The Motorcycle Dream

I was riding a motorcycle on a highway that reminded me of California SF-SJ Bay Area Interstates.  I could’ve been riding where I-280 goes into SF and splits off toward SFO. It looked oddly like that.

Weirdly, I was on the motorcycle, but ‘I’ was some distance back from it, on my feet, guiding and directing it. It (me on the cycle) was getting further away from me, forcing me to change lanes and strain to see myself. When I did those things, my motion caused my motorcycle to shift and change lanes. I was coming up on a split and didn’t want to miss my turn.

Somehow,  I made it. I then stopped at a tee-intersection on some sort of shore. My wife (also on a motorcycle on one moment but then walking in jean and a shirt the next) joined me. As I spoke to her, asking her what she wanted to do, she crossed the street, heading toward the shore. I said, “I guess that’s what we’re doing,” and followed her.

Our neighbor was across the street. She briefly spoke with him. I didn’t, but went toward her as she walked away from him. Watching my neighbor, I thought he was being interviewed. My wife confirmed that when I asked her.

I heard my neighbor say, “I’m not from West Virginia, but when I heard they were going to the wishbone offense, I was sold.”

The dream sort of muddled apart after that, with a brief moment of my neighbor and I comparing motorcycle riding notes, and me mentioning how I was riding it from a distance.

Then it ended.

The Tattooed Woman Dream

Short and sharp, it struck like strobe flashes.

I’m somewhere, with others, not sure of that setting. Darkness falls like the lights were turned off.

I’d been laughing. A friend had been right beside me. Befuddled by the sudden disappearance of the light, I turned to the friend, asking, “What happened?”

But he wasn’t there. While mulling this, across the way, on the edge of gloomy woods, I see a woman. I almost think I know her but deciding that I don’t, I turn to look for everyone else.

I don’t know where I’m at. It’s so dark, seeing is difficult. I was outside. Now…am I inside? I’m not sure.

I think I’m in a bar. Seems like it, maybe from outlines made out from a dim, flickering light. At first, I think it’s lightning, but then realize it’s a flickering neon light. Blue, I try to make out what it says.

The woman is beside me, surprising me. She’s smiling. I think, she has nice skin, it’s an interesting dusky color in this light.

Her skin is changing colors. I realize that her skin is dark with tattoos but the tattoos are moving. Afraid that her tattoos are going to grab me, simultaneously curious about what they are, and yet, dismissive that tattoos can ‘get’ me, I freeze with indecisiveness, wanting to run, wanting to turn away, yet wanting to keep looking and to stay there.

I try to make light of the situation and mumble a lame remark at her. She has a full head of dark, reddish hair. She hasn’t said a word. In a way, in this light, she looks like she’s dead, her skin growing paler as the tattoos leave her body.

I think, her tattoos can’t get me, but also think, where are her tattoos going? I think, they must be going to the floor.

I look down to see them. It’s too dark to see the floor. My feet are cold, then I realize, my feet are wet. Dark waters are rising.

I want to get out of the water. I try moving, changing directions. The woman isn’t there. I don’t understand where she went. The blue neon light flashes. I see a door. If I can get there, I can escape.

The water is rising with a gargling sound, a sound that makes me think of a mouth opening wide. The need to rush overtakes me. I struggle toward the door. Tables and chairs block my way. The water feels thick around my legs, more like it’s heavy mud, sucking me in. The water is rising and is climbing my thighs.

My left palm is itchy. Going to scratch it, I discover a small red snake is slithering across my palm. As horror strikes me, I realize that it’s a tattoo.

The floor shifts. The room tilts. The water and furniture are spilled toward the door. Bracing myself, looking for something to grab, I wait to fall out. Outside the door, it’s silvery white. I realize that light is the water. It’s falling down, like a waterfall. I try to see how far down it goes and spy a splashing pool, far, far away.

All the water around me that remains has turned silver and flows like mercury. It’s above my waist. As I look down into the water, I realize that although it’s silver, it doesn’t reflect anything, and then the water clears. Sunlight bursts up through it.

The dream ends.

The Pants Dream

Yep, here we go, another pants dream.

It began with being at work. I was settling into a new place. It was an open work space. The CEO, who seemed to like me a great deal, was showing me around the place and introducing me to others.

