Tag: Dream

The Mentoring Dream

I was out on a plaza. Foot traffic ebbed and lifted around me. Nuances of a mid-afternoon carried late spring tones. This was no place known in RL.

Though it was outside, long white marble counters offered multi-media positions. One could step up and use a computer, television, or other digital device.

It seemed like I was on a break and just meandering. A famous man approached me. Tall, white, with curly hair, he wore a black suit of a white shirt. “I want hire you,” he said, “and mentor your development.”

In a dream epiphany, I knew that’s why I was on that plaza. Thanking him for the opportunity, I asked for time to think about it. He was amenable. Handing me a zip drive, he suggested I look at the files on it for a better idea of what he’s looking for and prepare a resume to give him. I agreed.

I headed to a computer station to explore the drive. While there, a middle-aged short and slender swarthy woman with tumbling curly hair approached and basically gave me the same pitch. I asked for time to think about it. She was a little disappointed that I didn’t immediately accept and made a pitch. She told me that letting her mentor me would open doorways for me.

I was flattered but adamant. I needed time to think about it and would not be rushed. She said there was a file on the disk which was a story and asked me to rewrite it so she would have more insight into my current levels.

The woman left and my wife joined me. I told her all that happened and showed her the discs. We began looking at the contents together. Days passed in a flicker of light. The second potential mentor drifted past, eyeing me, and trying to see what I was doing. I knew that she’d wanted and expected a piece of writing that first night, but I said nothing to her.

My wife drifted away. The female mentor stepped over and asked me who my wife was. The impression struck that she didn’t know who my wife was, so I explained. The mentor responded, “She’s not included in this.”

I returned to the disk and resumed writing. The female mentor continued circling. Reminded me of birds in orbit over a dead thing. Then the male mentor returned and said, “Good job.”

The end

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Lightning in a Box Dream

A lightning storm ruled for about an hour during the night. I listened to it. Then, when I slept, I dreamed.

I was alone somewhere, standing on a surface. Under the surface, clearly seen by me from the side via a weird dream dual perspective, were outlines of boxes. The outlines was in bold black. The boxes were white inside. Empty, was my take. They weren’t attached and were haphazardly arranged.

Although it was a clear blue sky, lightning flashed. I began thinking. With bizarre dream logic, I decided that I could catch the lightning. So, the next time it flashed, I reached up and caught the bolt, easy as grabbing a string.

Next, with dream logic, I thought I should put this lightning into a box. Then I can use its energy later.

While I thought myself right, I learned by trying that most of the boxes would not take the lightning. They weren’t large enough, or were the wrong materials, even though all were the same black outline empty white things to me.

One larger box attracted my attention. Buried in the fourth level down, I thought, that’s the perfect box, just what I need. Finding a slot in the land beneath me, I fed the lightning down into my chosen box. It took the lightning and then immediately rose one level.

I concluded, okay, catch more lightning, feed it to the box, and the box will rise to where I can grab it. Meanwhile, in the dream, I’m thinking, that’s pretty cool that I can catch lightning. I also realized, wait, instead of just ignoring the other boxes, I should re-arrange them. If I do, I can create a structure that amplifies the lightning’s power for me.

That’s what I did. As I progressed, the boxes’ black outlines changed into red, green, blue, yellow, etc. The lightning box became a brilliant white gold as it filled. The dream finished with me looking down on the box as it rose above the others and began available. I felt quite powerful and satisfied with myself, as though I’d done something to complete myself.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Mood: Coffexcited

Sunshine rules Penn Hills and Monroeville this morning.

The clouds haven’t been dismissed like a MAGA claim. Oh, no. But they’re broken white and blue-grey pieces of what they once were.

This is May 8, 2024. Current temp here is 71 F. 82 F is our ceiling today.

We had a terrific thunderstorm around 1:30 AM this morning. Sky played cracked the whip with its sounds. I’d heard its soft rumbling beginnings as I was faded. Thought, what is that noise? Animal? Rain? Nope; thunder.

I listened to the storm progress and leave, then dropped into slumber land. There, the storm found its way into my dreams. Fun dreams, though. Nothing sinister or scary.

Mom had a good day yesterday. Physical therapist came by and spent time most of an hour watching her movements, talking to her, teaching her new exercises, closing with checking on the requested wheelchair and hospital bed for her. He was Jim, a nice guy. Man informed me that Jim also tends to clients in prison. I suggested that’s why Jim was selected to help Mom. A good laugh ensued.

Tonight, we attend my nephew’s final high school jazz ensemble concert. Other than that. preparations for a Mother’s Day cook-out at my sister’s house are in full bloom.

