangements are made to get them out of my room and get my stuff back into it.

Dream end.

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Another Mask Dream

Anyone need a dream? I had a surfeit of them last night. Convoluted and crazy. Too many to sit and remember, write, and analyze them. It would have taken hours that I don’t have. I instead stayed with one making the largest impression.

I can’t say where I was. Couldn’t make sense of it. In one part I was driving in a car with my wife. Darkness fell suddenly. The headlights didn’t go on as expected. It wasn’t a familiar car. Brown or tan sedan reminiscent of the old Chrysler K cars of the early 1980s, Lee Iacocca’s brain child. I started scrambling to find the headlight controls while verbalizing this to my spouse. Meanwhile, the ride changed from smooth to rough and bouncy. I immediately exclaimed, “We’re off the road. We need to find the road.” Seeing a clear space that could be it, thinking I’d simply veered off, I jerked the wheel left toward the opening.

We went over a hill through heavier bush and woods. Not the road! But, weirdly, POV changed; I could see the car from outside ourselves and the car, and saw that we were heading for an abandoned, weeded asphalt parking lot at the bottom of the hill. While it wasn’t where we wanted to go, it was good enough for now because I could also see that it was separated from the road we wanted by a small median strip. We could get to the parking lot, cross the strip, then drive to our destination, which I could also see in the gloomy dusk.

Now we’re in a room of some sort where we’re to wait. Narrow beds with disheveled blankets and sheets. Mine had cats burrowing through the covers as they played. A woman coming by said, “Yes, some of them have cats. Many don’t.” Okay. I asked her what to expect. She replied, “Find the script, read it, and wait.”

What? I found dog-eared and torn papers stapled together. I began reading, not sure what to expect nor why I was doing it, and thinking, that’s how life is. Meanwhile, the cats were feisty. I thought they hungry. I went about finding food for them. I found food but then couldn’t find the cats. That raised concerns about them.

Then — not sure why — I decided to fashion a mask for myself out of paper towels. I pinched out two holes for eyes and held them over my face. The white paper towels were raggedly torn. I began searching for some way to fasten them around my head but then I saw one of the cats go through.

Then, they demanded I read. Who? Why, it was the director. They’re auditioning people, trying to fill roles. Pick up one of the scripts and read. I did while holding the mask up around my face. The director loved it. Don’t practice; don’t change. Just walk forward, pick up scripts, and read them when you’re told. WTH. I was confused but decided I’d go along with it. I discovered two young actors had been cast as Romeo and Juliet. I was reading other parts. Then they would do their roles. Oh. I tossed the mask aside, feeling that it was a hindrance. A woman rushed up and told me, “No, no, the director liked that raw touch. He thought it was unusual and different and wants you to keep holding the mask as you read.”

So I went forward, holding up my mask, reading scripts when, seeing cats, and trying to feed them.

Dream end.

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Old Computer Dream

I’m at a work station. One those stands with a big tan CRT monitor on top, tower PC, keyboard on sliding tray. Something from the 1990s. Whole thing is just wide enough for the monitor. I’m one of many at such computer work stations. Large room. Wide and tall. I’m in the last row, on the end. Fourth one in line. This gives me space to my right. It’s open there and behind me.

Everyone is doing through thing. It’s a hubbub of clicking, clacking, talking, laughing. I’m doing my thing, reviewing files for a dead friend. The computer files on the screen on red. They fill the screen. When I print things out, the paper and folders are red. I suppose, when I’m wondering about the red while I’m dreaming, that the red is supposed to be symbolic of something. I don’t get it. Urgency? Warning? Don’t know. I’m also wondering why I’m going through folders about a dead guy. He’d been a friend but he died a while ago. My rational side intrudes: it’s your birthday. You’re sixty-five. Dead guy was a year older than you. Never lived to be sixty-five. Collect the dots.

Aha, dots probably collected. My wife is pestering me for specific information. This annoys me. She flits in to demand I look at something, sure that it’s important. I already looked and moved on while she wasn’t there. But she keeps coming back, asking to see specific files that I already read and closed.

