Tag: Dreams

Just In A Dream

Another hill to climb.

Sweat plagued his eyes. He sniffed and swallowed, wishing for water. He’d been going since sunup. Heat and humility built around him. It seemed determined to crush him like a grape.

Giving up was considered and dismissed. He was here and going to do it. Doubt about whether he was following the instructions kept bouncing through, confusing him about what the little thing told him. Half-asleep, he wasn’t sure if it was a robot, tiny human, or something else, like an elf or fairy. They hadn’t introduced themselves. Maybe it wasn’t even real. Just his imagination.

Without preamble, “Just My Imagination (Running Away with Me)” derailed his thinking. Didn’t matter. He’d reached the hill’s crest. Signposts were ahead. An intersection. Down this hill and up another. Stepping faster, he was there in less than ten minutes, perspiring with more vigor, and breathless. He didn’t think he’d need water for this. Not for a dream. Didn’t think it’d be sunny, or like a day in any way.

The signpost was in the center of a large gold-bricked circle. Arrow shaped signs. About a hundred of them. No, more than that. Maybe a thousand. Different colors, languages, and printing styles. Looked crude. Homemade.   

His little nocturnal visitor sounded like an irritated teacher when they said, “I’m tired of you sitting around, whining, waiting, and wishing, so I’m doing you a solid.”

They pointed. “See that?”

Slow because he was half-asleep, he pressed to see what the little one meant even though the little one was still talking. “Get in there and turn left for the past, right for the future, or straight ahead to another existence. Whichever way you go, you’ll come to a signpost.

“You better hurry if you’re going to do it. The portal will close and fade, and your opportunity will be gone.”

“Wait, what?” He sat up. Yawned. Stretched. Rubbed his eyes. Massaged his genitals. Considered peeing. Frowned. “What?”

His small visitor was barely a fading memory. The opening remained where there was usually a wall. A portal? Thinking, I must still be dreaming and I’ll wake up at any moment, he entered the opening. Fearing the future, regretting his past – too many things to change there and who knows how it would turn out – he’d gone straight.

He stared up at the signs. Words emerged. Animals.

A frown creased his face. What was that about? He’d always liked cats and they liked him. He admired birds. Dogs were okay…

He stepped in the cat’s direction with slow, short steps. Shivers tickled him. Changes took place. His fingers were gone. Paws halfway through construction had replaced them. Looked like he’d be a black cat.

He backed up. More shivers traveling him, his fingers returned.

Did he want to be a cat? He looked back down the road he’d followed to come here with the thought, maybe he should have gone to the past to see what he could have changed. He might have been hasty.

The road was gone. Nothing was there. Gray nothing.

He walked toward it. The gray nothing stopped him from advancing. Like trying to wade through stiffening tar.

Well, what the hell. This was only a dream.

He turned back to the sign and read the offerings. No doubt, that’s what they were. Unicorn. Whale. Elephant. Dog. Kracken. Dolphin.

Dragon, he saw.

Dragon. It’d be so cool to be a dragon, even if just in a dream.

But bravery wasn’t in his personal inventory. He stood, staring, considering, flounder, eel, coral snake, eagle – eagle would be fun. Puma. Tiger. Heron. Emu. Alligator.

No. With all of his fears and hopes, the best thing he could become is something fantastic.

Happy with his decision, he turned and advanced, shivering and coughing as he grew and changed until at last he walked out of a high mountain cave into a purple dusk. Spreading his golden wings, he released a fiery roar and felt the world’s fear. Yes, being a dragon was going to be so cool.

Even if it was just in a dream.

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Friday’s Theme Music

56 degrees F at this moment. Expecting the mid to upper 80s before the sun’s Ashlandia sojourn ends. It’s Friday, My 12, 2023.

Today’s heat is a prelude to a week of it. What irritates about many of these weather changes is how it jumps into hot weather and collapses into chilly weather with little warning. Why can’t we hit the middle ground and stay there for a while.