Conversations of note with Mom: she was talking about a meal her father used to make in the winters. This was a tangent from some jokes about goulash. She told me about slumgullion: ground beef, tomato sauce, macaroni or pasta, sometimes vegetables. I realized I’d eaten it throughout my life without knowing what it was called.

Another topic was the coal deliveries and the backbreaking work the boys in the household were required to do to get it into the house for its use.

It was absorbing talking to her and Frank about their youths, once again absorbing the mammoth changes in American living compared to eighty years ago. It definitely promotes speculation what people in America will be living like 80 years from now.

Today’s music comes from the dream. “Hang Fire” by the Rolling Stones was released in 1981. The Neurons released it to my morning mental music stream (Trademark stalled) after I contemplated my dreams this morning. It was a pretty good matchup. The song is a lightweight, pop offering. Not my favorite among the Stones’ offerings.

I would write about the Trump trial featuring Stormy Daniels, but I’m a little burnt out on it. I followed it live yesterday, discussing it with Mom. Now the trial has a day off, and I’m taking a day off from thinking and talking about it.

Nor do I feel especially inclined to bring up Gaza and the cease fire agreement, or the campus protests and crackdowns, politics in general, or the bad weather in some parts of the country and world. Just not up to it. More coffee is required before slipping down those muddy paths.

Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Here’s the music video offering. Look at those youngsters!

And away we go. Cheers

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An Unsettling Dream

I didn’t know what to make of this offering last night from the Dream Neurons.

It was another military dream. I was in this crowded location. Nothing about it was wholly clear. A senior NCO, I looked like myself from my last years in the military before I retired.

As I say, very crowded. Mostly officers. Mostly Air Force, but a few from the others services were present.

Narrow room. Seemed like an operations center but none of the typical comm gear and crypto was in sight.

My commander, a colonel and short, blonde woman who looked remarkably like Sandi Toksvig, cornered me. “I have to go out,” she said. “Keep an eye out for those guys.” I knew which guys she meant. They were basically rogue, either on a mission they’re weren’t supposed to be on, or away without authorized leave.

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“If thy show up, and we think they will, immediately call security.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She left, and I vaguely wandered about the place. It didn’t take long for the missing men to show. All were tall, young, and fit. None were in uniform.

All of my officers were pleased to see them. A generally jovial spirit emerged as my guys greeted the new guys. An impromptu party seemed in the making.

But I had to do my duty. It was going to be ugly because everyone else were overjoyed with the rogue guys’ presence. That put me in some emotional turmoil. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. But it had to be done.

So, I balked. I told the senior officer present what had transpired between the commander and me, and the directions to call security on the rogues. He listened, displeased. I finished, “I’m calling security, but I didn’t want it to be a surprise.”

He spread the news to the rest. Their expressions darkened. Sullen silence soon prevailed. I made the call.

The rogues slipped out as soon as I called. The officers immediately began disparaging me. The senior officers and a few others defended me; I was following orders. Doing my duty. That little mollified them or me.

The senior officer, one other officer, and I left for the airport. We were walking and meant to be going on some duty travel. I ran into my commander and informed her about what’d transpired. She told me, “Good job, you did what was needed.” We seperated.

I caught up with my traveling companions at the airport. It was a chaotic mess. Remaining outside we milled with others, trying to learn where to go for our flight. While that was going on, a gigantic giraffe loomed over the top of the trees.

Excited children pointed at it and shouted. I stared, incredulous. The animal was bigger than what I thought was normal for a giraffe. Also, WTF was a giraffe doing at an airport? Also, the giraffe looked fake, like it was made of aluminum and then painted. Who would do that?

We found our flight and boarded. There weren’t any seats. All of us were forced to stand. That was okay because the flight was over in an eyeblink.

We began disembarking. The senior officer sketched his plans and then asked me, “And what are you going to do?” in a booming voice.

I replied, “Whatever you need me to do, sir.”

“Do what you want. Just don’t nuke anyone.”

Weird thing to say, I thought. “I won’t, sir.”

Dream end.

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Overlapping Dreams

Dream night as busy as SFO airport on the week before Mother’s Day. All were in close third person POV, like I was outside of myself and could see me, but was focused ONLY on me.

First, there I was, being told, “Hey, you won a major prize.

Me: I did? What is it?

“A significant amount of money and famous hardware. Hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

I was very excited. Really! Can you tell me more? What did I win it for?

“You’ll find out. Just show up this morning and the details will be provided.”

This morning. That’s very short notice. I can’t make it. I’m taking my cat to the vet this morning.

“Well, the prize is waiting for you, but it won’t be there forever.”