He showed me my work space. Big desk, computer, etc., off to one side of everyone else, besides some steps that went up to a loft area where there were more work spaces. After he told me my assignments, he left. I got to work and finished very quickly. I then began hunting something else to do. Walking around the place, I had a sense that I didn’t belong. After a bit of that, I ventured to visit with the CEO to express that.

Busy with clients, he couldn’t see me right then, but I told his assistant that I didn’t think I was the right fit. She told me not to do anything, be patient, and she’d pass the message on, and then the CEO would speak with me.

I told another friendly co-worker that I didn’t think I fit. He tried to convince me that I did, but really lacked any solid points.

My wife arrived to see if I could go to lunch. Yes, I could, but I needed to change my clothes. I was in shorts. Thinking myself underdressed, I wanted to put on pants.

I’d brought some pants with me to the office. The first pair were dirty, so I didn’t try them on. I had fewer pants than I expected, and than spent some time looking for more. It came down to two pairs of pants. One fit perfectly but wasn’t a style or color that I liked because they were too different. White, tight, with narrow legs, they had diagonal black stripes. I was surprised that they were mine. The next pair were too large but I liked the style. I realized, though, since the first pair fit, I could put them on, and then wear the second pair of pants over them. Then I found a favorite shirt and put that on.

That combination seemed to work. I spent some time walking around, trying that out, verifying that I could move comfortably, and watching others’ reactions. I thought that others admired how I looked. Coming down the stairs from the loft, I saw a reflection of myself, and thought, yes, I look good.

I then left. It was lightly sprinkling outside. The CEO was at a table with clients under an awning. He called me over and introduced me to them, enthusing about me, which embarrassed me. I left to meet my wife.

There was a row of stores and cafes. She was supposed to be waiting for me outside. I figured that since I’d taken so long, she’d probably gone on to a store to kill time. I would check them until I found her.

I was checking the first one when she came in, finding me. As we were talking, she was telling me that she’d run into one of my new co-workers. As she was telling me that, he came in and asked  if he could join us for lunch. We said, sure, and went off.

Later (with a dreamshift), my wife had gone. It was growing darker, with daylight fading and lights coming on. My co-worker and I were walking back toward the business. As we were, we saw a party going on and remembered that it was an office party. He went right up and in, urging me to follow. I declined. He said he was just stopping for a few minutes. I decided that I’d wait outside, just past the entrance, and leaned back against the wall.

The party broke up a short time later. My co-worker came out. He joined me, chatting, asking me why I hadn’t gone inside. I told him that I didn’t think that I belonged. As we were talking, another co-worker was striding by below us. Seeing us, he came up the steps and handed me a cup.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s for you,” he answered.

“Why?”

“I thought you needed it, and wanted to give it to you.”

I felt flattered that he’d thought of me, and thanked him. He left. As he did, my friend and I began to walk. I drank from the cup that’d been given to me and discovered it was strong, sweet tea. It tasted wonderful. I began thinking, maybe I do belong here.

The dream ended.

The Diva Dream

I was on a school campus. Lovely place, green squares, well-maintained, with sidewalks bisecting the space between beautiful red-brick buildings.

Lot of people were milling around. We were all in uniforms, a forest green with small blue piping around the neck and where it buttoned down. I had three jobs. One, I was cleaning. Two, I was checking on people. Three, I was finishing song lyrics and jingles for them.

All was going fine. Then an exercise break was called. And the instructor (who reminded me of Lou Gossett, Jr.) said, “Come on, all you divas come up here.”

Being called a diva annoyed me. I’d never acted like a diva. To prove that point, I decided to act like a diva. Apparently, acting like a diva includes not wearing any pants.

People pointed it out. “You’re missing your pants.”

“I know. I’m a diva.”

Others pressed me, you’re not wearing pants because you’re a diva? “Yes, divas are different. I’m a diva, so I’m being different.” I had a long shirt on but no pants and underwear.

Light exercises were done. I did some of them, but, “I’m a diva,” so I didn’t fully participate, instead interrupting proceedings, exasperating the instructor. He and I then began playing a ball game. Sometimes it was a football, being tossed and kicked; other times, we hit or threw baseballs. Although people of my age (I was in my twenties), males and females, and several ethnicities and races, it was only the instructor and I playing.

Then one of his hit balls landed onto the roof of a tall building behind me and bounced over onto the other side. I’d been warning him that it was going to happen; now it had. As I made ready to go around and get it, he ordered everyone, “Let’s all go to the other side.”