I know, I whine a lot. Everyone complains about the weather but nobody does anything. I said it here first…

I’m feeling better in a psyche way today. Dropped some anxiety and stress. I naturally gravitate to being those things although I’m weirdly known for being calm in an emergency. Three things resolved that were affecting my stress and anxiety. Got my retired military ID — now known as a an Identification and Privilege Card — issued at last. Been trying for almost a year. Picture looks pretty good, too. Look like a sea captain in it.

Second, first annual physical since I passed 65 years old. Hell, first annual physical in a looonnnggg time. Nothing untoward discovered. As part of my general hypertension, I suffer white coat syndrome. Getting the appointment out of the way was a relief although they IMMEDIATELY scheduled one for next year, so I’ve got THAT to worry about.

Third, sadly but painfully true, is that the death watch for Uncle Bill is over. Reminders of immortality, sadness about changes, another milestone in growing older all seen and felt with one strike.

I was watching my boy, Papi, an aloof ginger floof, as he watched the street traffic yesterday. He can’t help but get into a position to see what is making that noise? What is coming? Then, as the noise-maker closes in — runner, biker, walker — with or without dog — street cleaner, he turns and flees to the porch’s safety, hides behind a post and leans around, continue to watch. If he sees me watching, he comes over to be let in, and then walks around the house demanded to be let outside. The back door is open this morning, letting him come and go.

Weird song The Neurons thrust into the morning mental music stream. From 1967, it’s called “Tin Soldier” by Small Faces (not to be confused with “One Tin Soldier”, which is a totally different song). The roots to hearing it today aren’t clear. Although I had disturbing dreams, I can’t pinpoint anything from them which would call the song out. My best guess is that the mid to late 1960s was time spent around Uncle Bill, so the The Neurons expanded the sphere, bringing this song in.

Stay pos, if you can. Can be difficult, I understand. I think a cuppa coffee is in order for me now. Let the pouring commence. Here’s Small Faces. See you on the flipside.

Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Last night was a lovely black night. I’d clean out the royal’s collection box (known in many homes as ‘the litter box’) and was securing its potatoes in a bag which was deposited in a garbage can outside the side door. The air was cool, the night was black, and the stars were fine. I stayed out for half an hour, enjoying the feel and scene.

Today, Wednesday, May 10, 2023, is cool — mid forties — but sunny, with a preternatural blue sky unafflicted by smoke, clouds, or haze. Gorgeous, yeah? Yet the weather minions whisper that it’ll be cloudy today, with thunderstorms and rain in the afternoon. High will 67 F. The sun’s grand entrance took place at a few minutes before six AM and the grand departure from Ashlandia’s skies will come about after eight PM. The floofs — Tucker and Papi by name — are eating that sunshine up.

Trying to help FB friends save a beautiful Husky, Sam.

He is off the death list, I understand. If you’re interested, or know someone who can save this doggo and give him a home, here’s the contact info. Reach out to them.

HE IS AVAILABLE AT:

DOWNEY ACC, DOWNEY, CALIFORNIA

#A5545826

CALL(562)-940-6898

DaccDowneyRescue@animalcare.lacounty.gov

IF YOU CAN ADOPT, FOSTER OR RESCUE.

Interesting dreams last night. Had a repeat of one which involved flying with Dad, but the jet was a big building with a luxurious red interior. We went around different parts of the aircraft napping, eating, watching movies, and chatting with others. That one ended and the next one had me in a military uniform, under attack and dealing with the fallout, and literally crapping my pants and being embarrassed and humiliated as people wondered what stunk. A friend was helping me, and then I made off to change clothes, and another old friend helped me. I ended up in two different uniform styles being worn, but is that so important when the place is going to be attacked?

I thought those dreams would trigger something from The Neurons in the matter of theme music, but they had other ideas. Last night’s black night inspired The Neurons to play “Black Night” by Deep Purple (1970) in the morning mental music stream. I went looking for a video of the song and was rewarded with this find, a group made of a little Purple, Iron Maiden, Queen, and Led Zepp. This was part of the Sunflower Superjam, a British charity. Hope you’ll give your ears a taste of this excellent rendition.

