Tag: Dream

Two ‘Project’ Dreams

In the first, I was in a dark place. Not threatening or anything, just limited light, like narrow sporadic spotlights. Third person personal POV, I couldn’t discern my age but I’m younger than now. I heard a brief comment, always in a male’s voice, and sensed the presence of someone much larger than me watching.

In front of me were a line of orange building blocks. They seemed like they were made of foam but I knew they were more substantial. I also ‘knew’ that I was part of a project. We’d been chosen to align these blocks in some way to harness their energy, and that the blocks were full of creative energy. Although I was working with others, I never saw anyone else. As I walked and studied the blocks, I concluded some things and moved them, sometimes physically, but as frequently by using my mind. As I worked, I heard the voice say, “They’re figuring it out. They’re coming together.” Dream end.

The next dream found me now arranging black blocks in almost the same situation, except the background was gray instead of dark. Again, I was moving the blocks with my body or mind, trying to bring them together, and I felt change taking place around me as I worked. Sometimes other blocks would appear and I would understand that someone else from the project had put the blocks there. As I connected my blocks with their blocks, I remembered the previous dream and realized, the first dream’s blocks were about generating creativity — that’s why they were orange — and these second set of blocks were to build from the orange blocks by using logic.

Dream end.

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Garbage Dream

I’m outside, kinda young. Rolling deep green grass, where a music festival is due to start. I’m excited about it but worried about unspecified stuff. I’m alone, don’t know anyone there. A few others are starting to arrive. They’re all younger, with my teenagers among them, mostly female.

I’m busy, though, boxing up containers of trash. Collecting it, putting it in boxes, sealing it up. Don’t know why I’m specifically doing it; seems to be a compulsion. People keep arriving but I keep boxing up trash. By the time I’m done, hundreds have arrived, and I have about thirty small, square boxes of trash.

I need a place to put them, and that worries me. I have some of them stacked on a small peeling white trailer which is attached to a small green minibike like one I had in my early teens. I plan to use the bike to pull the trailer and unload the garbage boxes somewhere else, but where?

There is a small white frame house. Single story, white siding, two windows on the front, a screen door in its center. I know that this is the office of the young men organizing the music festival. There are three, dark-haired young white men in their early twenties. I know this without seeing them. I can hear them talking and laughing. Part of their conversation is about me and my minibike pulling the scarred white trailer loaded with boxes of trash.

Piles of trash are not far from the house. I’m thinking about unloading my trash into this collection, but I feel guilty, as if I’m breaking a law, and that holds me back. Yet, racing around, watched by a growing number of people, I can’t find anywhere else to put the trash. I feel like this is my only choice.

Aware that I’m being watched, that others are commenting about what I’m doing, I try pulling my trailer of trash. It won’t go. I reattach the green minibike with its fat knobby tires. The little bike easily tugs the trailer across the way.

From inside the trailer, I hear the organizers discuss this development. One suggest, “It’s alright, let him be.” I feel better about that. I start unloading the trailer. People are commenting about how fast and hard I’m working. Some appreciate that I’ve cleaned up trash. Buoyed by what I hear, I quickly unload the trailer, drive back, and fill it again. Now finished, I stand still, sweating and breathing hard by my little minibike and its empty white trailer.

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An Unsettling Dream

After an outrageously fun dream that had me grinning when I awoke, a later dream stamped its imprint, unsettling me.

The second dream was about a friend. Oddly, I can’t recall ever clearly seeing him. I can’t give any description to him except to say he was a contemporary, male, white, and both in our early twenties.

He came to my house and told me that he’d stolen twenty thousand dollars. No details about that were shared. The dream and I focused on what I should do, how can I help him? He’d already told me that he’d told others.

He suggested that he needed to hide the money. I agreed, telling him that I would help. Next thing I know, we’re at his house, a suburban home, in a lower level, in a small den. There’s one oblong window at ground level; I keep looking out it. Dusk is falling.

Green shag carpet covers the floor. He lays down on the floor, face down, legs stiffly together and straight, arms out at ninety degrees, like he’s on a cross. He’s wearing a yellow top and red shorts. I tell him that I think he needs to get out of there. He doesn’t answer. I’m pacing, worrying, and tell him the same thing. He seems to have given up.

I start telling him, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you.” That’s when I realize that I stole the money with him, bewildering me. I don’t remember doing that, so how was it possible?

I’ve hidden my share, which was also twenty thousand. I repeat, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you. Where is it?” Sirens are getting louder. I don’t doubt they’re coming to his house. He’s given up, so they’ll catch us both. Even if I have escape, I’m sure that he’d tell them who stole the money with him. He’s already told others. The dream ends with the sirens growing louder, me pacing, glancing out a window, running a hand through my hair, trying to understand what to do, and him still in a cross position on the green shag carpet.