His decision threw me off. I didn’t understand why we all needed to go. I was just going to get the ball. But he announced, “We’ll exercise on this side.”

This side was the street side. Other students, organized in groups, were running toward us (they were running groups). Suddenly, I was embarrassed by my lack of pants and underwear, and tried pulling my shirt down to cover myself. And, suddenly (as it happens in dreams), my shirt was shorter, coming just halfway down my butt. Damn it, I didn’t want all these other people gawking at me. As I tried covering up by stretching my shirt down and squatting, the dream ended.

In the end, it’s pretty classic as dreams go, innit?

A Witnessing Dream

I, and another man, were rushing down the street through clear, sunny weather, eager to get to work. Each of us were on the sidewalk. He was ahead of me. The road and sidewalks were wide, and well-maintained. There was no other traffic.

Another friend, an elderly and short retired doctor who often reminds me of a garden gnome (except he never smokes a pipe, and he’s more slender than your typical garden gnome) was rushing head-on toward another friend.

Garden gnome wasn’t in a car. The other friend was in a red car, but it was like a cartoon car. I could see into it.

Watching them close on one another (with garden gnome hailing them and grinning), I thought, they’re both going too fast. They’re going to crash.

They did.

I slowed to watch, worrying and expecting many of the standard things seen in a high-speed crash. The two came together but the one in the car was ejected straight into garden gnome. They both slid down the street hundreds of feet, coming to rest in an intersection.

Oh, no, I thought. There’s traffic. They’re going to be run over.

The garden gnome stood, grinning, unfazed, astonishing me. The other was also unhurt. Collecting herself, she hurried away as the garden gnome tried to speak with her.

Reassured (but astonished) that they were okay, I carried on. Getting to work, I encountered the garden gnome. We exchanged insights about what’d happened. We were laughing about it, since he was okay. I was enthralled by the slide he’d taken. It’d been monumental. I’d never seen anything like that before. He was still interested in talking to the other person, the woman, he said, but she was avoiding him. Then, seeing her, he rushed off again, calling her as he went.

I continued on to work but then was hurrying down the sidewalk along the street again, eager to get to work. The garden gnome was racing toward another friend. She was in a car. He wasn’t. They were weirdly like a video game.

I thought, I just saw this happen. Is it going to happen again?

It did. They crashed together. She was ejected. They slid along the road together.

The crash had been greater than before, sending debris into every direction. I rued not checking on them the previous time, so this time I went back to check on them. Both were fine. Each rushed off after reassuring me of that.

Well, that baffled the hell out of me. In the dream, I thought, I witnessed the same accident twice. Do these things happen in threes? Will there be a third?

Then I was called to work, except work was over, or that phase that’d been going on. We were continuing on to another phase.

Two distinguished and accomplished people were ahead of me. Still, outside, we were all heading toward a checkpoint. We needed to get past the checkpoint to continue. Some events were planned for the other side.

Each of us was carrying a large piece of something. I’m not sure if mine was a large stained wood object or bread to look like stained-wood. It was huge, requiring me to stretch my arms out, and slowed me a little.

One of the people, tall and mustached, wore an expensive but old-fashioned trench coat. I could tell by looking at it. The other, a younger woman, treated him with diffidence. He was talking, and they were strolling.

I was catching up with them. As I neared them, I heard him make a comment to that nature. Then he saw me and stopped.

We were going up a grassy green slope toward the checkpoint. The man, while trying to be blase, said that they should hurry so that I didn’t arrive for them. He upped their pace. I upped mine. Despite my larger burden, I got there first, pleased, triumphant, and sweaty.

“Did you wash it?” I was asked by the short, plump agent, as I looked back at the others. They remained a distance away. “You’re supposed to at least rinse it off. You guys never rinse them off.”

I didn’t know what she was talking about. I tried telling her, “It looks fine to me.” Waving that off, she escorted me to one of the tables set up for inspection as this transpired. Three tables were set up. Two other agents were present. So, they should be able to handle us in parallel, I thought as the other two arrived with their loads. I tried and failed to see what they carried.

My agent diddled and fussed without seeming to do anything. I knew, oh, they’re deliberately slowing me down. I wasn’t affronted nor outraged, but accepting, okay, slow me down here, others have more urgent needs (read, egos), and I can burst ahead once I get past these gatekeepers. I tried looking ahead to see what was next so that I could plan my actions. While I did, the other two slipped by me and went on, barely scrutinized, confirming my impression of what was going on.