The thing about this is it was just voices, as I’ve depicted. I saw a blue sky and a white building on a hill, but that was it. It was almost like I was just having a two-way conversation by myself.

I awoke and puzzled over that with Tucker curled up beside me. Then, back to sleep, and another dream.

I was on a curve on a road, where it crested a hill. A sniper was high on a steep hill green with trees and bushes. Shooting down on us, he was forcing us to take cover and stay still.

Walking, I came upon this happening. “What’s going on,” I demanded of my small group. I knew they were my group, but don’t recall anyone. They told me about the sniper.

I was pissed. “Shoot him. Where are our shooters?”

“They tried. They couldn’t do it.”

I scowled. “Give me a rifle.”

I peered up the hill until locating him and fired one shot. Handing the rifle back, I said, “There. Done. Was that so hard?”

I turned away as my group began talking to each other about what I’d done, very impressed about it.

Then I awoke again. I wanted to ensure I was up at 6:30. It was 4:10. Back to sleep and another dream.

I was standing by the side of a road on its shoulder. This road seemed like the same road as in the sniper dream. Also, it seemed like highway 92 in California, on the way to Half Moon Bay.

Someone said, “Hey, we need your help.”

Sounded like a male behind me. I turned, wondering, do they mean me? Before I could ask that, they pointed up a hill. (I never saw any of them but the pointing hand.) “Children are up there,” they said. “They need to be rescued. Fly up them and get them.”

I was taken back. “What makes you think I can do that? I can’t fly.”

“Yes, you can, I saw you. You just did it. You just flew in here.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Others had gathered. I was aware of their presence but didn’t see them. It didn’t prevent several from saying, “Yes, you just flew in. I saw it, too.”

Coming around to the idea that I could fly because so many insisted that I could, I said, “Okay, I’ll try. I seriously doubt that I can.”

But that’s what I did. I flew up to the children, toddlers, and young children, none seeming like they were over six or seven years old. The speed and effortless action surprised me. I was there in a blink without wings, cape, or any kind of aid.

Unlike earlier, I saw all of the children. They seemed like they were in good health and uninjured, but inexplicably alone on a mountainside. “Who are you?” one asked.

“I’m here to rescue you,” I answered. Picking them up — like nine or ten children — in my arms, I said, “We’re going to fly down. Hang on.”

Then, blink, I’m at the bottom, putting the children down. Conversations, congratulations, and astonishment flourished around me. And then, because I could, I disappeared because I’d flown away.

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A Book Dream

A short dream recap.

I was in a room, high walls painted sky blue, tall windows which looked out over a hill which lead to a beach and see, white ceiling. ‘My book’ as I referenced it was on an old but polished dark brown table that I’d been using to write. My book was finished and had a cover which I partially saw: sky blue, yellow, with a red frame around some scene and the title in red.

I left the room and returned, finding the table gone, along with my book. I hurried back into the other room and asked what someone to tell me what had happened. I’d been half expecting the table to be taken away but having my book removed upset me. A tall, angular woman with short brown hair told me that the mover had taken the table and inadvertently took my book with it. They’re realized their error and were bringing the book back. I was looking out the window while she spoke. “There they are now,” she said, pointing out.

A helicopter was high in the sky coming toward us. This was one of those heavy lift Chinooks with two rotors. A large white lighthouse with a red tile roof dangled on a hook and cable. “Yes, I see it,” I answered and settled down to patiently arrive, and begin hearing its distinctive helicopter sound getting louder.

The helicopter arrived and lowered the lighthouse. When they finished, I went into the original room and found my book. Unfortunately, it was high on the wall and out of my reach. I searched for a ladder. None was available, so I returned to the other room and complained to the angular woman. She said, “I’ll get it moved so you can reach it.”

I went back into the other room. The book had been lowered. Standing on my toe tips and stretching fully out, I was just able to reach it. With it finally in hand, I opened the tome and began reading.

Dream end.

After I awoke and thought about the dream, I realized that my dream self had equated the book as the lighthouse, and meditated a while about what that meant.

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A White House Dream

I’ve always dreamed of houses, though I think those sort of dreams have tapered off in the last ten years. I had one again last night, though.

And it was confusing. A wealthy family was staying in this large and luxurious white house. My wife was with me, and we were young, and also staying there.

The house was for sale. It featured many layers set up in a cubist manner with steps connecting the square or rectangular rooms and halls. Exhibiting something of a mobious to the design (yes, kind of like M.C. Escher art), I found I could be in one end in a bedroom (there were many en suite bedrooms) and step one way and be on another level, in another room, on the building’s other end. Resolving to understand how it worked, I went about the house until I thought I’d gone through every room and knew my way around, and then started taking my wife around to show her.