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The Dad & I Dream

Don’t know my age when it started. Seemed like I was a young adult.

Dad and I were sharing a smallish but modern apartment. A winter storm howled outside, snow pummeling the world in unending shovelfuls. A general sense of disturbing chaos reigned.

I had a few cats. I was trying to feed them but they were running around, attacking each other, hiding. In the midst of this, in the living room by the stereo, I discovered a large window was broken. I stopped to check on it, inspecting it, confirming, because it was hard to tell, yes, a panel is gone. You’d think that’d be easy to see with snow falling, cold weather, a murdering wind, but it required earnest consideration of it for me to figure it out in the dream.

Yes, the window was broken. Several panes were missing or shattered, laying in pieces in a growing snowdrift. The cats tried to get out. As I lunged to pull them back, they retreated on their own, discouraged by the storm. Confusion seemed to paralyze me.

Dad came in, talking about a need to go somewhere, to get food, I think. Impatiently, he told me to hurry up. I was grabbing a cat, checking on the cats, looking at the broken windows. Concern over the stereo getting ruined rose up, so I moved components. Dad shouted at me to come on. I locked the cats in another room and followed Dad out. As we went, I was telling him, “Dad, there’s something you should know, there’s a window broken in the living room.”

It felt like it took some repetition of telling him this before what I was saying sank in. Then, he responded in alarm, “You should have told me this before.”

Next thing I knew, we were going back home because he was worried, and I was defensively trying to tell him that I’d been checking out the window, and I tried telling him but he wasn’t listening.

Then we were in the living room. The heater was running, hot air coming out of vents but snow dusted the floor and crusted the sofa, table, and chairs. Many things were turned over. Things were missing. The stereo and television were gone. We realized people had broken in; we realized, looking out the window, it was teenagers. They were running away with our stuff.

Dad said with bitter disappointment, “You didn’t do anything. You knew this had happened, and you didn’t do anything. Why didn’t you do anything?”

I was an adult now, and shocked. He was right; why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I take action? I could have called someone to repair the window, or put up boards. I could have done something, but I didn’t.

Dream end.

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The Invader Dream

Last night’s dream was like a summer blockbuster movie. Long thriller, lots of plot and action. Some highlights are offered.

To start, a civil war was breaking out. A young man, I was part of a large gang itching to go against the enemy, roaming a city’s residential area. We lacked weapons and training, though, except for the baseball bats, hammers, knives, and other weapony things we managed to scrap up. As we walked, cocky as hell, issuing ballsy statements about who we were and what we were going to achieve, we looked for a enemy gang we’d heard was in the area, we started hearing reports from other people that space invaders — aliens — had landed and were conquering the world.

We discussed this dubiously, reckoning this was world class bullshit being spread. But as we walked, I stared left. There, I saw five black ships. Each was a square, with squared off stubby wings. I’d never seen anything like that. More, the five traveled in perfect spacing, revolving like they were part of a wheel. I saw them for just a few seconds before the horizon hid them.

Pointing, I shared with the rest what I’d witnessed. Disturbed silence took over the group. Others peaked around, looking for the things I’d described. Seeing them again, I pointed, shouting, “There. There they are.”

There were more this time, but the design and behavior was the same as before, and everyone saw them. Now we started taking the reports of invaders from space more seriously. Searching for more news about it, our focus changed to repealing the beings killing humans and trying to take over our planet.

Early fall slipped over late summer. We’d gained some weapons. I carried an automatic rifle. We were moving silently through a mostly abandoned neighborhood. People lived there not long before, because all the lawns were green and trimmed. We ran down a street past dead animals. The invaders were brutal killers. I called to others, telling them not to look at the dead cats, dogs, and birds littering the area.

A large house was selected as a refuge. Set back from the road, it had an enormous lawn. That would give us distance from the street. The aliens always came down the streets. Long legged, with thick thighs and calves and big feet, they looked like Sasquatch. Hard to take them seriously as advanced conquerors from space.

After getting our group into the house, I helped oversee getting people settled in the large, dark basement. We warned everyone, stay quiet. Rest and eat. Those of us armed would stay up on the ground level with our weapons, ready to repel the invaders if the house was found. I decided I would go outside to check the situation. Unbeknownst to me, others with weapons followed me.

A family came running around another house’s corner. Obviously frightened and panicked, I grasped that the aliens were after them. They barely spoke English. I conveyed to them to go into the house and go downstairs and stay quiet. Seeing one of the others behind me, I ordered them to take the newcomers to the house and settle them in the basement. As they went on, I faced the street, preparing to approach it to see if aliens were coming.

