Tag: Dream

The Goatee Dream

First, there was a sex dream. The neighbor’s cat was crying at the door and broke that spell. After I let her in (and provided a meal), I used the loo. Back to bed, I thought about the dream and hoped it would return (as it was comforting and pleasant).

It didn’t. In its stead came the beard dream. Standing in front of a mirror, I prepared to trim my goatee and ‘stache. What I saw horrified me; the goatee was massively overgrown.

I began trying to trim it while wondering how it’d come to look so bad with collateral thoughts of, had something happen to me, did it always look so horrid, and geez, why didn’t anyone say anything to me?

My wife was in the dream’s background, talking, giving me the impression that, “We needed to leave soon.” Don’t know to where. I responded that I was almost ready (not true), but that I just had to trim my goatee.

I saw my goatee had grown to double bumps hanging down, which didn’t do anything for my face. I looked like Depp in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, but more withered and grayer. Naturally, I concluded, trim them. Somehow, trimming them worsened their appearance. Recoiling with fresh horror, I decided that it all looked so bad that the only thing that I could do is shave the goatee off entirely. Trying, though, I ended up revealing a bloody wound that the beard concealed.

What happened? Had I cut myself? Meanwhile, my wife was calling for me to hurry and my beard had darkened and grown across my lower face.

That’s where the dream ended.

Yeah, classic self-image dream about my identity, isn’t it?

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The Football & Space Dream

Pleasurable dream. I came off as successful beyond what I expected (although others seemed to expect it) and was happy, respected, and admired. I was a hero. Isn’t that what we all want to be?

The first dream found me at a football game. I don’t know what level of playing, team names, or anything like that. A running back, I was on the sideline. It was early in the first quarter. My team was down by a touchdown. Okay, it’s early, that’s not bad, but what was demoralizing was that it didn’t look like we could do anything against their defense.

I watched the play from behind. A running draw, our big back was stuffed and lost yardage. But as I watched the play, I knew that it would be different if it me.

I told the coach. He and the others had already reached the same conclusion and sent me in. When I went in, I was doubtful. I was so much smaller. Anxiety swept me.

Then, the play was over. Back on the sidelines, I’d discovered that I’d scored on a fifty-plus yard run. What a great feeling of celebration. Then I found that it was late in the game; it was almost over. I’d scored three times. The other team hadn’t scored again. We were winning in a blow-out.

I read notes on that first scoring play, when I went in. Smaller, but fast, I was able to duck and spin past the initial rush. Then, according to a guard, “Seidel used him like a lawn mower, pushing me ahead of him down the field and mowing down anything in his way.”

Reading that felt great.

Now, it was off to work. I worked in a space operations center alongside engineers, admin people, radar trackers, etc. I was a high-level position. There was a crises. People were waiting for me to arrive. They believed I could resolve it.

I went right to work. Although my desk was at the front, by the status boards and maps, I worked the room from end to end and side to side, talking with everyone, taking notes, making and taking phone calls, and issuing decisions. The crises was resolved but we stayed busy. I consulted with the engineers over a few things. They were always eager to show me what they were doing.

Some were ending their shift and going for food. I was invited but declined. Others decided that a food run was in order. One scientist held up a script of paper. “Here’s my order,” he declared. “I thought that a food order was going to be taken, so I was ready.”

Taking his note, I read his order. He’d used a cryptic shorthand that made me laugh. I had to puzzle through it to make any sense of it.

A cake with white frosting was delivered. A piece was cut for me. I picked up a plate with the cake and prepared to eat. The dream ended.

Everybody should experience uplifting dreams like these.

 

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The Room Dream

Dreamed I was working for one of my old bosses, WB, from my first medical startup company. 

An odd job, I’d been given a task of setting up a room for others to use as classrooms. The others had paid for this. I was also busy with a dozen other things during the dream. That entailed me running down halls and racing up and down stairs. That was a challenge, as our office space was like a giant mall. My running and stairs became famous in the dream, causing others to stop and watch me, even cheering me on.

Then, with weird dream logic, I thought maybe I needed a gun. Behold I had a black handgun in my left hand (I’m right handed). My mission briefly changed. The handgun disappeared then as I shunned that mission, deciding that I wasn’t with security. Confusion arose as I thought (and looked, in the dream), didn’t I have a gun? Then I recalled, oh, yeah, I don’t need a gun, and ran on.

