Tag: Dream

A Dream About Loss

There were twelve of us. We were taking a two-day class. The was the second day. The class was being held in a business annex in an airport. As part of the class, we’d been writing a paper about what we learned. Everyone else was leaving. I was still writing my paper.

I was distracted because I was hungry and I was getting ready to go home. I’d been away for a while. Knowing I was the only one remaining in the class, the instructor began packing up and turning off lights. Other instructors, teaching other classes, came in to have an end of week celebration before they headed out.

I needed to check in for my flight so I sought the instructor to ask permission to send it in later. Not finding him, I packed my laptop and gear and rushed out.

The airport was hectic and unfamiliar. I was struggling to find my way. I briefly set my briefcase with my laptop in it. In a flash, someone picked it up and walked off with it. I was shocked, horrified, sick to my stomach. I tried finding that person so I could get my bag back, especially my laptop. I’ve had a laptop for decades. They help define who I am. Also, I realized, I wouldn’t finish the paper. My notes and the text book were in the bag. So was my plane ticket and wallet!

Distraught, I went back to the classroom. About a dozen instructors were milling in there. My instructor was in the back. I tried speaking but couldn’t. One male instructor noticed me and told the others, saying, “He’s upset. He has something to say.”

They fell quiet to hear me. He encouraged me to speak. I began but started losing it. Reining in emotions, I began again, telling them what had happened. They expressed sympathy and concern. Meanwhile, I bent and saw my briefcase sitting on the floor beside me. Picking it up, I discovered everything I thought was stolen was in it.

I was floored. I’d been carrying that thing around. I’d looked in it before. I was certain everything was gone, yet, I’d had it all along.

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Friday’s Theme Music

White billows of clouds push and pull across the blue sky. Sunshine bullies the southern and eastern views. “Gorgeous,” the cats say.

I agree with them. This Friday, March 10, 2023, it’s 39 F outside but sunny, with a high of 50 expected. Showers for the next five days, the weather minions tell me with a wink. Highs about 50 F, low of 36. Ashlandia’s weather is sliding closer to its norm. The winds have settled into an infrequent light breeze, but they gave us a rainy tussle yesterday, shoving people around, fighting against car doors being shut, trying to rip hats and clothes off, and mangling umbrellas.

Today’s sun presence began at dawn, a little before 6:32 AM, and will continue for almost twelve hours. All that changes on Sunday. We’re springing ahead. Sunrise won’t be until 7:30 then, but we’ll have more shine on the day’s tail end. Of course, it means less sleep because if I get up at my usual time, it’ll be an hour later.

I have the song, “Magic”, by Pilot (1973) in my head. Dream stuff. In the dream, I was going through an almost empty city looking for magic. While it was a modern city, I wore dusty old white robes, bit torn, with sandals, and had been walking for a long time. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking for but then, in the dream, it came to me, I’m looking for magic. With that, I started the air for magic, following my nose, letting it lead me, and then looking. I came across others and spoke to them about it, and sometimes cars would drive by, but no one was helping me. I stayed on my own. Then, voila, walked around a corner. There was a aluminum briefcase against the wall. With some surprise, I knew it was mine. I thought I’d lost it years before. Opening it, I found magic.

Thinking about the dream later, I kept wondering what did I see in the briefcase that I knew it was magic? But, like the movie Pulp Fiction, I never saw the briefcase’s contents. Gold didn’t come out of my briefcase, though, and I never thought or said it was beautiful. Then, though, The Neurons came through with Pilo out of my childhood.

Stay pos. This is Friday. Pretty exciting, huh? Well, all kinds of approaches can be employed for Friday. Me, it’s Friday, time to write again, woo-hoo. That just might be my coffee shouting. I’ve had a cup already.

Here’s the song. Cheers

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The Break-In Dream

I began with my wife, in our home. This place was a townhome which reminded me of our RL HMB townhome where we lived 1999-2005, but with some odd differences.

I was in the living room because I was certain I’d heard a noise. I was investigating to see if someone had broken in. As I walked around, checking to see if anything was stolen, I realized the door to the garage was open. It wasn’t before.

I walked that way. My wife stormed out of the bedroom where she’d been sleeping. “Someone broke in,” she said. She went to the garage door and rushed down the steps.

I followed, overtaking her as we left the building. We were at its rear, all grasslands, with a few trees, bordering a river. My wife said that she didn’t see anyone and went into the house. I kept looking, picking up a large stick as a weapon, because I might need to protect myself.

I spotted two couples on the riverbank. Teenagers. I called to them. They ignored me. I headed their way. They moved off, careful to never look at me. This kept on for sometime before I gave up.