Many others are behind me. Two women and a man are among them. The women are attractive. I gather that they’re foreigners. Maybe British and Scottish. They’re friends. I think one is with the guy. He seems American. He comes and goes. I keep catching snatches of the women’s conversation. They’re speaking of going someplace, doing something. I’m familiar with the areas and offer some unrequested advice, which they shun.

“Keep yourself to yourself,” I tell myself, sorting files on the computer. I’m testy with my wife as she comes and asks for information on a specific date and event. Without responding to her verbally, I search for the appropriate document, drilling down through information. She doesn’t realize what I’m doing and hectors me. I snap back with an explanation. She then goes away.

Meanwhile, the British and Scottish women have become friendlier. As if they sensed they rebuffed me and now want my friendship — or something — they step closer. I’m aware that they’re surreptitiously attempting to see what I’m doing. They make a subtle show of patting me on my shoulder, touching my arm.

It all confused and wearied me. I move off the dead man’s files. Why should I be involved with them? I find myself instead working on the files for another who worked for me. Investigating this person makes no more sense than checking the dead man’s files.

I understand it all when I awaken. The sense of dissatisfaction, frustration. The searching in myself for answers about directions and desires.

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A Dream of Five

Oh, we’d been working, a long, hard period. There’d been many of us but now…well, the situation was different. Changing parameters meant only five remained, plus the overseers. I didn’t know who any of these were, outside of myself. Selected as one of the final five, I felt privileged and flattered. Then, classic imposter syndrome kicked in. I had no idea of what was going on.

It seemed like different things were ‘going on’. We were trying to help someone else find direction. There was a map to that effect. But we needed to gain their trust. Also, how did we convey map directions to them? Borders and other problems precluded simple, direct methods.

A huge map dominated one wall. I was summarizing to myself. Fix the borders. Define them. Find the person we were to help. Gain their trust. Get them over the border.

The map seemed to be taking shape. Mountains dominated — very mountainous place. We were adding borders but I stayed mystified. Why were we the ones finding the borders? Didn’t the borders already exist? Asking these questions, I learned in roundabout manner, the borders were known but were lost, so we’re recovering them.

We thought we’d done a pretty good job. Black borders were drawn in, though some areas, like in the south, remained open.

But the overseer was furious. She told us, “You’ve drawn a face.” I looked at the map but didn’t see it. “These are not the borders. You’re running out of time. What is wrong with you? Get it done.”

This berating restored my bewilderment and confusion. Worse, to me, it seemed to make sense to the other four. But I couldn’t comprehend it. What was wrong with me?

I was beginning to feel left out. Abandoned. The other four turned attention to drawing the other to us and gaining his trust. I was befuddled about who the other was. They all knew and seemed to think that I should know. With some surprise and suspicion, I thought a few of the other five were different people. When did that happen? Had they changed?

One stormed in with an idea. He — the one we were trying to lure to us — whoever that was — was a Niki Lauda fan. While I knew about Niki Lauda, this revelation only deepened my confusion. But, wanting to belong, I spouted Niki Lauda info that I knew. Niki Lauda, young scion of a wealthy family. Getting a loan to go racing. Racing in the seventies and eighties. Three time Formula 1 world champion. Big accident, almost killed. Retired from racing, had a failed business, Lauda Air, returned to racing. Also raced BMWs, didn’t he?

Wasn’t sure about that last but saying these things earned a greater measure of trust from the other four. We decided that we needed to rest. There was one bed. The five of us got into it together and rested, shoulder to shoulder on our backs, like we were in coffins. None of us slept. We were too keyed. So much remained to be done. What else did we need to do? The time was almost upon us.

I still didn’t know much but I felt better because I was more accepted and included by the rest. One would always pause to ensure that I was there whenever they went off to do something else.

We had some sort of breakthrough. The end was near. Naturally, I didn’t understand. We were so tired and hungry by then. Going to a new location, a venue where a celebration had been held, we stole in to find food and drink. You can’t be in here, we were told. You must leave. But another said, you can come in.

