Tag: Dream

Watery Dreams

Another night of crazy dreams. In many scenes, I was engaged in traversing muddy water. Sometimes I was in a car, other times I was swimming, but there were times when I was also walking. The water was consistently muddy, but was creeks, rivers, or floods. Past the water, the dream settings varied from streets to fields, but were mostly streets. I never felt threatened or disturbed, although I sometimes became lost and had to backtrack. My attitude was more of, “Oh, here I go again, well, let’s get this done with.” In fact, I seemed buoyant. (Yeah, sorry for that word choice. Clearly I’m not, right?)

I was mostly alone during these scenes. My youngest sister showed up twice, a cousin showed up once, and friends showed up a few times. Between coping with the fast-moving and often rising water, I would do other things: eat, buy a new car, look at a new house, and visit with people, talking about their jobs or their love lives. A strange mix. If you take the position that everyone and everything in the dream represents some aspect of me, then me mind was trying to address everything! After yesterday’s events in Washington, D.C., it’s not really a surprising flow of dreams. The water is muddy and it’s rising, but I’m okay, I’m telling myself.

Hope the rest of you are okay, too, though I have my doubts about the people invested in the Trump reality. They don’t seem okay.

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Another Writing Dream

This one was long, complex, and layered. After thinking about all of it (an exercise in itself), just sharing a few segments.

I was at a writing retreat on an island. At one point, I was in a room with other writers. We all stopped to take a break. Many were out on the balcony in sunshine, watching fog roll in. Thinking about joining them, I went to the refrigerator to get a beer. The frig was fully stocked but I decided to pass and went back to writing.

Later, I took a break from writing, left my room, and went running around the island. It wasn’t a big item and writers were everywhere. I realized that’s how I’d been spending my time, writing, with breaks to run/get exercise and sunshine, and I was enjoying it.

I decided it was time to leave the island. I was almost done with my work in progress and decided I’d finish it elsewhere. After making initial arrangements for my flight out, I followed up at the front desk. An old but big white man, who was the owner, worked the desk. He asked me if I wanted food for my trip out. He spoke in a low, garbled voice. I was constantly asking him to repeat himself, leaning forward to hear him. He shoved a piece of paper at me and a new yellow pencil. “Fill this out!”

Looking at the paper, I answered, “Fill what out? There’s nothing there.” After pulling back the piece of paper, he realized that a form that was supposed to be attached was missing, found one, passed it to me, and then turned to helping others.

I couldn’t complete the form because the pencil wasn’t sharpened. New, it’d never been sharpened. Instead of trying to get the old man’s help, I found a used pencil. As I filled out the form, I discovered the food I was ordering would cost $1500, an amount I found shocking. I asked the old man, “How long is this flight going to take?” He didn’t answer. I decide in the dream that it takes a lot to leave writer’s island.

Paperwork done, I walked out of the office and down an outside walk. A young female writer, white, short dark hair, short in stature, came up and put her arm around my waist. I reciprocated with an arm around her shoulder. She and I walked like this, with her telling me how much she liked my writing and admired me.

There’s a period of driving around. I’m a passenger. The young female writer is the driver. She keeps going the wrong way down streets, concerning me. It’s only after the dream that I wonder how there’s so many cars and roads there when the retreat was originally a small island.

I realize I’m carrying half a book. A classic, it’s literally torn in half, with the final half missing. Someone asks about it. I explain that it was a gift from a friend, a joke. He told me that whenever he asks me how I’m doing, I always answer that I’m about half finished. He thought it was finished to give me half of a published book.

Later, I’m worried. I don’t remember packing my clothes, computer, etc. I’ve already checked out but we’re back by the office. I stop by and ask the old man if I can check my room to see if I left anything behind. He gives me the keys and says, “Help yourself.” I go to the wrong room. Realizing that my room number was six, I find and enter it. It’s still the wrong room. I remember that my room was up two flights.

I go up to the right room. My baggage is there. Everything is packed. As I’m walking around, looking, just to be certain, another writer enters. We chat while I’m searching the room. I find a large cache of papers behind the desk. They appear to have fallen there. Drawing them out, I realize they’re old and handwritten, and they’re not mine. As I comment on that, the other writer starts crumpling them up and throwing them away. I ask him why he’s doing that, and then follow up, “Don’t you want to read other writers to see what they’re doing?” He stops trashing the papers and begins trying to uncrumple everything, which makes me laugh.

