Tag: Dreams

A Dream of Cans and Cars

It began with an urge to go check on my car. It was my old Mazda RX7. A cover protected it. I decided to lift the cover up some and start the car.

RX7

My old car

Sitting inside, listening to it idle, I decided to take it around the block. I didn’t take the cover off, though. I figured I could peek around it to see. It was almost twilight, and I didn’t think anyone would be out, and I wasn’t going far. All of it was a ludicrous idea; in the dream, the neighborhood was full of narrow alleys. They were barely wide enough for the car if you could see, but I was certain that I couldn’t do it.

Gosh, things didn’t work out. I couldn’t turn the car as expected. Exiting the car, I discovered that I wasn’t even on the road.

I blamed the car, of course. I pulled the cover off, balled it up, and set it aside. Then I decided to change the car. Laying my hands on its fenders, hood, trunk, bumpers, etc., I changed it into a new vehicle.

This was much better. Driving off, I arrived at my destination and sought parking. I had a usual space. It was available, so I parked there. But then I heard a small noise and felt a bump. Getting out of my car, I discovered that a woman in a blue Volvo was trying to squeeze by. She didn’t look at me or my car at all. Her hands had tight grip on the stirring wheel, and she was staring straight ahead.

Well, be a nice guy, I though, move your car so she could get by (even though she was in the wrong). It’s the proper thing to do. I jumped into the car and backed it out of her way. She passed on without a look. “Not even a thanks,” I exclaimed to myself.

My parking spot was now gone. Exasperated, I drove further in. I discovered that I was driving through an upscale clothing boutique. I found a parking space between a rack of clothes. Then I decided, well, I shouldn’t park in the store. Backing out, I drove into the streets, circling until I found new parking.

I was at a cafe. It was dark. Going in, I stepped through from one dimension, where this cafe was dark and quiet, to another, where it was light and bustling. Lousy with customers, my table was free for me. The cafe folk knew me and had my coffee drink and a croissant waiting for me at the table. Happy greetings were exchanged.

A short, dark-haired, white woman at another table had a bag full of canned cat food. Talking to me, she spilled the bag onto the ground. She and I laughed about that, and regaled one another with tales of feeding cats.

She announced, “I have to go.” She left, leaving her cans on the ground. I couldn’t believe that. The cans were “Fancy Feast” and “Friskies”. I decided to collect them for her and give them to her later.

People kicked the cans around, though. Cars drove over a few. I thought, this isn’t right. Collecting the cans in a bag, I went through the cafe. I wanted to return to my dimension but I didn’t want others to see me do it.

I slipped around the corner into a private space. Part of the cafe, it was a windowed hallway. Curtains, floors, and walls were all white. The windows were open, and the curtains were fluttering with a breeze.

I had expected to go through to the other dimension. When that didn’t happen, I blamed the bag of cans. I had to get rid of them to go back, I thought, because they don’t belong to the other dimension, but also thinking, going back means going forward, but I didn’t want to leave the cans behind.

I’d need to find another way.

The dream ended.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

A double-whammy brought this song into the stream this morning. First were dreams about photographs. Then, as I’m sitting at my desk thinking about the dreams, I see a photograph of my wife on the desk. Taken of her in Christmas, 1981, it was our first Christmas in Okinawa, Japan. A note on the back in her writing says, “I was sick as a dog.” She looks wonderful, though, in a bright purple short-sleeved top. Her hair is bobbed short, as she wore it for a number of years.

Between the dreams and memories, Ringo Starr’s old hit song, “Photograph” (1973) arose. About the only thing in common between the song’s lyrics and sentiment, the dream, and the photograph on the desk is that word, photograph. Everything else is quite different.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

I was singing today’s song because it’s Tuesday, and I was ruminating over my dreams. Had to look up the date of when the song was released. It’s one of those songs that’ve been around for almost all of my life.

Turns out that “Ruby Tuesday” was released in 1967. I turned eleven years in ’67. Good years for cars. I enjoyed the ’67 Ford Mustang’s looks, along with the ’67 Chevy Camaro and the ’67 Mercury Cougar. I also like the ’67 E Jag, but it was little changed in its looks from previous years.

The lyrics (besides the main chorus) that came up with the sun today were toward the song’s end:

There’s no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Ain’t life unkind?

h/t to AZlyrics.com

Somehow, Mick and the Stones make this work. One of the things that go through my head while watching this video is the thinking, okay, what am I going to wear today, that must have progressed. Yet, being a boy from the sixties, I often dressed like this.

Fun times.

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The Theater Dream

The theater dominated, but there were several features, some of which are clichés to the max (ha), like a military phone call (that wasn’t a call), and being pantless.

To begin –

With others, including a boss I used to have, we were going to the theater. This was some special deal, a grand event.