Darkness overtook the land. I was more than a mile from home. Rain was falling. I decided it would be easier to get to the street and follow it home.

I reached the street. A small brown dog was trying to cross it but was afraid of the traffic. It wasn’t much but I understood the dog’s fear. “Come on, I’ll help you,” I told it.

It came to my side. As we looked, it started across the lane. I saw a car’s yellow headlights coming toward us from the left. “No, not yet,” I said to the dog. “Come back.”

The dog did. We watched that car pass. There was a median strip. I told the dog, “Come on.”

The dog and I crossed to the strip. It stayed with me as we waited for traffic to pass and then went on.

I trotted along in the rain, the dog beside me. I saw no collar on him or tags, and talked to him, asking questions. As we crossed one street, he suddenly turned left and took off in a run. Going home, I guessed.

I turned right and crossed the street. I was home now. It was daylight. The rain had stopped, and I was dry.

I went into the house and armed myself with some hard plastic tubing. My wife was making dinner. I heard a noise from the garage and went to investigate.

A Filipino man was there. Seeing my plastic tubing, he became withdrawn and acted like he was leaving. I asked him, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

He said he had something to give me and held out a hand. I recognized a manuscript. “No, thank you,” I said. “You need to go.”

He took my hand and pressed the manuscript into it. I sighed. “You want this published?”

He nodded with eager smiles.

I repeated, “You need to leave. I’ll go with you and show you how to get this published.”

We went to his house. His family were waiting for his returned. They crowded back when I came in. Getting on his computer, I explained how to self-publish and the query process and how to submit to publishers and agents. He nodded, indicating that he understood.

I returned home. My wife asked where I’d been. Dinner was getting cold. Putting the tubing aside, I explained what had happened as I sat down to eat.

Dream end.

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Invitations Dream

My wife and I were visiting a pop musician. Male, no one real but a dream personality. I didn’t know him but ended up spending time with him by his choice. He then invited me to go on tour with him.

I laughed. He told me he was serious. I protested that I didn’t know anything about touring, concerts, etc., but he didn’t care. He’d make a position for me, pay me, cover my expenses. He thought I’d contribute by talking to him and giving him feedback.

I shrugged and accepted. Nothing ventured, right. We’d be leaving next week. I was pleased.

It was a Friday. My wife and I traveled on to somewhere else as a weekend getaway. We ended up at an opulent, opulent resort. We were a little anxious about the price. I met a man, big and bluff, white, with a graying and thin short burr cut. He weighed over two hundred pounds and stood almost seven feet tall. A barrel-shaped man, he carried his weight well.

He and I began chatting. Turned out he owned the resort and was a wealthy entrepreneur. He was going away on a business trip. Wanted me to accompany him. He thought I’d add a lot to his attendance at the event. I disagreed, citing all the practical reasons why I shouldn’t go. He suggested that I think about it for a while and talk it over with my wife, taking us to a room.

Golden walls and golden pillows dominated this room. We knew it was specially designed for resting, with filtered air and heavy soundproofing. Despite large windows, which showed verdant valley and mountain scenery, outside sounds weren’t heard.

We sat on the pillows to talk but then I needed to pee. I jumped up to find a bathroom but started peeing without control. My pee was weirdly golden. I peed so much that we soon had a two pools with a lively little stream connecting them.

I panicked. “What am I going to do? My pee is everywhere. It’s ruining everything.” As I spoke, the golden pillows absorbed my pee.

My wife and I were a little freaked. What if that’s why the pillows were golden?

We left the room. The entrepreneur asked if I’d made a decision. I told him I’d love to go but I had a previous commitment next week. He replied that he’d have me back for the other trip and that wasn’t a problem.

Dream end

Note: Yes, I did get up and pee after I awoke – cat wanted in or out, you know…

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The Silver-gray Cat Dream

First, I was leaving a white building on a bright and sunny day. An older woman, who I know to be a writing instructor, was talking behind me, but addressing me. “I have an older student who is trying to be a writer. He doesn’t have it. He’s not going to succeed.”

I was panicking. I thought she was referring to me. I replied, “Do you tell him?”

“I’ve told him very directly. He doesn’t want to get the message.”

Those words ringing in my ears, I shouted good-bye to her and fled down the street. Two lanes wide or more, it was blocked off, so we could walk straight down the street.

I picked up a silver-gray shorthair cat and her kitten along the way. The cat seemed ill. I decided I would find a house and get her help.

I walked into an apartment building and knocked on a door. When there was no answer, I discovered the door was unlocked and entered. The apartment had an unusual layout, with a set of steps rising to a loft along one wall of a great room, and rooms directly off the great room on the opposite side. The kitchen was up in the loft. A television was on, its volume very high, showing an old television show but in color.

