Tag: Dream

The Rope Dream

It was hot, dry, and clear. I was on a broad and empty plain. Two riders on horseback galloped toward me. I watched, trying to understand, who are they? Nothing auspicious about them, they resembled cowboys out of a revisionist western. They were approaching at slightly different vectors, dust pluming out behind them. I realized with some slowness, hey, they have ropes. Hey, they’re going to rope me.

Out in the open, nowhere to go, I thought that I’d run toward them, separating the space. Yeah, that didn’t work. They lassoed me. I awoke with a start, heavily sweating, struggling against the ropes. Took several seconds to understand that I’d been dreaming — or maybe experiencing another reality.

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Four Dream Snippets

I recall four brief dream snippets from last night/this morning. In the first I was taking broken material and setting the edges together. After I did that, I’d fuse them into one piece. The materials were mostly like thick, green safety glass. After sealing them, I’d shape them. This was all being done with a little effort by using my hands. Strangers began coming by with more of the glass for me to use, but would also sometimes bring other materials that I’d blend into it. I passed out the fixed sections so people could take them to protect themselves.

The next dream segment found me wandering around this place as the sun set and dusk crept over the land. It was an outside venue. Other people were sitting and talking in small quiet groups. As I went around, I discovered a small stash of cut watermelon pieces. I took some for me and my friends, then went back and told my friends about the stash. I went back several times. The second time I returned, I used a different angle so I could see more of the stash, and discovered it was larger than I realized. The third time, I saw that the watermelon was different. Others were using it too, I deduced, but there was still a great deal of watermelon. As I investigated it I found a glass, which turned out to be a champagne flute filled with champagne. I then found a second one. I thought, well, if there’s flutes of champagne, they must be storing them temporarily, but it was odd, storing champagne like that. Removing them and setting them aside, I saw grapes and cheese. I put all of that back and left in, worried about being caught.

The whole episode caused me to think about where else things might be. I looked in another place and found a stash of candy bars. I didn’t see a name on them because they were face down, but they were large, in dark brown wrappers aligned in a row and stacked deep.

Next, I was signing my name to documents while seated at a desk. I was doing this in response to some vague demand; the papers were expected to be signed. A man came along and leaned over my shoulder and watched me sign.

“Just as I thought,” he said.

“What?” I replied.

“There’s power in your stars.”

That amused me. “What stars?”

“The stars in your name.”

“My name doesn’t have any stars.” As I said this, I signed my name again. My signature and name were just as I did in real life, and the ink was the thick black that I prefer.

He said, “The stars between your names. There’s a lot of space in those stars. You can do a lot more with them.”

I responded that I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He pointed to where I was signing. “You’re signing your name twice.” True. “In between them is a star.” Also true, which I hadn’t noticed. “Those stars have huge capacities. You should be using them”

The final snippet found me discovering a small cardboard box. I opened it. A kitten was inside. It meowed at me, so I picked it up. I immediately knew that there was another box with another kitten. After getting the second kitten, I took the two of them and put them someplace safe. I watched until they started playing. Then they saw food and began eating. I closed where they were, knowing they would be alright.

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Idea Wall Dream

Weird little dream. I came to a wall of large beige tiles outside. It was a corner piece. Stopping with others, I looked at the wall and listened as some spoke. It was a small group of people. I knew about half of them. They were guessing about what the wall was about and I responded, oh, it’s an idea wall. Seeing the ideas (none remembered now), I started rearranging the ideas into an affinity grouping, laughing as I did this. The others began recognizing what I was talking about. Most of them then left as I stayed with it. One or two took ideas with them, which didn’t bother me at all. I was enjoying doing this work by myself, studying ideas and re-arranging them. The wall was by an intersection of two paths, and people constantly passed. Some stopped to ask questions. A few asked for ideas and carried them away when they left. Others arrived with ideas. A few placed them on the wall themselves, some after consulting me. Others were haphazard. Shrugging that off, I just correctly arranged the ideas again.