Down in the classroom, the right side was a disheveled mess. I set the left side up for the teaching required. It could sit twenty people without problem. The first group came in, checked it out, were happy, and left. I thought, “THAT’S IT? That’s all I’m supposed to do?

“Well, I can do this.”

Leaving the room to do some other undefined task, I rushed down the polished corridors once again. Arriving in my boss’s office (WB), he introduced me to a very important person. This VIP wanted to use our services and set up a room. Could I do that? By the way, it’s needed NOW.

Off I raced, sprinting the hallways once again. As I did, people said, “Oh, here he comes,” and stood to watch.

Back down in the room, I found it in good shape, almost as I’d left it. Chairs were in rows. The right side was a mess. Someone came in to help me. They asked if the right side needed to be cleaned up. “No, just ignore it. We’re not using it. No reason to try to change it.”

I made fast changes to improve the other side of the room (adding conveniences and touches such as a television and a lectern up front, and conjuring up a food service (with servers) in the back left corner). Okay, we were good to go, I announced to my young male helper.

The white office phone rang. I remember thinking, how strange that the phone is white. I never remembered being anywhere with a white office phone.

It was WB. Was the room ready? “Yes,” I answered, “it’s ready. Are you coming down now?”

“No, we don’t need to come down. We just need to know the room is ready.”

The dream ended.

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The Clothes & Garage Dream

I had a large new home which made me proud and happy. Then, dream switch, I was visiting with Mom.

Mom wasn’t home. She and the girls were out. I was about my current age. Mom’s home was the small brick ranch style house where I lived from 1965 to 1972 in Pittsburgh before departing.

In the dream, she had coats hanging up outside, like on a clothes line that stretched from the house to a pole by the street. It was a temporary thing, but she’d had this going on for several days, and it bothered me. When it lightly rained and the rain then turned to ice, I decided that I needed to move them into the garage. However, the garage still needed to house Mom’s car. It was a one-car garage, so that would be a challenge.

Going through the garage, considering angles and materials, I began thinking about how I could do it. My little sisters (who had been out with Mom) arrived and commented on my plans, expressing doubts that it could be done. (They were their current ages and appearances, and in the dream, I wondered if they as little girls were with Mom while their adult selves were present in the garage.) I was gaining confidence that it could, then, and passed off their objections with jokes. They left.

As progress was being made, TC arrived. He and I had been stationed at Onizuka together. The same rank, he retired a few years after I did and moved away.

In the dream, he was coming for a visit. I was expecting him. He showed up in an exoctic burnt orange car, not the kind of vehicle that he would ever drive. He had young twin children with him. I played with them as we exchanged greetings. The car then went off and I realized that he’d been dropped off.

I returned to working on hanging the coats in the garage. I could show progress. TC asked what beers I had. I’d been planning that moment and replied as a joke with the names of a number of cheap American beers such as PBR, Schlitz, and Old Milwaukee. He always drank Miller Lite, and I knew that’s what he wanted.

Then, in a move that surprised me, he said he was going to the neighbor’s house. He said he and the neighbor were friends. As we discussed this, I stepped outside. The light rain had ceased. A car drove by on the street. Dusk was falling. My Mom’s neighbor was at a table in his yard, waiting for TC, who walked toward him.

The dream ended.

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A Sprawling Flood Dream

At the start, my wife and I are vacationing on the coast. She and I become separated (as often happens in my dreams that feature her, an intriguing trend).

While we’re apart, I get lost on some mountain. Eventually, I find a path and decide that it might take me to where I want to go. Impatient to have it resolved, I begin running along the path.

The path goes up and down mountains. Although it’s strenuous, I run it with little effort, and can see myself, in short blue gym shorts, young, muscles pumping.

I come to a place and slow. The path is cutting through this place. I can guess from what I see that it’s a vineyard. Encountering a young boy and a woman, I ask for directions. They assure me that I’m on the right path for where I want to go. I worry, though, am I trespassing. It’s fine, they assure me.

Off I go.

Now I’m back at the hotel with my wife. We’re in the dining room. The hotel is an older place, a motel affair from the vintage sixties of U.S. road travel. Not completely run down, but far south of its splendor years.