We went in. A woman came over and told us that we must leave. Another came in and told her that we could stay for a few minutes. She also said there was leftovers for us to eat. They had chicken. Would I like chicken?

Yes, I said. They brought me a bucket. Here’s a piece in here for you, I was told. That’s not chicken, I thought as I picked it up. Something about what it was made me not want to eat it. One of the other four said they would eat it, and took it from me. He tore into it. Rabbit, we all realized, it was a fried rabbit breast. Why would they tell us it was chicken? They lied to us.

I shuffled into another place. There, I saw people dressed in very fancy evening dress who’d been present for a celebration. The celebration was over. They were preparing to leave. A server, male, in white coat and black bow tie, brought me a cup and shot glass on a gold tray. He spoke soothingly to me as he poured a clear liquid in the shot glass and espresso into the cup. I told him I couldn’t drink that now. He reassured me, firmly stating, “Oh, you need to drink both of these now.”

Dream end.

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Another Writing Dream

This one was long, complex, and layered. After thinking about all of it (an exercise in itself), just sharing a few segments.

I was at a writing retreat on an island. At one point, I was in a room with other writers. We all stopped to take a break. Many were out on the balcony in sunshine, watching fog roll in. Thinking about joining them, I went to the refrigerator to get a beer. The frig was fully stocked but I decided to pass and went back to writing.

Later, I took a break from writing, left my room, and went running around the island. It wasn’t a big item and writers were everywhere. I realized that’s how I’d been spending my time, writing, with breaks to run/get exercise and sunshine, and I was enjoying it.

I decided it was time to leave the island. I was almost done with my work in progress and decided I’d finish it elsewhere. After making initial arrangements for my flight out, I followed up at the front desk. An old but big white man, who was the owner, worked the desk. He asked me if I wanted food for my trip out. He spoke in a low, garbled voice. I was constantly asking him to repeat himself, leaning forward to hear him. He shoved a piece of paper at me and a new yellow pencil. “Fill this out!”

Looking at the paper, I answered, “Fill what out? There’s nothing there.” After pulling back the piece of paper, he realized that a form that was supposed to be attached was missing, found one, passed it to me, and then turned to helping others.

I couldn’t complete the form because the pencil wasn’t sharpened. New, it’d never been sharpened. Instead of trying to get the old man’s help, I found a used pencil. As I filled out the form, I discovered the food I was ordering would cost $1500, an amount I found shocking. I asked the old man, “How long is this flight going to take?” He didn’t answer. I decide in the dream that it takes a lot to leave writer’s island.

Paperwork done, I walked out of the office and down an outside walk. A young female writer, white, short dark hair, short in stature, came up and put her arm around my waist. I reciprocated with an arm around her shoulder. She and I walked like this, with her telling me how much she liked my writing and admired me.

There’s a period of driving around. I’m a passenger. The young female writer is the driver. She keeps going the wrong way down streets, concerning me. It’s only after the dream that I wonder how there’s so many cars and roads there when the retreat was originally a small island.

I realize I’m carrying half a book. A classic, it’s literally torn in half, with the final half missing. Someone asks about it. I explain that it was a gift from a friend, a joke. He told me that whenever he asks me how I’m doing, I always answer that I’m about half finished. He thought it was finished to give me half of a published book.

Later, I’m worried. I don’t remember packing my clothes, computer, etc. I’ve already checked out but we’re back by the office. I stop by and ask the old man if I can check my room to see if I left anything behind. He gives me the keys and says, “Help yourself.” I go to the wrong room. Realizing that my room number was six, I find and enter it. It’s still the wrong room. I remember that my room was up two flights.

I go up to the right room. My baggage is there. Everything is packed. As I’m walking around, looking, just to be certain, another writer enters. We chat while I’m searching the room. I find a large cache of papers behind the desk. They appear to have fallen there. Drawing them out, I realize they’re old and handwritten, and they’re not mine. As I comment on that, the other writer starts crumpling them up and throwing them away. I ask him why he’s doing that, and then follow up, “Don’t you want to read other writers to see what they’re doing?” He stops trashing the papers and begins trying to uncrumple everything, which makes me laugh.