I set the cat down. She was very listless. “What is it? I asked her.

“I need a box,” she replied in a weak voice.

“I’ll get you one.”

By ‘box’, I assumed she meant something like a litter box. With that in mind, I hunted for anything that would work and then put her in the bathtub. That worked for the cat. I cleaned the tub and then went to the kitchen and found us some food.

The front door opened. An elderly woman entered. She demanded to know who I was but went on without letting me answer, “This is my house. You shouldn’t be in here.”

I agreed and tried to explain my emergency. She wouldn’t listen, insisting that I leave and turn myself into the constable. I agreed that I would, which was a lie; I wasn’t turning myself in.

The cats and I left and went down the street. We found a brown house and went in. I saw a red sweater and put it on. The end.

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The ‘Miles’ Dream

People were running in positions as though they sat in cars, following lanes marked with white lines and arrows. I did the same, jumping into the left-turn lane toward my home. The streets were narrow, lined with tall cement and brick buildings pink, yellow, white. The setting reminded me of Okinawa outside of Kadena Air Base’s main gate back in the 1980s.

Arriving home, a tall, old, cement building, I encountered friends. One needed to leave but his son’s baby sitter hadn’t arrived.

“I can take him,” I volunteered.

Ted, a Black friend, answered, “You sure? I don’t want to burden you.”

“Miles isn’t a burden.” Miles was the boy, a light-skinned Black child with a sweet, happy face, an oddly muscular body, and a head topped with soft curls. “We’ll have fun, won’t we, Miles?”

Miles agreed with a grin and words I didn’t understand, tottering over to show me something in his hand, which was empty.

“Okay, thanks.” Ted left.

Miles and I walked down the street to another building. People there seemed high or tipsy. Performers, I knew. Students. Singers, actors, musicians, artists.

Miles and I spent time chasing one another or playing hide and seek. People knew him more than they knew me. They started asking, where is his father? Why do you have him?

I explained that I was watching the boy for his father because his father had an appointment, but his mother was coming to pick Miles up.

“What was the father’s appointment?” I was asked. “Why isn’t he here?” They were disapproving, even though I’d already explained that the baby sitter had an emergency.

“He was counter-protesting a protest.”

Oh, that makes sense. That’s important, others agreed.

Miles disappeared from my watch. I panicked and searched for him. His father came in just as I found Miles. I said, “I was so worried that something had happened to him. I took my eyes off him for just a second and he was gone.”

His father, who was now another person, said, “I know what you mean. That happens to me all the time.”

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Another Flying Dream

I was visiting my sisters and their families. Someone was in the kitchen preparing food for us but I couldn’t see them. The kitchen was shallow and narrow, with silver and stainless-steel machines across its front, on top of a breakfast bar. We were all laughing and talking. I don’t recall anything said until I said, “Hey, how do you get into that kitchen?” I wanted to go in. “There are no doors.”

That wasn’t answered because at that point, I felt a powerful energy, a humming vibration, sweeping around me. Raising my hands, I stepped back to feel it better. “You guys feel that?” They all said no so I explained, “A powerful energy is flowing through here.”

Acting on an impression that struck, I moved back into an empty space in the adjacent living room. “Watch this.”

Putting my arms straight out to my sides, keeping my body stiff, I let myself fall face forward. As expected by me, I never hit the floor but levitated above it by several feet. “See that?” I called to them.

The children were watching and gasping in amazement. “How are you doing that?” several asked.

“I’m must using the energy. You can do it, too. Watch.” I landed on my feet and then repeated my act of falling forward and levitated again. The children were trying to copy me.

“I think I can higher and control myself,” I said. Then I changed my hands and moved forward, flying higher. Understanding that flight control was possible, I flew toward an open window.

Dream end.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Happy Valentine Day — or is it Valentine’s Day — or Valentines Day — to you if you’re into that. I’m not. I’ve always considered it the most manufactured of manufactured holidays. My wife, K, was the same when we were younger. She has changed; I haven’t. But then, as she told me when we first dated, “You’re not very romantic, are you?” No, I’m not. I tried being more romantic, but she mocked every effort to be more romantic. So here I am. There’s nature vs. nurture for you.

It’s Tuesday, February 14, 2023. An inch of snow has fallen as part of the great weather warning. They told us we were likely to see six to seven inches in our Ashlandia. People raced around town to buy food and get errands completed before the great storm was upon us. They warned us about it for days. Well, we prepared. But I’d rather be warned and prepared than to not be warned at all.