A large package has just arrived for my wife. She’s excited. Before she can open, though, I look up. Outside, through the open door, I can see roiling white waters rushing towards us.

“Flood,” I shout, pointing. Repeating all that, I grab my wife. As she sees what I’m pointing out, she takes up the warning, and then the woman behind the counter does the same.

My wife and I rush into our room. We leave the door open. I open the window, with the reasoning, if the water enters and gets high enough, it’ll go out the window, and we’ll be safe. We get on the bed to watch and wait. The cats, I remember. I hope they’ll be okay. I don’t know where they’re at.

The water comes into the room. The room quickly fills. Soon the water is going out the window, but more water is coming in. The mattress is floating. Then, I float out the window with my wife’s large package. I’m trying to save it, but I’m taken out to sea.

It’s not the sea, I realize. It’s a river, and I’m rushing toward waterfalls. Knowing that, I frantically swim against the current. I can’t do it while holding onto my wife’s package, so I let it go. Unburdened by it, I swim toward some fallen trees. Grabbing branches, I pull myself to the shore and out of the water, saving myself.

But I’m miles downstream, I realize. I need to get back to the hotel once again. Fortunately, I recognize the winery.

I go there. One, there’s no flooding there. Their weather is delightful. Two, they don’t remember me at first. It takes some prompting. I take some time to admire the vineyard and learn about the property’s history. It reminds me of Italy.

I run back to the hotel. The water has receded. Clean up is underway. I talk to my wife about the vineyard, telling her that I admire the people’s foresight in buying the property. She’s snide about it. I try explaining again.

Then I remember the cats. I’m worried about them. Could they survive this disaster?

I find one of the cats, a ginger and white, right away. He looks dead but when I say his name, he responds and comes to me. He seems fine. I put him in a laundry basket for protection and resume my search.

The search is interrupted. We’ve left the hotel and checked out, but we didn’t turn in the key. My wife has it, but gives it to me. It’s a standard key on a large, plastic diamond. I’m supposed to be going somewhere, so I promise to turn in the key.

Then I remember, the cats. I was looking for them. Of I go to find the cats. I find a cache of cats that include kittens. They all dry, but they all seem dead. I’m horrified, but remembering my earlier experience, I speak to them, reassuring them that the storm is over. They all open their eyes and start leaping out, safe.

But where are my cats? I find the third. He’s okay. Where are the other two? After searching, I remember that I found them and put them in laundry baskets.

I hurry to that location. There they are, safe in their baskets, waiting for me. I set them free.

Now I’m in my car, a small sports convertible (another trend to my dreams). I drive to the hotel to turn in the key. I’m blocking operations of some sort that I can’t understand. The road here is a muddy set of two tire tricks along a grassy path. I drive forward and stop. A young Clint Eastwood is part proprietor. He’s working on something, insists I’m in his way, and urges me to go on. I show him the key and explain why I’m here. Mollified, he accepts the key. We wave good-byes, and I drive off.

I go down the road a bit. I need to leave my car to get to where I’m going. I enter a large, well-appointed dining room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Crystal, china, and silverware sparkle on white table clothes.

There are few people there. Two are Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. Talking with them, I explain where I’m trying to go. Adam tells me that I’m on the right path. Drew agrees, telling me to listen to Adam because he’s followed that path and knows what needs to be done.

I go deeper into the building. I’m carrying a package. I’m at the the top of a steep, narrow stairwell. I’m supposed to go down here. The package is too big for those steps. I need to leave it.

I hear a young boy. He’s with his family and he’s throwing a tantrum. He and I look across the space. I tell him, “Shh, it’s okay.” He stops crying and goes on.

I begin to descend the steps. Something makes me turn around. I see the boy. Although it’s as large as him, he’s about to steal my package.

I threaten him, warning him that if it’s gone when I come back, I’m coming after him. He starts crying. I hug him and tell him that it’s okay. He stops crying.

The dream ends.

3

Recruiting & Black Powder Dream

Fade in…

They were trying to make me a recruiter. Military? I wasn’t sure.

A friend was a well-established recruiter and something of a star. They wanted me to be like him. When he appeared in my office dream scene, he was well dressed in a navy blue business suit with tie, clean-shaven, with tight, neat hair. He said some things that I couldn’t quite follow, and others asked brief, insightful questions. He answered those, and was gone.