Alright, stay pos and master Wednesday. It’s all downhill for the rest of the week. Just a pause to shout out to my late FIL. Passing in 1991 when he was 65, he would be 97 this year. Still miss him. You know what he liked? Coffee and fishing. In his honor, I’ll have a cup of coffee, thanks.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

The sun bulled its way over the horizon and into Ashlandia’s sky a few ticks before six AM. It’s Tuesday, May 9, 2023, and 45 degrees F out there. Rain deliveries through the past five days have encouraged the town to show off multiple greens. Jade, emerald, pine, leafy, grassy — the greens flourish under the immaculately blue sky. Not promising anything, the weather criers say, but it’ll be in the upper sixties today. The sun’s end time in Ashlandia’s environs will be after eight this evening.

Went walking yesterday, a favorite pastime. Two miles, one and a half of it in steady rain. Lovely. Got home wet with rain and sweat. Lovely. Felt good to be back in the rain and feel the sweat dripping and rolling, plastering my hair under my hat.

I continue scoring on the dream front. Last night brought visits from Sean Penn and Brad Pitt. Woke up chuckling to myself, mumbling, that was a great dream. Then I went through it, writing it all down after I got up, one of three dreams covered in today’s dream journal entry.

The cats are adjusting to the improved weather. So are other cats. Thus there was floof showdown on the front porch. A young gray cat has been showing up around the neighborhood for the last two months. Seems healthy, but just going around doing feline business. They’ve encountered Papi the ginger wonder before, but apparently last night was a surprise for the two and face to face. It’s post event speculation for us. We only know that the floof warnings went off like air-raid sirens for the Battle of Britain. Dashing to the front door, we saw the two. Of course, Tucker, the black and white lord of thunder heard it all and galloped out, too, shouting, “To battle.” Seeing the situation, gray cat departed. Papi pursued but lost the trail. He and Tucker took up stations to ensure they’d be there, should the interloper return.

Today’s music comes from “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel”. We’ve been watching it recently and have plowed into the third season. The song, by the Poppy Family, is “Where Evil Grows” and was put out over fifty years ago. I heard it on the radio a few times back then before it disappeared. But it shows up on television shows and movies once in a while, never on the radio, that I ever hear. Anyway, hearing it enlivened The Neurons, and they plugged it into the morning mental music stream, advertising it as nostalgia. The song’s writer is Terry Jacks, better known for “Which Way You Going, Billy” and “Seasons in the Sun”.

Ah, the train is rolling through, tooting its own horn, ensuring everyone is aware of its royal self as it rumbles through town. Stay pos, keep living the good life and fighting the good fight, wherever it may take you. My efforts are taking me to the coffee. Here’s the tune. Give it a listen. Cheers

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Sunday’s Theme Music

It’s Sunday, May 7, 2023, in Ashlandia. Sunrise and sunset are at least fourteen hours apart but rain veils keep sweeping over us, diminishing our enjoyment of the rain, to some degree. Rain provides us with convenient excuses for staying in and reading books, like we ever need an excuse. It’s 55 F now but the weather troops tell us that we might warm up into the mid-sixties today. Rain and cool weather will continue until Friday.

We remain on deathwatch for my Uncle Bill. Dad’s youngest sibling, Bill will be the first of the give siblings to pass. His two female siblings, Jean and Jan, made their way back to Pittsburgh, PA, where Bill lives to see him.

It’s an interesting scenario. Dad was 15 n 1947. Lying about his age, he enlisted in the national guard. Though questions were asked, he was permitted to serve. Tracing matters, I realized that Bill was two years old when Dad left home. He’d never spent significant time with his youngest. Oddly, it’s almost the same with me. I left Mom and my siblings when I was fifteen. The youngest sister had not yet entered school.

I’m ashamed about how little I know about Uncle Bill. I haven’t seen him in forty-five years. His sister told me he was a straight-A student in high school and college. I don’t doubt it. He’s always been personable, friendly, quick with a joke, ready to grin. I knew of his heart problems by the time I graduated high school. Bill never talked about it but I heard again and again that he’d be lucky to live to be middle-aged. Now, after open-heart surgery, a pace maker, and six heart attacks, he awaits death at 79 years old. I’ve seen him drink beer but I’ve never seen him drunk. He loved cars and I often admired cars as his vehicles were often a muscle car.