Dream end

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The Car Mod Dream

Another short dream. I was part of some kind of team. Can’t say it was or wasn’t military but ranks and uniforms weren’t in use. I received a phone call about modifying a car for a mission. The car, a silver 2022 Corvette C8 convertible, belonged to another individual who was more senior in rank. I was to approach him and tell him we were going to use his car, and then make changes to it.

I approached as directed. The guy vaguely reminds me of Paulie “Walnuts” from The Sopranos, played by the late Tony Sirico. I give him the message. He stares at me for about five seconds, grunts hard, then tosses something up against the ceiling where it makes a resounding bang and sticks. As I protest that I’m following instructions, he storms off.

That’s the dream’s essence. Further instructions are received. More mods are needed. I tell ‘Paulie’ that they’re needed and I’m going to do them. His anger increases each time, but he does the same thing in response – throws something against the ceiling. Bang, and cracks. Glares at me. Stalks off. As this plays out, I’m getting angry, too.

But there’s never any cracks on the ceiling the next time it happens. And other than his reaction, I enjoy modifying the car and I’m eager to do the work, and gaining confidence that the team will succeed.

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A Made-for-TV Movie Dream

This dream stretch started first with a vignette of me traveling. I’d just settled into my destination when I jerked awake. Paralysis gripped me as I saw where I was and reacted with shock, This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. Where am I? How did I get here? Within a fist of seconds, I knew that I was home. But dream imagery held a little longer, requiring more time for my bafflement to drain. Then, back to sleep and another of Morpheus’s deliveries.

I was not in the next dream at all. This was the movie dream. A man and woman, white, thirtyish, were traveling together in a narrow RV. Ragtag clothes covered them. The man carried a thin, cheap pink cotton blanket while his companion carried a blue one of the same sort. These were the same sort of blankets I saw on many homes in my childhood’s earlier years, when we lived in poorer surroundings, usually on a bed in a small room with sparse furniture.

The couple were stopping for the night and wanted to sleep in a place rented for the purpose. Strangely, not hotel or motel accommodations, nor a house, lodge or cabin. Just a room, twenty feet long and six feet wide (guessing at those numbers), all mattress, dark, with a door on either end. Lacking money, the couple didn’t want to pay for it but wanted to use it so the concocted a plan to sneak into the room, use it for the night, awaken early, and sneak out. They parked their long RV around the corner, where it would be out of sight.

Watching this sequence, I asked, why are they doing this? Why not sleep in the RV? Isn’t that the purpose? I also thought, they’re not going to get away with this. They’re going to get caught.

Yes, they were spotted as they executed their plan and tried sneaking out. The man distracted them, going in one direction as dawn was rising, allowing the woman to reach the RV and drive off. They would meet up on a road outside of town.

But the man needed to get there. He scurried among the shadows around tall buildings and narrow alleys, hiding, working his way out of town. The final hurdle required him to dash through a lobby occupied by the very people hunting him and then sprint across a rocky, open field to a gravel road and then up the gravel road. Dust and sun ruled that space, and five men warily scanned their territory.

Yet, he judged his moment, raced across the lobby’s polished marble floor and fled between two window. Yes, some strange design plan allowed a wall with open space between two tall plates of glass. He’d spotted that and utilized it to get away. Several chased him but he had momentum, distance, and speed.

“That’s alright,” the one man said. Portly, large, with graying hair slicked back over a predominantly bald head, he wore a flowery ‘Hawaiian’ shirt. He was in charge and spoke through guffaws, snorts, and snickers. “Billy gave him a gift. Ain’t that right, Billy?”

“That’s right.” Billy was a lean young man in tight blue denim pants just entering the lobby.

“What was the gift?” a third asked.

The leader said, “A concoction of chemicals that’ll at least make him sick enough to wish himself dead, if he doesn’t die from it.”