Afterward, the rest said, “See? That’s how it’s done. That’s what we want you to do.”

I agreed. “That’s what I want to do. But how’s it done?”

They told me that I needed to begin by dressing right. I was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt. I need to change that clothing style, and also get a haircut.

I began by trying to cut my hair. It was short in the front, but grew as a long and thick, brambly bush down my back. I couldn’t see my hair, so I was trying to cut it by using my silhouette and a mirror that showed my side profile. Using a power hedge trimmer, I managed to cut some hair but it grew back.

Don, the superstar recruiter, returned. He sat in on a pitch I made. It was okay. I sat with him in his office as he reviewed information and made a pitch. I saw that it didn’t begin with the image. The image was a culmination and result, that his hard work behind the scenes, and intense activity was what created his success. I needed to put a lot more time in.

Fade out.

I’m at a house with Mom and her husband, and other family members. The house is large and the scene is chaotic. A lot of it has to do with everyone’s schedules and the bathrooms. There are two bathrooms, one on each level. Who is using which one? Mom is getting ready to go. It’s involved. She’s dressing, but also looking for her bag.

I find Mom’s back and help her with it. She wants a gun in her back. I find one and put it in. She’s still talking about that, but I keep telling her, “Mom, it’s already in your back.” She replies, “I want a different one.”

My sister is there, advising me on what to do. I’m confused. She tells me to use a litter box to go to the bathroom, then scoop everything up, take it to the bathroom, and flush it away. Her answer exasperates me because it seems ridiculous.

“I don’t want to use the litter box. That’s another and unnecessary step. I want to just use the bathroom.”

She and her friend laugh at that, irritating me.

I go up and watch a plumber work by the front door. An old friend goes by. He’s now my brother. I tell the the plumber that my brother does the same thing that the plumber does. He replies, “Yes, I know, I taught him.”

Scene shift. For some reason, I’m in a robe, in a tub, on wheels. The skin on my entire body is covered what seems to be blackface. It’s a powder, not a grease or lotion. As I rubbed it, I knew that it was sun protection.

My brother-in-law got in his car, a powder-blue Chevy convertible. I discovered that the tub was hitched to the car’s rear. As he started the car, we exchanged questions and answers about what he was doing. He was going to get the mail, it was just a short drive, and I could stay where I was. That horrified me. I didn’t want people to see me like this because they’d get the wrong idea.

Waving that off, he reversed his car. We were in a garage. He told me, “Just sit back and relax.” Then he backed the car up. The tub that I was in gently pushed the doors apart.

He backed into the sunlit driveway and the street with me in the bathtub in a robe in black powder leading the way.

I was mortified but I also enjoyed it. As promised, the drive was brief. People seemed to notice me but none seemed upset. The wind was blowing through my hair and the sun was warm and comfortable.

We pulled into the garage.

Dream end.

 

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A Randy Dream

First, my buddy was there, Randy. Randy died years ago, colon cancer, just before his sixtieth birthday. He was two months older than me.

Suddenly, in my dream, he was still the hale and hardy southern boy I’d always known, a man without an ounce of remorse, but charming and polite, a rogue right out of a Faulkner novel. He was always an entertaining and generous man.

So he was in my dream, coming along as he did, naked, as he was, which was startling. Part of my conscious mind intruded, hollering, “Time out! Why is Randy, who is dead, naked in my dream?” Dream me just ordered, “Go with it, dude.”

Still, it was non-plussing to be visiting Randy at his house. Naked, he was talking and entertaining me, talkin’ about sports and music, while providing beer and hot wings.

Okay.

Sometime during the dream flow, the house spun, or I left, or Randy left. Maybe it’s just a dream gap. However and whenever, I was now out in a woods, on a hill, by a cave. I’d been walking and was sweating, so I stopped to drink some water.

I’d noticed the cave. Weeds and brambles were growing around the entrance. The entrance’s squared-off appearance made me wonder what was within, and enticed me to explore. Searching for what might be within the cave — is it a cave or an old mine? What makes me think it’s an old mine? — I entertained entering it but hesitated. One, it looked dark. Two, I didn’t have a light. Three, there might be animals within in. Four, it might collapse.

But it looked sturdy, tall, and wide. The entrance seemed to be reinforced with cut granite. Beginning to think that it was part of a train tunnel, or for cars, I looked for railroad tracks, a road, or some vestiges that could be evidence of its previous use.