I don’t know what music he likes. He was never listening to it or talking about it in my presence. He loved baseball, especially the Pittsburgh Pirates. That’s what dominated the radio when he had control. One of my favorite childhood memories revolve around baseball, Dad, and Uncle Bill. The Pirates were in the world series, battling the Yankees. A gorgeous Sunday, we were at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, cleaning the windows and screens, and washing and waxing cars while listening to the game on a transistor radio. The Pirates won that day. Bill was ecstatic.

Dreams drive my music today. They were complicated and dizzying. As I emerged from journaling about them, The Neurons popped Madonna into the morning mental music stream. “Live to Tell” was written for a movie, At Close Range. Released in 1986, the movie starred her husband of the time, Sean Penn. The dream and song connections are detailed and complex. I’m not ready to delve into all that today.

Stay pos. It’s afternoon now — had to go down the road for groceries and things this morning — so I’ve had coffee, thanks, along with breakfast and lunch. Here’s the music. Let Sunday roll. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

No snow! Again. It’s like days in a row. The weather at last feels like an Ashlandia spring. We’ll pop up to 80 F today. Low in the bottom 40s. Sunrise quarter past six. Sunset after eight in the evening. This is what Daddy likes.

It’s April 26, 2023. Sad news that ispace lost contact with Hakuto-R. Latest theory they’ve put out is it unexpectedly accelerated and crashed on the moon while attempting its approach. Back to the drawing boards.

I’ve always been a proponent of exploring space and trying to reach other planets. Curiosity of what’s out there drives me. I know, many argue that we’re already screwing up Earth and have demonstrated ourselves to be poor caretakers of our home planet, so why should we ‘be allowed’ to go somewhere else. Also, space exploration is a little pricy. Cost more than my annual coffee budget. And we have so many problems in our society, unintended consequences of systems, practices, laws and technology. So much we have here we need to fix.

But I’m an optimist. I hope that going to space more will lift our spirits and encourage us to change. I know, I know but space travel and exploration opens possibilities, and fires hope and optimism. Of course my background is white male. American, sure of food and shelter. I know in an intellectual way that it’s way different for others in ways that I struggle to fully imagine and comprehend. I try. I try to empathize and sympathize and help. And I want for others to have at least the levels of comfort, security, access to equity, and opportunities that I’ve experienced.

Had a plethora of dreams again. Some involved Dad and painting. I’ll explore that more, I think.

Thoughts of space impelled Les Neurons to fire up “Rocket Man” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin 1972. Found a lovely video of John in concert with the song in 1972. Just fifty plus years ago, hey?

Stay pos and don’t let your fuse burn out. I’ve got some coffee if you need it. Maybe we can pass the cup.

Here’s the music. Enjoy. Cheers

5

A Dream of Money & Fighting

Many of my recent dreams have been about self-doubt, communication problems, and confusion. Last night’s dream added a different twist. A sort of duality emerged right at the beginning.

I was a civilian but arrived at a military complex. Walking in, I assumed my military persona as an experienced senior NCO. I had a huge cache of cash with me, US currency, twenties, fifties, hundreds. I was trying to put them into a leather bag. There was so much, it would fit. I shoved some into pockets but was left with more.

While this transpired, I grew aware of three men watching me. One black, two whites. All taller than me. Bigger. But middle-aged, as I was in dream world.

I suspected they were planning to jump and rob me. I wasn’t going to permit that to happen and placed my keys in my hand with the tips outward between my fingers. One of the men came close. I turned on him as he reached for me, and swung hard at him.

I completely missed.

But he was surprised, taken aback. Dropping back, he stumbled, fell, hit his head, and lost consciousness. One down. Similar things happened with the other two, where I was completely clumsy and ridiculous in my fighting efforts — I am not a fighter in real life or dreams — but still won. With them dispatched, I went to find my room, number 2407.