Dusk was coming. As I crept forward, an alien rushed around the corner. I dove to one side and rolled into hiding. Gunshots broke the silence behind me as one of my comrades shot the alien. It fell, dead.

Horrible mistake, I knew. We didn’t have the armaments or people to take on the aliens. I knew from experience that other aliens would come looking for the source of the shooting and to see what happened to their member. “Run,” I hissed at the rest. “Hide. Don’t go to the house.”

Worried about drawing attention from the house where the rest hid, I took off left behind a row of houses. Hit and run, I told myself, hit and run. I knew that would only work so long because the aliens weren’t fools.

Three other gang members were behind me. That surprised me but I set up two to hurry ahead and hide, expounding to them that we needed to move fast, never stay in one place, emphasizing hit and run, hit and run. The remaining member and I would do the hit and run thing for several hours. The aliens would realize what’s going on, and try to ambush us by setting up at another house ahead of where we were going. That’s why my pair of friends would already be waiting to shoot the aliens. Then we’d all take off.

With the plan set in motion, my buddy and I conducted breathtaking, frightening hit and run raids, running out to the street, shooting an alien, running back behind the house, hiding in bushes, shooting whoever came back to investigate, and then running to the next house to repeat the whole thing.

The sun was setting. It was growing colder, darker. I worried about ammo.

As expected, the aliens figured out what I was doing and tried to ambush me. My friends stepped out behind the two hulking aliens. I shouted, “Shoot them, shoot them.” My friends stood, rifles raised, frozen and gawking.

The aliens came after me. They always killed by some kind of injection. Close proximity was needed. They were strangely fast. I knew this but let them rush me. As they did, I threw myself to one side, firing while I did, managing to kill both.

Profusely sweating, breathing hard, I berated the two who’d failed to act and then ran to the street. No more aliens were in sight. Telling the rest to come with me, I led them back toward the house where the rest hid, watching my back as I went, angry that the others had failed when the moment came. I wondered then who I could trust.

I knew, too, aliens would be coming to the area to investigate the others’ deaths. We would need to move again. Grim-faced, I took in the last red rays given off by the setting sun and prepared myself for what needed to be done.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Hello. It’s Wednesday, 7/12/2023. Mood: energetic

Gonna be 90 F here in Ashlandia, where the produce is fresh and the cheese is locally made organic. 66 F now — about 19 C — and you know I’m enjoying that. Trending warmer, but we are the fortunate. Looking south and east, a heat dome has settled over the land. In Arizona, wildfires rage. Their daily high temperatures have been over 110 F every day in July so far and isn’t showing signs of abating. That’s hot, friends. It’s even staying in the low 90s at night, so there is no relief. Feel for the land, people, animals.

Meanwhile, New England suffered heavy rains. Vermont experienced serious flooding. A warm, dry day is expected for them today, but more heavy rain is forecast for tomorrow.

Not feeling it? You might, if you’re in the US. That heat dome is expanding to the south and east. From Accuweather:

Temperatures to climb to extreme levels even for hottest part of US

More than 50 million Americans in the southwestern U.S. are under heat advisories or warnings as temperatures will take a run at records that have stood for nearly 50 years in some locations.

More than 50 million Americans in the southwestern United States are under heat advisories or excessive heat warnings as a blistering heat dome maintains its grip on the region. The heat will place additional stress on the energy grid, elevate the threat of wildfires and increase the risk of heat-related illnesses.

Temperatures will climb to levels unusual even for the notoriously hot region of the U.S., putting long-standing records in jeopardy. A sprawling area of high pressure that is positioned over the Southwest, known as a heat dome to meteorologists, is the culprit behind the extreme temperatures.

“This [pattern] will help to minimize the number of showers or storms and allow for intense sunshine that will help boost temperatures,” explained AccuWeather Meteorologist Andrew Johnson-Levine.

AccuWeather meteorologists say that the scorching conditions will increase heading into the weekend and even expand into parts of the Central states and Southeast by next week.

Here’s a link for your further reading.

Meanwhile, the 1966 cover of the folk song “Sloop John B” by the Beach Boys is playing in the morning mental music stream (trademark pending). I have a sense that the song was/is related to my dreams, but I can’t get through the maze to find the connections. Nevertheless, dream and sing have lifted my spirits, so I’m going with the flow.

Stay pos, and be strong. I’m going to have some coffee now. The day is on. Let us begin.

Here’s the tune. Cheers

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The Two-Body Dream

A woman I didn’t know was outside, speaking about our bodies. White but tanned, middle-aged and slender, I slowed, then stopped, listening to her. She said that we all have body and blah, blah, blah.