I decide to shower and change clothes, but I leave the room door open. After leaving the shower, while I’m toweling off, I discover a young doe in the room. It’s missing the top half of its head. It’s bloodless but like its head has been sawn off above its eyes and its brain scooped out. Friends enter to tell me good-bye. I wrap a towel around my waist. I’m about to warn them about the deer when one friend mentions it, making a joke. I’m surprised; the deer is completely whole and fine. I wondered why I thought it was missing part of its head, and then decide I’m always looking for the worse, even when it’s not there.

That’s where the dream ended. As mentioned in the beginning, it was complex, and offered a lot to unpack.

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The Security Lawnmower

I was helping others create security devices. That’s how it was put in the dream. It was a firm, and we were working outside, in the world. My security device ended up looking like a lawnmower chassis, the sort with a little gas engine that you push and walk behind. There was no engine, handle, or wheels, just that shape, from below. Hope you get the visual from this explanation. The kicker was that it was huge, and high up in the sky.

I pointed it out to people, laughing about its lawnmower resemblance. “I didn’t realize that when I created it,” I said. Then I went on to tell them that it would perpetually filter the world against security threats, and never come down. Then they showed and told me about their security devices.

Weirdest thing about this dream is that I had three other dreams. In them, I’d look up, and there was my security lawnmower. I laugh even now remembering that.

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Another COVID Dream

COVID-19 and wearing a mask featured in this dream. There was also a meatloaf cap, fruit for cars, and I was back in the military again.

Arrived at a new assignment, I was learning where to go. A new joint base (name unknown), the buildings, walks, and streets were all newly constructed and of the highest order, a very impressive place.

I was attached to the command staff, so my office was in the headquarters building. Leaving there, some kind of plan to paint a sign with black paint was in my head. I don’t know what the sign was supposed to say, but I had black paint on a brush. It kept dripping, marking the unblemished new walk, mortifying me. Staying in a wheeled office chair to go paint the sign exacerbated the mess. As I was outside, I don’t know why I was in that chair. That realization came to me in the dream, and I abandoned the chair and paint.

Next, I needed to find my way to my new quarters. I had a rough idea of where to go. First, though, I ended up in the lobby of the visiting officers’ quarters. Recognizing my mistake, I made to leave. At that point, I realized, I don’t have a mask on. I hadn’t been distancing. Oh, no. Others were sometimes masked but most were staying six feet apart.

I was still in the lobby and made my way to leave. At that point, a young couple, both officers, were trying to leave through the door. Their hands were full, so I held the door open. But I couldn’t keep six feet away and help them. Aha, there was a doorstop. I put it in place. Problem solved, I left.

I was now along a food court where military people in uniform were eating. Along one side was also a small commissary. I saw an advertisement for meat loaf. Then, I saw sliced meat loaf being worn on a cap. As I expressed astonishment, a young woman near me explained that it was a promotional gimmick. I then saw that it was being worn on a friend of mine, Randy. Randy had passed away several years before, so what was he doing here?

I wanted to catch up with Randy but he disappeared in the crowd. With a dream shift, I was in my car. This happened to be an orange 1974 Porsche 914 that I used to own. I was happy to have the car again. Before driving away to the quarters, I decided that I would put fruit on the ground for other cars. Leaving the car, I spaced a peach and an apple at a distance about five feet apart. I figured that spacing would let the car pick it up more easily. Even as I was thinking this in the dream, I was thinking, WTF are you talking about, in the dream. How would a car pick up fruit? Why would it want to? But I persisted in this plan, rationalizing that there were be opening under the car, and I was putting them at just the right space for the opening.

In my car, driving toward my quarters now, the dream ended.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Dream music, once again. That is, music that cropped up after some dreams. Particulars of this is that I had one of my standard recurring dreams about flying. Essentially, I’m flying on a commercial airliner. All is going well. I land and need to make my way through the airport but become confused about where I’m at and where I’m going. Then I work it out, etc.