We don’t know what happened to our man, whose name was never given. He didn’t make another dream appearance. Instead, his traveling mate, the woman, came in. Dressed in a suit, she had several tall, large men in suits accompanying her. Holding up a badge, she identified herself as a police officer. She’d been working undercover to get evidence on their operation and now arrested them for multiple crimes, including poisoning people. She revealed that she’d come back after them because they’d poisoned her on a previous visit.

The dream began scrambling at that point but I have a sense that the final piece was a report that the man who’d been with her was found by a patrol car.

Dream movie end.

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The Pinkerton Dream

I was a young man in this dream — which sounds like it could be the title of something, doesn’t it? — and working in some office. I don’t recall any work details other than I was happy and productive, respected and appreciated by management and my co-workers. A standard variation of the U.S. office space served as setting.

One of my bosses came by and said, “Have you heard of the Pinkerton deal?” I answered that I knew who or what the Pinkertons are, and he replied, “You haven’t heard then. But you will.” He later came by and said, “The Pinkertons have made you an offer, but they want you to move to Austin, Texas. Let me know if you’re interested because we’ll better their offer and move you to Austin. We’d love to have you in Austin.”

I replied, “I’m not interested in moving to Austin so I probably won’t take the deal.”

I received the Pinkerton deal later. I didn’t immediately turn them down because it was a great offer, and I was flattered and impressed. I told them that and they replied that they’d give me the same deal without the need for me to move because they really wanted me to join them.

The same boss as before came by. I told him of the new offer and said I was going to accept it. He said that they wanted to keep me so they would match any offer, and to make sure I spoke with them before I accepted any offers.

Astonished — and again flattered — I agreed. That’s where the dream left it.

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The Emails from the Past Dream

I was in a small and modern well-lit office, relaxing in a black office chair with my feet up on a desk, a cup of coffee at hand. A computer was on the desk behind me.

I began telling people things that were going to happen, doing so in an offhand way to a close circle of friends and family. I don’t recall details of what I said but they were supposed to happen within a few days to a week. Friends returned and told me that they’d mentioned it to other people who believed these and accepted them as prophecies, surprising me. I laughed about it and then thought, well, I should be doing this via more than just comments made to others, so I began sending texts and emails. I thought of it as a lark, but yet more people were said to believe what I said, and that my following was growing. Friends began suggesting that I start doing things on Youtube, IG, or other social media. I made different jokes about that and then thought, what if I started sending the emails out in the past. As I began doing this, going back and sending emails from a day or two before, I wondered how I was doing that. As it worked though, I thought, can I go further back in time and send emails from yet further back to warn people about things? I tested that idea by going back two to three days at a time at first. Mind you, I wasn’t time traveling, but using a computer that could send emails out from the past. Taking a leap of faith, I decided to try going all the way back to when I first became familiar with email, in 1991.

My computer screen had been white with black sans-serif letters. When I went back in time in the email system, the screen became black with green block letters. I laughed when I saw that, because that’s how I remember the screens being then. I discovered then that how far back I went dictated how far ahead I could predict things. Going back to 1991 allowed me to make predictions for thirty years ahead. I also started learning that I could predict for specific places and people.

All of this continued to take place with me in that office, feet up on my desk, a cup of coffee at hand.

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The Angry Dream

First dream phase I was in the military, but I was a civvie in the second. I found some red tile and learned it was available, so I had it moved and then spent a day reflooring a place. I put the tiles in place but then had to pour some stuff over it to hold it in place. No time to do that before the others returned so I went to meet them and tell them what was happening with the floor.

I walked in. A young female airman in standard uniform of blue skirt and light blue shirt walked in. Looking down at the floor as she walked, she started smiling and kicking the floor apart.