I interrupted. “No, I have two bodies.”

“Well,” she began, defensiveness edging into her voice, “yes, we do but, blah, blah, blah.”

At that point, I brought up my second body. It was a little grayed out, with some fuzziness, and the color danced like a drunk guy trying dance moves, but it was there. In most appearances, it was like me but about an inch taller and a teaspoon thicker in the shoulders. We were wearing the same clothes, a yellow buttoned shirt, short-sleeved, not tucked in, with khaki shorts, and we were barefoot.

The woman stammered about how that was impossible. I said, “Yet, here it is.” She went on with a drying, confused voice that two bodies cannot exist in the same plane. I answered, “No, he’s in the other world. That’s where he exists and why he looks a little uneven. But the thing is, the other world is here. So he’s in the other world, but the other world is here. Meanwhile, I’m in the this world, which is the other world to him, and he’s explaining this to you as I’m doing here. Clear?”

Then I laughed because her confused look explained it wasn’t clear, and woke up.

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Another Space Traveling Dream

I dreamed again I was in my home. It’s the third dream in the series. I’m my current age, appearance, and so on. I’m aware that my house, with its yard, has been lifted from the earth and is traveling through space. Like before, I have a cutaway scene where I see this.

As in the prior dreams, my windows are open. Space’s darkness is beyond their screens. Unlike the previously experienced dreams about this, I’m unconcerned, because I know there’s some kind of protection around the house and yard. We are safe, traveling through space.

I’m at my desk, typing on my computer. I’m aware this time that a man is present. Off to my right, he’s not a shadow but is in like a shadowy orb. I don’t know who he is. He doesn’t bother me; he just seems to be a present to know. I also understand that he’s not grounded but hovering in the air. I think about speaking to him, but I don’t. I just continue typing.

Dream end.

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A Space Dream Again

I dreamed again that I was in my home office but my home and yard had been lifted intact to travel through space. I dreamed that, as I had done in real life, I awoke and looked at my open windows. For a moment, in the dream, I worried that my windows were open to the vacuum of space and that all would be sucked out and destroyed. Then I knew, no, a bubble around the house enclosed and protected me. It provided me air and kept me and my household and its members safe even as we flew through space. Stepping to the window, I raised lowered my blinds and gazed out as the house rushed through black space, destination unknown.

I woke up happy.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Here we are again on the little backwater establishment known as Earth. Look at the humans; aren’t they cute. Look at that old one, sipping coffee. Just adorable. He looks so sleepy.

It’s 6/16/2023. Friday. Cushioned with a light cool breeze, 64 degrees F and hopping up, Ashlandia is living a dreamy Friday morning. Blue sky and sunshine rule. Gonna get warm. 88 F, they say. I say 90.

Now, a correction. Not that anyone uses this blog for reminders but I thought last Sunday, June 11, was Father’s Day. That’s because my wife said it was. She was pointing at a sign in a store when she said it. It just locked into me. I hustled a card out to Dad but didn’t call him. Put it off because we’d just spoken a few days before. Neither of us are big pholks (phone folks).

Then I began noticing all these Father Day ads springing up and checked the calendar on my wall. Correction realized.

Injured my back yesterday while running. Only went a little less than a mile. Probably closer to a little less than half a mile. Didn’t feel anything snap, crackle, or pop, but when I finished, my back said, “Why did you do that?” It then stiffened like a flag in a strong breeze. The spouse unit, who regularly goes through aches and pains associated with her chronic malaise, provided me with a Salon Pas pad, which heated the back up very impressively, alleviating the pain and stiffness. After wearing it for six hours, I removed it per instructions and then applied CBD TherapyReLeaf to the area. Feel much better this morning, thanks. While the back’s pain surprised, I’m relieved I bounced back, knock wood.

A dream inspired The Neurons to plug a 1982 song by The Kinks, “Come Dancing”, into the morning mental music stream. The dream was all ’bout food prep and eating — mostly cakes and sandwiches — and then dancin’. Sort of chaotic, a little hasty, like the dream had been put together at the last minute and had a small budget. “Come Dancing”, a light song, fit the dream mood and is perfect for a relaxed Friday.

‘Bout done with my first cuppa. I’d gotten up and cleaned the kitchen. That slid things back a bit. Hadn’t been a plan to clean the kitchen. Wasn’t that dirty as my wife had tidied before leaving for her exercise class. We work well in tandems like that. Then ended up cleaning the primary litter box, a.k.a., the big ‘un.

Stay pos. Hope it’s a satisfying day in your existence. Here are The Kinks. Cheers

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