The dream ended.

 

Dreams of the Times

First, in a response to the current situation, I dreamed that I opened a cupboard in the house and found an opened package of toilet paper. Toiler paper, as you probably know, is one of the most sought commodities in America in the age of the coronavirus. In the dream, I found an opened twelve pack and laughed as I saw it, remembering that we’d had so many rolls of toilet paper that we’d put some in another cupboard. One roll was gone. I told my wife I’d found it and then put it in the proper cupboard, which, in the dream, accurately reflected our current TPSIT. That whole thing amused me; we’d not stocked additional toilet paper. Fascinating how my mind seemed to gloam onto the tp as emblematic of current thinking and trends.

The next dream segment remembered featured me in a car, which is one of my standard dream features (I dream of being in a car, finding a car, or driving a car a great deal). Sometimes in this dream, I was driving, but sometimes I was a passenger. This changed without reasoning that I could discern. It never bothered me in the dream, and I didn’t think about the other drivers. It didn’t seem to matter to me. I was preoccupied with other things, mostly music.

I had a tiny flesh-colored plug in me. It fit into my upper arm by my shoulder, where you’d typically get a vaccine. I could access it through my clothes. Post-dreaming reflection showed that I was completely oblivious to doing this in the dream; it was normal.

The plug had a tiny flesh-colored line, thin as a spider web, attached to it. Removing the plug from my arm, I’d stick it in my ear and hear music. This process absorbed me. After a while, I began understanding that the music was originating somewhere outside of my body. My body was picking it up as if it was an antenna and then playing it in my head.

Then I figured out (with a lot of surprise) that the music that I was attracting and playing was being amplified out to millions of people. As I assimilated this in the dream, I understood that it was part of a position that I’d been given as some sort of keeper. I completely understood it and it made sense in the dream.

I rotated this responsibility with another man. Older than me, he went through the same process of discovering as I’d endured. As he did, I watched him. Seeing his reaction, I guessed what was going through his head and then told him about what I thought it was. He nodded, beginning to understand what I was saying.

That took place in a car. It seemed like an huge car. Dozens of people were in the car with me, but there was so much room, I could easily walk around it, going from window to window or seat to seat. I’d been driving, but now I was somewhere toward the back of the car when we stopped for gas.

When we stopped for gas, we discovered pieces had fallen off the car. I began looking for and finding irregular chunks of metal. Applying them to the car, I started repairing it. I told others what I was doing so they could do it, too. They ignored me, so I worked alone, finding metal and fixing the car.

I ended up going off by myself in another car. I was driving now, taking a small car up a winding mountain highway. Night was falling. Missing a curve, the car crashed through the white guardrail and fell thousands of feet down into a dark bay.

The car hit the water and immediately dropped toward the bottom, passing quickly through fathoms of water. Unfazed by what was happening, even feeling a little amused, I exited the car and swam up through the light grey-green water until I broke the surface.

It was night. The combined events, crashing and swimming, had taken me a long way from where I’d gone off the road. Using searchlights, others were looking for me way over in another area. Bobbing around in the dark water, I waved my arms and called them, but no one saw or heard. Giving that up, I swam a long distance to the shore and left the water.

They were still looking for me. I could see them but they didn’t know where I was. Exasperated and drenched, I began walking along a road toward them. I guesstimated them to be miles away. Accepting that, I increased my pace.

The dream ended.

The Table Dream

A scene bursts into my consciousness. Noisy and busy, I’m outdoors. People doing stuff surround me. I don’t know what they’re doing.

I’m presented with a location stocked with materials. “There are yours. Go to work.” Doing what? I wonder but respond with positive energy, “Okay.”

There’s a hammer, nails, wood, measuring tape, etc., essentially common hand tools associated with carpentry. As people bustle around me in a sunny area (I don’t see much past my immediate work space), I ponder what I’m supposed to do. Build something. Well, what?

A picnic table is in front of me. I presume that I’m supposed to use it as work table. After taking stock of the wood – it’s all sanded, finished wood (I don’t know what kind) – I start working, just following instinct. I’m enjoying it. I’m surprised to discover that I’m wearing a tool belt (which makes me laugh; me, in a tool belt?).

My construction progresses. People come by and compliment me. I’m pleased. Then, I realize, OMG, I’m building the picnic table. Wasn’t there a picnic table there before? I’m unsure. I thought there was, but now, I’m building one, and I don’t see another. Did someone take the original one? I didn’t notice that.