I decide to shower and change clothes, but I leave the room door open. After leaving the shower, while I’m toweling off, I discover a young doe in the room. It’s missing the top half of its head. It’s bloodless but like its head has been sawn off above its eyes and its brain scooped out. Friends enter to tell me good-bye. I wrap a towel around my waist. I’m about to warn them about the deer when one friend mentions it, making a joke. I’m surprised; the deer is completely whole and fine. I wondered why I thought it was missing part of its head, and then decide I’m always looking for the worse, even when it’s not there.

That’s where the dream ended. As mentioned in the beginning, it was complex, and offered a lot to unpack.

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The Dream’s Train Segment

I was in Germany, walking along railroad tracks in the countryside. An elderly man was there. Tired, in holed clothes and mismatched shoes, he was befuddled, trying to say something and not saying much. I thought he wanted to get on the train, but I wasn’t sure. Nothing coherent came from him. While I wanted to help him, exasperation crept in; I had things to do, and he was not making sense.

I missed the train. I began to chase it. I didn’t run, but walked, and not at a fast pace. I followed a path that ran parallel to the tracks. The train would stop a bit ahead, and then, as I grew closer, take off again.

Then, I don’t know why, I decided I was going the wrong way. Reversing direction, I passed the old man again. I told him, “There’s the train, I’m going to catch it, if you want to come with me.” But he stayed where he was, in the sunshine, glancing around.

The train was stopped. I caught it, got onboard, and found my wife. She and I began shopping. It was important for her to get a supply of food. These were big emergency bags. Everyone was going for them. I didn’t think we needed them, and questioned what was in them, but she was insistent, so I took one.

Then we were walking through a department store with other shoppers. I had no idea what we wanted, so I mostly focused on killing time until the next part arrived. I was certain that was about to happen. An old friend, who was a first sergeant in the Air Force, stopped me to ask for some advice about what she should do regarding a personnel issue. As I was giving her my opinion, my wife returned looking for me. I introduced the two of them and they chatted. As that happened, others hailed me, seeking advice or help. I helped them as I could, and then my wife and I went on.

When we went on, my wife said to me, “I see what you mean. Everyone wants some part of you.”

We arrived at a cabin where we were going to stay. It was luxurious but small. I decided that I needed to prepare for the next day. I removed my clothes, which turned out to be a military uniform (light blue shirt, dark blue pants), and steam-pressed it so it would look good.

The segment ended.

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The Spaceship Dream

I dreamed I was in a spaceship or a space capsule. Small, it was tight with equipment. No one else seemed present.

I was excited. I was in space! That I wasn’t weightless or floating surprised me, but I dismissed that with little thought. Wanting to view the earth, space, and moon from this unique vantage, I hunted for a window. I couldn’t find a damn window anywhere. What kind of craziness is this? I wondered. Spaceships need windows.

As I turned in my search, I’d discovered that I could walk further into the spaceship. It seemed bigger than I thought. But when I didn’t find a window and turned to retrace my steps, I found that I couldn’t go back. All I could do is turn and go forward. That bothered and mystified me.

Awakening at that point, I leaped up. I’d fallen asleep in the recliner in the snug. The television was on but nothing was onscreen.

I didn’t recognize that, though. Panicking, I was trying to understand what I was supposed to be doing. Wasn’t I supposed to be doing something? I was sure that was the case. Seeing the television, though, I began understanding that I was home.

Home? That ignited new surprised panic. How did I get home? Where was the spaceship?

At last my mind grasped, that was a dream…

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The Direction Dream

It was funny, to me. 

Dreamed I got ear wax out of my ear (where else, right?), about a quarter-inch diameter ball of it. Said to self, “Self, my, that’s a lot of ear wax.” Then I ran around looking for somewhere to dispose of it. I was in a hurry to catch a train (or a bus – it seemed like a moving target).

The ball of ear wax kept growing. I continued to notice that, show it to others, and say, “That’s a lot of ear wax.” I realized that I was often saying that to myself in the dream, and laughed.