Today’s flying song is by Pink Floyd. It comes out of the period we’ve labeled “1987”. Such labels help historic references and memories like what songs were playing the year that various things happened, and drifting through sketchy recollections of events. What prompted the skate down memory lane? That’s one for the neurons to answer, and they’re remaining incommunicado on the matter. Although the song, “Learning to Fly”, is about learning to fly, it’s also a metaphor for acquiring new experiences and skills. In that regard, it’s a decent song for the next-to-last day of 2020. 2020, by most accounts, was a trying year in which we had to learn a chunk of new processes, like how to wear a mask, properly wash your hands, and stay six feet away from other humans in social settings. With 2021 coming upon us and a change of administrations in the U.S., what new skills and knowledge will be required?

Here’s le music. (Or is it la music?) Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated.

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A Healing Dream

It was another busy dream night for me. Of all that I remember (or think that I do — who knows?), this one was the most intriguing.

I had an elderly cat. Tired, I could see that he was hurt, aching, and in pain. Thinking that I had to do something, or wanted to something but had no other recourse, I put him on my lap, talking to him, petting him, and willing healing energy into him. Someone witnessing it laughed and mocked me. I shrugged that off, thinking the contact made the cat feel better and cost me nothing.

When the cat left my lap, it seemed like he moved more easily, like his pain was gone. That delighted me. When I stood, I discovered pain that I had was also gone, surprising me. Noticing I stood had some pain/discomfort, I decided to do another test. I took the cat onto my lap and held him longer, stroking him, and willing him to feel better and be better. As I did, I was certain I was feeling better.

I awoke feeling enormously refreshed today, feel of hope and energy. I hope others can enjoy these sort of dreams, but they always cause me wonder about the nature of dreams and existence.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

This one started after having a dream, then was recalled and reinforced when dealing with the cats.

“Gimme Little Sign” was a 1967 hit for Brenton Wood. (Yeah, I had to look that up; didn’t recall the name at all.) I was eleven when it came out. Discovering girls and trying to understand them in my subsequent teen years, the song made sense. “Just gimme some kind of sign, girl,” you know? Do you like me or what? Want to go to the movies? Wanna go steady?

A dream about a game kicked it up out of the subconscious basement. In the dream, as the game started and I faltered, I said in exasperation, “Give me some kind of sign about what I’m supposed to be doing.” Then, watching others, I suddenly grasped the mechanics and rules, and was all, “Oh, yeah. Now I get it.”

Later, as I was up and processing the dailies and the cats and I interacted, they seemed to be all over about what they wanted. Impatience gaining traction, I asked Boo, “Can you give me some kind of sign about what it is you want?” Which then rekindled memories of the dream and the song.

It’s like a personal game of six degrees.

Here’s the music. It is a redux, as I posted it in 2017, but it’s a classic from that era, so I hope you enjoy it. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. Cheers

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A Change Dream

Dreamed I had a large house. One story, it was white and long, like an extended ranch, with many windows. Attached to one end of it was a business in a garage. The unspecified business, now closed, used to be a hangout for gangs and drug dealers.

This was about me, but I wasn’t the me that I am now; I looked different and had a young family. Someone told me that the business used to be used for different gang meetings, the first I learned of it. Gang members, motorcyclists, white supremacists, etc., kept showing up. I was turning them away but worried about my family. The only weapon I could find was an air rifle. I used that, constant vigilance, and threats to call the police to keep them at bay. That didn’t stop them from breaking in a few times and insisting they had a right to be in the business because that’s how it used to be. Sometimes, they would try to sneak in on the other end of the house. I kept telling them, sorry, you need to go because that’s all changed.

Despite this short synopsis, it was a lengthy dream. No violence ever took place, it was taut with tension throughout.