Sunrise came at 7:09 this morning, not much presence against the dirty white tee shirt that is our morning sky. Temperature is 0 C. Expect a high of 40 F, the weather experts advise, before sunset at 5:42 PM Ashlandia stardard time.

Been addressing Tucker’s health. The big black and white feline suddenly was hobbling and could not jump. He’s aging so I thought, arthritis. Bought some arthritis treats for him. He enjoyed them but he’s always had gum problems and has lost many teeth. They were too much for him. So I crumble a treat each day and put it in about an ounce of hot water, then give him to him with a dropper. It’s made such a difference in his motility, it’s wonderful to witness. The treat is “Pet Naturals Hip and Joint Support Supplement for Cats”. I learned about it from another pet owner a few years ago, and I recommend it.

Have a Fleetwood Mac song called “Never Going Back Again” from 1977 dialed up by The Neutrons. Started from a dream today, but was reinforced by memory. The song came out when I was 21. I was in the military, married, contemplating choices. This song cemented some decisions for me, like, “I’m done with that. Never going back again.”

Stay pos and enjoy your Tuesday, shaping it best that you can. Once I’ve fortified myself with hot black coffee, I’ll try to do the same. Cheers, my friends.

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The Towel Dream

I found myself as a young man at a wide, flat river. Dark as a winter night, the river didn’t reflect any light.

It was a cold day. Swimmers filled the river. They were heading downstream. I was not a swimmer, but walked among them as they came out of the water, giving them towels, talking to them and encouraging them.

Three swimmers caught my eye. One female, two males, all young, one black, one brown, one white, nothing extraordinary about them. Like the other swimmers, they wore swimsuits, and these weren’t anything special. Yet, watching them, I thought, keep an eye on them.

Seeing them leaving the water, I rushed to get them towels. All the towels were blue or gray; I wanted different colors for these three. I thought different colors would highlight them and help me keep watch on them. I ran around asking for other colored towels, and then demanded those towels. At last, red, yellow, and white striped beach towels were brought to me. I hurried over and gave the towels to those three.

Someone else with towels asked me what I was doing, etc. I explained that I wanted to keep an eye on those three. The other queried, “Why?”

“Because they’re special,” I explained. And then I knew, “They’re not part of this world. That’s why I wanted to give them special towels.” I gathered insight that the blue and gray towels muted people. Colors brought them more alive, bringing out talents. I said, “They’re shapeshifters from somewhere else, but they don’t know it. They can be anything, but the towels are keeping them unaware.”

After saying that, I took in the rest swimming by or toweling off and wondered, why don’t we give them colored towels, too?

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The Time-Travel Device Dream

I’d noted before that Papi, my ginger-flavored housefloof, picks 6:37 AM to demand — again — to be let out. This is true plus or minus a minute each time. I meantion ‘again’ because he’s usually been in and out three of four times by then.

Now 6:37 probably isn’t early to many. It used to be non-early to me. Military, I worked shifts on and off for fifteen years. Day shifts often started between 6 AM and 7 AM at most locations, depending on our mission, so rising early was regular. My Space Command days, though, I was a superintendent and then the QAF advisor and made my hours. I always chose to be in by 7 AM, and I carried that forward after retirement, when I began work for a corporation.

All that’s dream background. In the dream, I decide to investigate whether it was true that Papi always wanted out at that time, and further, what the orange wonder did when he went out then. So, there I am, peering down on the world, zeroing in on my house, through the roof to my bedroom. Here comes Papi. I check the time and confirm it. He just goes outside, sits and washes, looks around, nothing special. Good, that’s one day but I need to check more.

Someone else there tells me, “You want to use our time machine?” I never see the others but I know that three are present.

I reply, “You have a time machine?”

“Yes, we use to go back and find the truth of what happened so that it can be properly documented.”

Yes, I’m floored. “Sure, I’d like to use that.”

I can see the other’s hands and arms at this point. All are wearing white gloves and a black coat. They give me a small black box, rectangular, maybe four inches by two inches by one. Blue numbers are on its front. I see labels for months, time, year. “Just put in the particulars which you want and it’ll take you there. You can’t interact at all but you can observe.”

Doing as directed, my instructors realize that I’m going back one day at a time and explain how I can do it more efficiently by using a little scroll control to the side. I can designated how I want to scroll, by year, day, hour, etc. So I play with it, confirming that Papi has been asking to be let out at that hour and minute for some time.

I finish with that exploration and give it back. “This is really useful,” I say. “It’d be great if I could go back and see what happened during other times, with other people.”

“Oh, you can do that,” one answers. “You can use it whenever you want. Just let us know.”

Dream end

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