Although the house was huge and way too large for us, I liked several of the rooms and rhetorically discussed with her which I liked. I speculated, too, on which room I would use as an office to write. Two really attracted me. I felt that both were too large. One had a bathroom and I thought that would be good to have. But because of the house’s design, people would sometimes need to walk through that room to reach other parts. Thinking that a disadvantage, I returned to the other room.

While this was happening, it was announced that the house had been sold. We wondered who bought it. The family staying there were’t the owners. We rarely encountered the parents, usually spying them walking through the house from a distance, but we frequently ran into the children. Early teenagers, they were rambunctious, mindless, wasteful, and destructive.

Going back to the other room that could be my office, my wife and I got in bed. The bed was just a mattress on legs, without head or foot boards, and there was no other furniture. I spooned her, pulled thick blankets up to our necks, and napped.

Some hubbub in another room woke us, pulling our attention. I went to see what was going on. Things had been damaged in another room. To be blunt, it was wrecked. I felt certain it was one of the male teenagers, because I’d seen him in that area with some of the damaged furniture, glassware, etc. So I told them what I’d seen before. He denied it but under questioning from his parents, with me pointing out some things, he confessed to what he did. As I walked away from this, I took more notice of that room. Its floor was white. I discovered one end had a raised circular dias, also white, and decided the room was set up as a party room, and that was a place where a small band could play. The room had a cutout running the length of a long wall and I speculated that the band could be playing on that platform or dias and be heard and seen from other rooms.

The dream ended with someone presenting me with a new car, a white Ferarri. Brand new, I admired the car but I dislike white cars. Thinking it would be rude to turn it down, I accepted the car. The last of the dream showed me getting into the car.

What intrigued me most about the dream when I awoke and thought about it was it similarity to a house I often dreamed of decades again. A recurring dream, I had a white house in a small town. When I explored that white dream house, I would discover doors to rooms and sections which I didn’t know I had. Sometimes other families would be living in those sections, leaving me confused about whether I owned it. But I also found myself in that house going to the house’s lowest realm, turning a corner, stepping through the door, and finding me back on the top, on the other end, just as in last night’s dream.

The other thing about both dreams is that these white houses were on the coast, looking out over blue ocean.

5

A Dream Shard

Hearing something — can’t even saw what it was — today when I was in the coffee shop writing, I suddenly see a forgotten dream from last night. Really, just a shard. First person personal point of view, I’m driving in a car along a winding country highway. Leafy green trees blur by on either side. It sometimes seems like someone is with me but that’s inconsistent. I mostly seem to be alone.

Everything is going smoothly. I’m on a long road trip. Ahead is where I’m going to leave the country highway and jump onto the Interstate. The first road is climbing and turning. I split off. Cresting a ridge, the on-ramp veers left and goes down a steep hill and into intense banking as the ramp joins the Interstate and the Interstate goes left. Sunshine bathes the cars and roadway.

I won’t be on this road long, just a few miles. As I hit the banked curve and merge with the traffic, I press the brake pedal and recognize, I’m not slowing. Speed picks up despite greater pressure on the pedal. I announce, “I don’t have any brakes.” Someone in the other seat replies, “What?”

I repeat what I said and lean their way. But no one occupies the seat. I mutter, “I’m not on the road long. My exit is just ahead.” I can see it, a long, lean hill that ends at an intersection with a traffic light. “But I’m going to need to stop. I’ll add some brake fluid when I can. I think that’ll fix it. First, though, I need to stop.”

The car hits the exit ramp. It’s flying over bumps. Grinning, beginning to laugh, I kick out the floorboard. “Just do it like Fred Flintstone.” I put my feet down onto the cement road. Pressing the soles down with all my strength, I drag the car to a stop.

Dream end.

1

The Puzzle Dream

I thought of this as the puzzle dream but it could also be the cookie cutter dream, or the surprise flying dream.

Started, I was younger, in my early twenties, outside, part of a huge crowd of people, all about my age. They were passing out these white pieces that looked like plastic cookie cutters to me. Looking at it, I’m like, “What am I supposed to do with this?” No one close to me had any answers. Like me, they were regarding their piece with confusion.

But playing around with it, because that’s my nature, I discovered that I could make two pieces just by tugging on a side. That caused a new one to slide out while the original’s mass and structure didn’t change. Others were finding this, too. I wanted to know how many one piece could yield and soon found I had ten pieces. What the heck was I to do with them, though?