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Sunday Sprinkles

  1. Had an unsettling dream last night. Not a nightmare, but a dream that I didn’t understand. After writing about it, I decided not to share it.
  2. I watch the NFL. The refs fascinate me. Some of them seem like they’re so disappointed when they announce penalties. “False start, offense, number forty-three.” You can almost see him sigh. “Five year penalty,” is delivered with regret. “Remains first down.” I wonder what they’re like in their non-football lives.
  3. I said, “Don’t fear the android.” I was making a joke while re-watching Dark Matters on Netflix. My wife said, “Oh, that’d be a good book title.” It has me thinking.
  4. Several of my wife’s friends encountered her this past week. Always masked and distanced. They emailed her later. One said that she started crying in her car afterward because it’d been so long since she’d enjoyed a friendly, spontaneous conversation with someone outside their pod. Another said that she teared up after dropping off holiday goods on the porch (and picking some up from us, which were awaiting her on the porch). Human contact is so random and remote.
  5. My cancer-inflicted friend is out of the hospital and back home. Friends are calling him to wish him well. I want to do so but I’m terrible with small talk. Not good with the phone. Terrible with socializing in general. He stays in my thoughts but I should call. I’m probably overthinking it.
  6. Likewise, the cancer-affected friend across country is out of the hospital and at home, going through treatment there. We exchange messages but I sense his energy is low. He was always such an upbeat, energetic person. He’s my age, too, which amplifies the impact, right?
  7. It is interesting, maddening, and shocking to witness what friends are doing in other parts of the country. Social distancing and masking isn’t part of their routines. Some have even gone in for elective surgery. One is dating. We respond, WTF? And we worry about them, but they remain blissfully ignorant. Come on, vaccine.
  8. Meanwhile, two other relatives have been diagnosed with COVID-19. One was intubated on Friday. She’d gone in for elective surgery on a toe earlier in the month.
  9. My broken left arm continues its recovery process. It sort of becomes entangled and stiff at night as I bend it under my body. But reach, movement, flexibility, and strength are all improving. One frustrating thing: scratching. I still can’t bend my left hand to scratch my back and several other (ahem) places.
  10. My wife didn’t make us a soup last Sunday, the first time in weeks. Holiday baking occupied her — and the kitchen. I did my part; my role is decorating. I was disappointed with the gels and frosting. It blobbed and sputtered. They were okay, but not great. That’s about half of the batch. They’re PB Rice Krispies bars dipped in white chocolate or chocolate bark, more like a candy bar than a cookie. (That’s them in the photo.) She also made peppermint cookies and my favorite, cranberry cupcakes with drizzled frosting. Today’s soup in progress is a smoky lentil with garbanzo beans. Chilly day, in the forties, diluted sunshine. Looking forward to it with some hot buttered ciabatta bread.
  11. I thought writing was going well. Then I read a paragraph last night which had me wincing, groaning, and gagging. Press on, finish the draft, then come back, right? Yeah. Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Oh, yeah, and the soup is ready.
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A Dream of Opportunity

Just a short synopsis of one dream from last night.

Another uplifting dream, I was traveling to Phoenix. I assumed Arizona in the dream but then realized that wasn’t right. This intermittently confused me as things progressed; if it wasn’t Phoenix, AZ, where was it? It wasn’t Phoenix, Oregon, either.

While traveling, I met a very wealthy man, a billionaire, in fact. White and charming, he was about my age, very approachable, and looked almost like Robert Wagner in his role on television as Jonathan Hart. A developer, he was planning changes to Phoenix, and was sharing his ideas with me. Those ideas excited me. When I reached Phoenix, he offered to put me up in his suite. When I entered it, I wasn’t impressed with its size. It was a luxurious place, but I was underwhelmed. Then I realized that I had my own suite within his complex of suites. It was about the same size as his suite. Further, I’d only been in one section; his suite was about three times my original impression.

For some reason, based on things he was saying, I kept trying to associate him with Williams Grand Prix Engineering, a Formula 1 focused outfit. Then, as I checked out the suite I was offered, I realized the color scheme was a rich purple and green, not the colors I associate with Williams Grand Prix Engineering. Then again, the colors I was associating with them, blue, gold, and white, were actually the colors used when Rothmans (a defunct British tobacco company) sponsored Williams in F1 for just a few years in the 1990s.

Getting ready to meet with friends, I was discussing my plans to return home after my Phoenix visit with him. He asked where I was going, and after I replied, he said, “Oh, I’m going there, too. You can travel with me.” After a little back and forth, I realized he meant that he was traveling on a private jet and was offering me a free flight. Pleased, excited, and a little flattered, I accepted. Meeting with friends, I told them about it. I had a sense then that some tremendous opportunity was suddenly available.

Dream end.

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