The complex was like a maze. Signage was almost non-existence. Doors were closed but no locked. I ended up going through quarters for different people, along with operations areas and work rooms for different squadrons. People sometimes challenged me as I walked in on dental and surgical operations, counseling sessions, and newcomer orientations. I kept walking through, trying to find my way, often telling them when they accosted me, “I wouldn’t be here if you guys had signs. This is totally ridiculous.” I vowed as I went that I would write this up to give them feedback about the lack of signs, and the disorganization which I encountered.

When I found my room, it was locked. I had a key, though. It was a calm oasis within. Paused there, I reflected on the dream’s elements while still dreaming, and realized how much it reflected my personal issues, real and imagined. Then I drew out my cash and realized that I was wealthy.

That’s how it ended.

1

Saturday’s Theme Music

Hello to all you deceivers and believers, along with the in-betweeners. That’s something Willie Nelson sang about.

Despite everything that happened in everyone’s lives, at least in this reality, the world has continued spinning, bringing us to Saturday, April 8, 2023. Despite those pronouncements about day and date, nature and the world outside of humanity goes about its business. Date and day and time doesn’t matter to it. We’re the believers, deceivers, and in-betweeners worrying about it.

The sun lightened the sky at 6:42 this morning. The world will spin Ashlandia into darkness at 1944, as far as we know. It’s 45 F now but 66 is possible, the weather goobers tell us. Mind the rain, it’ll be in and out all day, dismaying the cats, who were counting on sunshine.

Today’s song comes from getting out of bed. As the light in the room grew louder, I said to myself, get up, get up. That shifted to rise up, but memory of a dream was preoccupying my energy. Toward the end of that contemplation, The Neurons slipped “Run” by Snow Patrol out of 2004 into the morning mental music stream. “Light up, light up, as if you have a choice.” That brought a chuckle up. Staying in bed isn’t an option. Words to write and books to read were waiting, along with coffee and feed.

Then there are the cats, talking about me as if I was dead, conversing with one another, “Is he alive?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna put a claw to his cheek and see what he does. Oh, yes, he’s alive.”

I guess I owe getting up to the cats. Well, they’ve been fed and released to the backyard where the hunt for sun entertains them.’re Stay pos. Coffee is ready so I’m gonna rise up and get a cup. There’s also vegan blueberry scones. Home made by my SO, who remains on a baking kick. I’m the beneficiary. Care for one? They go well with coffee. If you’re not a scone’r , she also made vegan chocolate chip muffins, which also go well with coffee. Plenty here and I assure you, they’re terrific.

Here’s Snow Patrol’s power ballad. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Deceptive-son is here. Ashlandia’s valley is deep with muted sunshine. But on my step out to test it all, winter still holds the ruler’s scepter as cold air keeps temperatures in the low thirties. Birds were plentiful and noisy, urging something that we non-birds didn’t understand. The floofs embraced sunlit spaces and conducted their post-breakfast washup. As J. Denver sang, “Sunshine on my kitties makes me happy.”

It’s Wednesday, April 5, 2023. Beer with friends is in the schedule for this afternoon. Weather spies passed a note that rain is on the way and the high will be 55 F. That’s a twenty-degree step up from now.

Democracy was vigorous in New York yesterday as former POTUS Trump showed up to be arrested. People turned up to protest him and support him, and to challenge ideas and positions. You can say it was an embarrassment for the country or a celebration of the nation’s first amendment.

A series about fast cars ruled the dream sequence. I drove red, silver, and blue cars, Ferraris, Porsches, Mercedes, among others, traveling to different places. Arriving at one place, I’d admired the view and then resume my travels. Sometimes I’d see a different car and know it as mine. Other times, I’d be told it’s mine and given keys. My wife was generally with me. Nothing eventful or untoward happened. I was just driving and enjoying myself.

With cars still revving in my head when I awoke, The Neurons were busy pulling out songs about cars. The one which ended up ruling the morning mental music stream is a ballad, “Drive”, by The Cars, 1984. If you know the song, it’s not about a car, but abut driving. The song embraces rhetorical questions, beginning, “Who’s gonna tell you when it’s too late? Who’s gonna tell you things aren’t so great?”

Enough of this typing. The day awaits. Stay pos and be strong. Here’s The Cars. And, look, coffee, and a slice of iced lemon cake. Ah, good morning.

Cheers

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