Being puzzled slows me down, makes me pause and reconsider what I’m doing for a bit. I look around for clues, but everyone else is busy. No one is showing me interest. Alright, just continue, what the hell, right?

So I do. I get deeper into the work. It progresses quickly. I have more wood than I realized, and work faster, more confidently. As I near completion, I realize, why I’ve built a room.

Astonishment striking me, I walk around to consider my work. Then I discover I haven’t built just a room, but a small house. How the hell did I do that? When did I do that?

As I contemplate the results, a man comes by. “Good job,” he tells me. “Keep going. Finish it.”

Keep going? Finish it? I have no idea what I’m doing.

After processing that, I notice missing details. I have floors but no ceilings. It’s incomplete. I decide to go back to work, thinking, what the hell, just follow the flow and see what turns out.

The dream ends.

The Heart-Attack Dream

It began with me in bed, at night. Pain was rushing through me. I couldn’t see nor hear correctly. I thought, I’m having a heart attack.

No one else seemed present. The heart attack would come and go in waves. I tried calling for help but couldn’t. I decided that I’d work through it by thinking of what I was feeling and experiencing, and then countering those things with my mind. That seemed to work, as the pain faded and the heart attack passed.

The lights came on. A large spider, I’d say two feet tall, was to my left. I acknowledged its presence and left the room.

I’d survived, I decided. Outside the bedroom, in another room, were my wife, a few friends, and a dead cousin. As I looked around, familiarization flowed in. I knew where I was. We need to go home, I announced to the rest. They talked about this, objecting, how are we to do that?

But, I judged, the weather isn’t bad, so I’m walking. It’s only a few miles and it won’t take long.

They didn’t believe that I was serious. Shrugging them off, I left. My wife and a few others joined me.

The road was a rough, one-lane, dirt and gravel road that rose, fell, and wound through sparsely populated, wooded countryside. As we went, we’d see a car coming, call out, “Car,” and then step off the road until it passed. Impatient to continue my journey, I announced that I’m running.

At that point, I realize that I had a foot injury and had been limping. I thought, I’ll have to push myself through my foot’s pain and stiffness. Behind me, the others said, “He’s not serious, he’s not going to run.” But I started running, gritting my teeth against my pain. Soon I found a stride.

The others started running behind me, but I was well ahead. Seeing the road, I’d call, “Car,” as a warning to them, and step aside until the car had passed us all, and then resume running.

I reached home. Uncles were there. They offered me wine, but it was white wine and I turned them down. Dad arrived with a girlfriend. He offered me some white wine, but I turned him down. I wanted some wine, though. I was getting ready to go somewhere.

Passing into another room, I saw Dad’s girlfriend asleep in the living room. I went into the adjacent kitchen. I found a bottle of white wine but kept looking for red wine. As I didn’t find anything except white wine I thought, maybe I will drink some.

Dad came in. While talking to me, he produced a bottle of white wine in a light green bottle in a clear plastic bag, like a gallon-storage bag, and showed it to me. It’d been opened, but had a cork put back into place. “That’s what you’re drinking?” I asked. When he said that he was, and offered me some, I answered, “Well, pour me a glass, I guess.”

As he did, his girlfriend awoke in the other room. She came in and introduced herself to me, which annoyed Dad. We talked for a few minutes. Then we talked about cars, and who was using what car.

The dream ended.

The Photograph Dream

It was such a short and simple dream. As I was in the kitchen, I froze with a question in my mind, did I dream that or imagine it?

Walking back through thoughts, I eventually went into my office. Sitting there, dream fragments surged forward.

I’d dream that I was with a group of people. I think we were at a flea market or something, as tents and canopies were set up. The place was very busy. It sort of reminded me of a flea market I visited in San Jose, California.

Walking around, I’d found a number of old photographs piled on tables. Most were in color. I didn’t see anyone I knew in the photographs. They were photos of people at holiday dinners — Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc. — vacations, and birthday parties. Some seem to be retirement parties or celebrations. Everyone looked happy and were raising glasses. Most were of different people but as I looked, I recognized some that were the same people in different photos.

I wondered how the photos had come to be there, what had happened to the people? Photographs of such happy-looking people, and here they were, collected on a table. As I held a photograph and thought about that, I looked out from under the tent and saw people outside taking selfies or photographs of one another as they held things.

The dream ended.

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