While this is all happening, I’m suddenly aware a man is there. White guy, not particularly old in appearance, but still with a balding gray head and a tidy gray goatee. I thought he was was wearing a toga but then he seemed to be in a suit but without a tie. I think he was barefoot. I also wondered if he’d come out of the tunnel, but he was behind me, so I thought, no, that can’t be right. Was he there before?

I then saw a pile of railroad ties to one side, prompting, aha, this probably was built as a train tunnel. Thinking that encouraged me to want to explore the tunnel because a tunnel is safer than a cave, was the reasoning, partly because it’ll be open on the other end and lead somewhere.

The man and I hadn’t addressed one another. In fact, I had the impression that he didn’t want to be disturbed. Just something about his demeanor.

Now, though, he was approaching me. I turned polite, expectant attention his way. He was holding a gray mortar and pestle. As I took him in with some wariness, I had the impression that he was offering that to me.

Which he was. “Here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” It looked like off-white shavings. I was suspicious.

“Medicine.”

“Medicine for what?”

“For everything. It’ll cure everything. Take as much as you want.”

“Okay, don’t mind if I do.” I reached in and took with my fingertips, then pushed it into my mouth.

Randy showed up and said, “I’ll take some of that.” He then helped himself as the man shrugged and said, “Help yourself, there’s plenty here.”

The dream ended.

5

The Acting Dream

This began as a budget dream.

I was sitting before a bank of computer monitors. Someone working for me said I was going over budget by a million dollars. I wasn’t bothered by that (and was actually amused) but it did need addressed. He told me that he noticed that I was using certain sequences of material in my budget and suggested alternative material available online at a Simpsons website.

Finding a keyboard, mouse, and monitor, I found the website. While we looked at it together, the worker told me that he was surprised that I didn’t know about it. Everybody knew about it. I agreed with him, the info on that website would work for me.

Then he told me that Oliver was looking for me. He said Oliver had an outline of something and he thought I’d be perfect for it. Oliver wanted me to sign up for it.

I went off in search of Oliver. Wandering outside, I crossed a broad, campus-like setting. I was dressed in very casual, loose gym clothes. Everyone else that I encountered were dressed in school uniforms. I suspected that I was going to be upbraided for being in these clothes, but I didn’t care. I was comfortable.

It was late afternoon. Most students were finished with classes and ended in the opposite direction, but some were still being lectured. As I made my way toward the main body, several told me that Oliver was looking for me.

Seeing some white tents, I headed for them, thinking that’s probably where Oliver is. As I encountered others, I stopped to talk. Oliver — who reminded me of Oliver Platt — came up. He told me that he had an outline for me, that I’d be perfect for it, and he needed me to sign up for it. I told him, okay, I’ll sign up. That made Oliver really happy.

I went off, heading back toward my office. I wandered a bit, visiting with other people. Someone came up and told me that Oliver was looking for me. They said that he had something new. I said that I’d already seen Oliver and had signed up for his outline, and that I was going to do it for him. They said, no, this is something else that Oliver is doing.

I went off to find Oliver again. More folks who said Oliver was looking for me because he had something for me were encountered. Oliver then came up. I told him that I’d already agreed to sign up for his outline. Yes, Oliver said, but I have a few other new things. One of these other things was something that I’d need to try out for, but I’d be perfect. I was confused about what Oliver wanted until I realized that he wanted me to act in something for him. He clarified and verified that’s what he wanted.

I was hesitant because I had his other project going on, and my own writing projects. Oliver talked me into agreeing, and after some thought, I decided that I could do his projects (which now, it seemed, were three), and that I could also write. This made Oliver extremely happy. He told others that I’d agreed, and that made others happen. Seeing how happy and excited he and the others were made me happy and existed.

The day was getting late. Oliver, me, and two others went home. Oliver told the other two that he wasn’t cooking dinner for them. He’d been doing all the cooking and was tired of doing that. One of the others said that he had a burrito that he could eat. The other said, okay, he’d find something.

I decided I wasn’t worried about eating. I had many more things to do and wanted to go write because I was going to be very busy and didn’t want to waste time.

The dream ended.

 

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The Writer Dream

I dreamed I was with another writer. He never came into focus for me so I can’t provide a description.