Meanwhile…the dream filled with people, family, friends, previous co-workers, and strangers. Some night of something had just ended. We were looking around and rejoicing that we’d come out well. Everything was in good shape. I finally disposed of the ear wax, which was basketball sized. In a weird epiphany in the dream, I saw that the ear wax was my past.

Someone noticed some vomit on the floor. The scene became a little CSI oriented. Questions were asked about who and when. The consensus was a cat had puked but the identity remained a mystery. The bigger mystery was, who is going to clean it up.

Somehow that was handled. Leaping forward, I was well-dressed and ready to travel. Had shiny black shoes on, and briefcase in my hand. But the area was chaos. No one knew where to go. Separating and isolating myself from others, I scanned the situation and decided on a direction.

I headed that way. Others wanted to know where I was going. “Out of here,” was my reply. “I know the way out. Come with me, if you need to leave.”

Others said, “Can I come with you?”

Amused, I shrugged. “Sure, but I’m moving fast.”

Dressed in a suit and overcoat, suitcase in one hand, briefcase in the other, I took off, walking fast through the crowd. Others, a knot of eight people followed me. As I dodged others, I kept looking ahead and refining where I was going. Fewer people were around. At this point, I was on a train station platform. Others behind me said, “Where are we? Do you know where you’re going?”

I smiled, because I knew where I was, and where I was going. It was all very affirming. My last thought was, I’m leaving the past.

Dream ended.

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The Destination Dream

I was moving again in last night’s dream. My home that I was selling was a large white house. Built circa the 1950s – hey, that’s when I was born – the home featured a large front porch, two sprawling sugar maple trees, and a large green yard with squared off sidewalks.

The dream’s beginning found me doing yard work. I was busy and happy. In a brief aside, I then go to work and tell a woman how to use a specific computer program to conduct a search. She’s mute during the entire exchange, leaving me doubtful about whether she understood what the search could do to save her time, or if she understand what I told her. I would check back on her.

As I returned to yard work, my wife accosted me. She needed to go to an organizing event for some activity that she was involved with, and wanted me to drive her. We argued briefly, but I resigned myself. We would take our truck, I told her, leading her to a small Ford Courier or Chevy LUV sized vehicle, in other words, a small truck. A white tarp covered the truck. When I pulled the tarp aside, I had to dump water off the tarp, and worried about the trunk having water damage. But it seemed fine. Weirdly, the trunk had no top.

I got in one side, and was awaiting my wife. Two other women got in as well. I asked them who they were, and they said that my wife told them that they could get a ride with us. I had not problem with that, but then realized I didn’t have a steering wheel because I was on the wrong side of the truck. After getting out and circling the truck, I told the woman behind the steering wheel that she needed to move. She wanted to know why. I told her that I needed the steering wheel, which made her laugh.

As I waited for her to move, I looked at my sidewalks under the sugar maples. They all ha a green hue. I worried about what caused that and then noticed that my yard needed edging.

My wife arrived, so I jumped in the truck and took off. She didn’t know where the event was, so we started aimlessly driving around. As we did, she got angry, which made me angry. She was angry because we were lost, and I was angry because she didn’t know where we were supposed to go. Eventually, I saw another woman. Pulling over, I asked her if she knew where the event was.

She showed me on a cell phone. She and I then discussed where I was. Her phone showed where I’d driven, depicting my path as a fat red line. I saw how I’d circled around the same area several times. I wasn’t far from my destination but unsure how to get there. I thought I needed to go one way, but the woman corrected me, showing me a quick, direct path on her phone. Meanwhile, my wife and the other two women had left the truck and were walking around. I called out to them that I knew where we needed to go. They finally came over.

Then I paused to go back to the woman that I’d shown how to use the search engine. She still wasn’t using it, so I showed her again. Then she seemed to understand. Feeling pleased that progress was being made, I got into the truck with my wife and the other two women and drove them to their destination.

Lot of women in this dream. I see all sorts of things percolating through my mind in this dream, and it’s very positive. It makes me smile.

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