I stormed up to her and almost grabbed her. I almost went for her throat but caught myself. Seeing me, she went white. I said in my hardest angry senior NCO voice, “What are you doing?” As that was rhetorical, I then introduced myself, told her what I’d spent the day doing, and then had her get down and put it all together. As she was doing that, she began crying. Others entered and asked about what was going on. I ordered her to stand up and explain to everyone what was going on.

Next, I’m a civilian working at some company. I work alongside some pompous jackass who thinks himself a god. He has a routine of stealing others’ ideas and not sharing credit. He likes to belittle people and spit at them. Knowing this, I began working on a project in secret. Part of that required me to order porn from a catalog. (Yeah, I know, strange, but it’s a dream.) This idiot confronts me at one point, claiming to know what I’m doing, mocking me with a smirk as he thinks he reveals my plans. He’s completely wrong, so I don’t react.

When I finish my project, I take it to a meeting. He’s sitting behind a table. After I explain the project and show my results to others, who praise it, he starts verbally attacking me, mocking and smirking, and then spits in my hair. Well, that was it.

Verbally lashing him, I lunged across the table. As he shrank back into the corner with a look of shock, I grabbed him by the hair, lifted him up, and spit in his face several times, asking him how he liked being spit on. After releasing him, I told him that it’s indicative of who he is that when I came across the table for him, no one tried to stop me or said a word. The look on his face was priceless.

Oddly, the guy looked like Benedict Cumberbatch, an actor who I enjoy.

Dream end.

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1988 Dream

I kept encountering an error message. Sometimes it was written on a printout: [Error 1988: Michael does not exist]. I saw it in emails and text messages. Sometimes it was also spoken in the same voice my Roomba makes an announcement: “Error 1988: Michael does not exist.” As this happened, I was hurrying down hallways, looking over my shoulder, and pushing on doors, trying to find one that opens, hunting for an exit.

But, in one sense, it was understandable. On vacation, a person who needs isolation and solitude, who enjoys writing as their escape and therapy, who is forced to spend almost eighty percent of their time with other people, will end up dreaming about escape.

Right?

The question is, why those numbers?

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The Prisoner Dream

Sooo…I’m on a ship. Never see it, just know that I’m onboard something. It’s huge, apparently.

I’ve been captured and I’m being transported. Zip ties bind my hands, along with my two companions. Either via dream mechanics or I’ve forgotten what transpired, I’m then free of my ties, then lose the two people with me. I know my captors are tracking me. I sneak through this big vessel, going through sections housing people sitting in roads, following a washed-out dirt road, slipping through a jungle…

As I go, I observe the passengers. They’re also prisoners. None are bound in any way. It looks like they’re just taking a flight, traveling somewhere. I know better. Seeing a huge piece of cardboard, I realize that there’s a lot of waste and that we prisoners can utilize this waste to improve our situation. Food is hidden in different locations which we can eat, and there are materials we can use as clothing or to build shelters.

I try explaining to other prisoners what I’m thinking. Most don’t understand. Worse, they speak very loudly. One young woman finally understands me and tells the others. Going, “Oh, I see,” they lift a corner of the cardboard and see a pile of uneaten food. They all start passing food out and eating.

I hurry on because I know my captors are still after me. I come to a chute. In it, I find packaged food and help myself. Taking three of them with me, I move on.

I come to a sandy stretch. Not sure if it’s a desert or part of beach or something else. Briefly, I think, should I go through this? Am I going the right way?

I decide to go on because going back doesn’t seem feasible. As I trudge through the hot white sand, I became aware of small things fluttering around me. They’re on the sand and become airborne as I walk by them. They have wings, I see, and think that they look like very small, winged people about the size of ladybugs. All are white, in white clothing. As they fill the air around me, I see that all are females. They start landing on me, leaving small sand deposits. I start swatting them, trying to keep them away, and dust the sand off, and then I ‘know’ that they’re actually treating illnesses in me. I go still, because that will help them. The sand is gone. I’m instead in green water. The little fairy women are still treating me.

Dream end.

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