We were in a small, long room with cinder block walls that were painted light green. He and a few others were seated at a long folding table that’d been set up. They were sitting on metal folding chairs. I was across from them. The writer been published after long years of effort. His first published book was a bestseller, so now, suddenly, they wanted more of his work to publish.

Several people were present, helping him, but I remained a spectator. He had cardboard boxes of stuff. First, he pulled out novels that he’d written that were printed out on computer fan-fold paper using a dot-matrix printer. After making three stacks of those, he added another stack of printed standard paper. Then he drew out stacks of black five and a quarter floppy discs and made a neat collection of those. Last, he drew out colorful three and a half inch floppies and made another tall deck. This was his work, which made me laugh. I wanted to say, hey, I have all those at home, too.

A blonde woman who’d been sitting by and helping said, “Okay, now we need to get these out to people. How’re we going to do that?” Some conversation that I couldn’t follow came up.

Then, bizarrely, we were walking. Leaving an airport gate, we headed out of one terminal and into another, going for a down escalator. A woman in a dark blue sweater was ahead of us. Glancing over her shoulder quickly twice, I realized that she was interested in the blonde woman that I accompanied. Then I knew that the blonde woman was famous (but I didn’t know why) and that the woman in the sweater was a fan.

I said to the sweater woman, “It’s okay, you can approach.”

She pretended not to hear me (that was my impression). I said something to the blonde woman. Smiling, she replied, “I’ll take care of it.” Increasing her stride a bit, she caught up with the other person, and said, “Hi,” in a wonderfully friendly voice. “I saw you look at me and thought that I’d like to meet you.”

That’s when the dream ended.

 

6

The Broken Mirror Dream

Dreamed I was outside with lots of people. I could see myself among them. I was wearing a short-sleeved yellow shirt. All the people were my age, and I was younger than I am in real life, with longer hair, maybe twenty years old. I seemed to vaguely know a few of the other people. The area appeared to be a college or business campus. Sidewalks connected plazas with fountains, gardens, and buildings, bisecting swatches of cut green grass. Forest lined the edges. I don’t know why I was there. An air of excitement almost shimmered, giving me — and others — goosebumps. A few of us talked about it.

My vantage kept changing. Sometimes, I was outside, looking at myself with other people from ten feet away or so, or coming in for a close-up, but other times, the point of view was from inhabiting myself.

I’d been laughing and talking with others but ended up walking alone, and decided to check out the woods. After passing a line of mature trees, I discovered a stream and began following it. After some distance, I saw a clearing ahead on the right. Climbing the bank, I drifted that way. As I did, a flash of light caught my attention.

I headed there to investigate and discovered a shard of mirror on the ground. The clearing was all dirt. Wondering how the mirror had gotten there, I picked it up, careful not to cut myself, and glanced around for clues about its origins. When I did, I spotted broken mirror pieces littering the ground not far away.

More puzzled then ever, I tried putting some context around the pieces of broken mirrors in what was a clearing in the woods. I guessed there were more than a hundred pieces, thought about counting them, but then shrugged that off as irrelevant. I thought, someone would have needed to bring the mirror here and break it. Part of me guessed that children could’ve stolen the mirror somewhere, brought it here and broke it, but that seemed like a lot of trouble to go through, and an odd location to do that. There weren’t any clear paths into the clearing that I saw.

Going toward the pieces, I glanced at larger sizes. None of the pieces seemed to match to the other pieces, like they’d been separated after the mirror was broken. Dirt smudged some surfaces, making me think that they’d been somewhere else, and then brought here. Bending over pieces, I realized that they didn’t mirror the area. On the ground, they should’ve been displaying reflections of sky, trees, or something. Instead, each looked like an opening into another place, a weirdness that made me shiver.

None of them reflected me, either. I leaned down lower for a closer look at one, trying to see the place in the mirror. Seeing gray behind bushes, I thought it could be part of an old castle.

A noise like a large tree cracking and splintering came behind me. Standing, I turned to see what it was.

The dream ended. Or, that’s all that I remember. Remembering this dream feels creepy. I feel like I’m being watched.

Before, when I began recalling this dream, the song, “Touch Me” by The Doors, began playing. I wondered if my mind had created some connection to the The Doors and the pieces of mirror – the doors of perception.

It’s another dream mystery.

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