I thought the pieces were hard but since I could pull one piece out of another, I wondered if they were malleable, so I started twisted them and found, yeah, they were malleable. I could make them bigger or smaller. Someone else suggested, “Try putting them together.” I didn’t see a way at first but kept working it. Suddenly, I found that if I put two pieces edge to edge and then squeezed hard on the joined edge, they’d be one.

I rapidly began making more pieces, putting pieces together, and shaping them into something big. I had no idea what I was making. The shapes just pleased and interested me. What was boring was the color: these were all white, like, bright, refrigerator white. So tedious. I wanted to make them into another color.

A nearby female said something similar and then others spoke up, agreeing. Then a young man kind of gasped and said, “Look!” He’d changed a piece into red. We all asked, “How’d you do that?” He answered, “I don’t know.”

I started looking at mine and thinking as the others still questioned him. Holding a piece, I thought, blue, and it was immediately blue. The female who’d first mentioned the colors did the same, and we started talking about it. Then she and I and two other guys started putting pieces together from different sides, creating a four-sided thing together.

I wanted it bigger. Pulling my pieces back apart and explaining that to the rest, I asked some others to join us. We soon had a group putting pieces together on several sides, creating something big. Someone asked, “What is it?” My first thought was, “It’s a building.” Someone else said that, and another replied, “It’s a building that’s a city.”

Then I said, “No, it’s a spaceship.” I told them, “It’s a multi-generational spaceship so that we can live in space and travel to other parts of the universe.” Questions about it were asked of me and I answered, developing a greater vision of it as I did. People protested that it’s not big enough. I answered, “This is a model so that we can build the real thing after we figure it out.”

Then a man came by and told us, “Stay playing with the blocks.”

First, I didn’t think of them as blocks.

He continued, “Take this. I want you to learn out to use them.”

“Use them for what?” a woman asked.

“To fly,” the man answered.

The things he was passing out while talking were like plastic white shoelaces about ten inches long. Four of them were attached on one flat end so the strings were parallel to one another. I, like others, was skeptical. “We’re going to fly with these?”

“Yes. Twirl them over your head.” The man held up white streamer and twirled it over his head. “Just do it like that.”

I laughed, completely disbelieving of him. While others questioned him, “You twirled it and you’re not flying,” I twirled mine. They were more difficult to twirl than I expected. I kept changing my grip and trying different speeds. Suddenly I took off. As soon as I did, I stopped twirling, surprised by success, and dropped back to the ground. Others had seen and rushed over, demanding, “How did you do that?”

Dream end.

7

The Disasters Dream

Sunshine blazed down from a cloudless blue sky. I was arriving at a busy site ensconced in a valley’s flat green floor, either a fair or festival, I realized. Laughing and happy folks were everywhere. Waving to me, my wife and her sister called me over to their group, introducing me to others and then explaining in turns, “This is the Father Festival. You’ve never been to one? It’s put on every year. Free food, games, and prizes. There’s music and dancing later. Have a drink.”

Taking this in, I looked around and saw fathers of childhood friends and male teachers circulating, instructing, ordering. No, I’d never heard of this, but I participated.

Then, dream shift. The festival was nearing its end. A mountain hid the sun. Though the sky seemed clear, it was much suddenly much colder as shadows cloaked us and the light faded.

I’d been traveling and decided I wanted to change clothes. A group of us found a motel and got rooms. Entering one, I asked the others to leave the room so I could wash up and change. Talking and laughing forced me to raise my voice. “Will you all get out so I can change?” Laughing, mocking me, they finally acquiesced.

I found my long-sleeved blue shirt. That’s the one I wanted to wear. Just as I stepped toward the bathroom, the building shook. In another second, people yelled in shrill voices, “Earthquake.” Sirens rose.

A man broke into the room. “There’s a tsunami warning. We need to leave and get up the mountain.”

Dressing in my blue shirt as I left the room, I joined my wife, her sister, and a small group of people. “Come on, we need to go,” I said. “This way. We’re going up the mountain.”

We fell in with a queue of people also trying to get up the mountain. Peering ahead, I saw fire up on the mountain’s upper side. Pulling my group aside, I said, “It’s on fire up there. Come on. Follow me. This way. Don’t tell the others yet. There’s going to be a panic, and then getting away will be a problem.”

I led the rest along a narrow mountainside path that was going up. I heard them yelling behind us as they discovered the fire. People were re-directed to follow me.

Stinging black smoke descended down on us. Bending low, covering my mouth and nose with a mask, I told everyone else to do the same. We hurried on along the path.

Then I came up short as I rounded a curve. The quake had opened a wide and deep crevice, and our path was gone, along with a chunk of mountainside. There was nowhere to go but back, but back wasn’t safe because the fire was engulfing where we’d been.

Dream end.

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