Checking in was an odd process. We entered a pristine, glistening marble foyer, black on the floor, pink on the walls, white on the ceiling. Stunning. Machines were embedded in the pink walls. After moments of floundering uncertainty about what to do, we realized the machines would provide us with our tickets. More floundering (instructions were absent) before figuring out, look into the small bas relief image on the machine and speak your name. Tickets were issued with fast, impressive swish. We guessed that it was a security system which identified us via a retina scan and voice.

The ticket lit up with gold arrows telling us where to go. Following its arrows, we learned from an employee that the ticket was geared to our bodies, that the machine back there had also verified our weight and scanned our bodies to verify who we were. Wow, some system, we said to one another, while wondering, why would a ticket need to be so specific to an individual? Nervous jokes were made.eate

I ended up in a bedroom. This couldn’t be right, I thought, but was reassured by my previous boss that it was. She was friends with the theater owner, so had gotten this box for us. It was the owner’s personal box. But I, confused, because it was a bedroom, was ready to challenge that when one wall opened, showing the stage right in front of us. Besides that, my ex-boss showed how we could watch the play via multiple monitors.

Great deal, I thought, impressed, but still freaked. The box was obviously a bedroom, and was full of jewelry. Be jeweled bracelets and watches abounded, along with key chains with keys. I didn’t want to touch anything lest people thought I was trying to steal it.

Then, horror, I knocked a bracelet off a dresser. It landed in my pocket. With alacrity, I fished it out, hurrying because I didn’t want to be seen.

A phone rang. I realized it was the Wing Commander calling on his hotline. Punching on the connection via one of the old 306 consoles (where did that come from), I answered with my name and rank.

“Sorry,” the commander replied. “I was sleeping and accidentally pressed the button.

Time to go! Leaving the theater, we went to a party in a luxurious mansion. Bottles of expensive red wine were being opened. People were asking me, what wine do you want? What bottle should I open? I was answering, there are bottles already open, let’s not waste them. I like red wine.

Bottles were opened anyway. I had a little red wine, straight from a bottle. Wow, it was fantastic. Then —

Time to go! Seeing the wine being wasted, I tried to put corks back into the bottles. They fell out, refusing to stay. I as being urge on.

Back at my place with my wife (which I understood was a temporary place), she offered me food, which were breakfast leftovers, she explained. I selected a few pieces, even though they were cold, and ate a bit, which tasted good. Then —

Time to iron! I needed to iron some pants because I wasn’t wearing any. I found pants and two ironing boards with irons in another room. One iron was small, like a toy. They other was a standard-sized iron on a standard folding board. The two options confused me. Before I could decide —

Time to go! My wife informed me that we needed to leave to go clean up another place. I protested that I’m not wearing any pants. “Don’t worry,” she replied. “Nobody will see you.”

We arrived via dreamport (that is, we turned around and were there) in a small house that doubled as a business. It looked tidy but my wife said that we needed to clean it. I agreed but told her that I needed to iron my pants and put them on first.

Right after that was announced, several of my wife’s friends arrived. I hastened to cover my lower nakedness as they laughed, hooted, and pointed, brushing it off, they’d seen it before, before they went off into another room, where my wife served them coffee and tea.

The dream ended.

I think my subconscious (working with my conscious mind) this morning, decided this dream was about broken dreams and lost promises. But after thinking about it while walking and then writing it out, I think it’s about the imposter syndrome.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

“This Diamond Ring” (cover by Gary Lewis and the Playboys, 1965) began playing in my head as I reconstructed and evaluated my dream, which was about theater, wine, food, and clothes. Why that song, I wondered, going over the lyrics. It’s all about broken promises and lost dreams, and gathered, that must be what the dreams were about, a depressing thought at its face.

Anyway, now the song is lodged in the stream. Sharing it will release it, so here you are. Watch the video, as their performance is interesting. (So is the setting.) (Such a simpler time.) Several of those musicians look like, “Where am I, where am I,” is caught in their thinking streams.

Cheers

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Another Lightning Dream

Dreamed I was standing out somewhere void of particulars. I saw myself out there, alone, in clear daylight. Not details about myself emerge so far as age, but it was me. I was watching from a long way off.

Lightning struck me. I lit up as a ball of white light. Then I raised my hands and moved the light aside. When I did, I was standing in a huge desert of sand. Sequence ended.

Except watching me said, “What just happened? Was that sand?”

So the sequence was repeated, exactly the same.

Watching me said, “That is sand. It’s like a desert.”

Which it was, just like the Sahara out of the movie by that name, all dunes of wind-blown sand.

The sequence repeated, only this time, when I moved the light away, I revealed an ocean.

Watching me said, “How am I standing on an ocean?”

That’s when the dream ended.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Walking yesterday afternoon and admiring the light on the hills (not much snow on Grizzly, bummer, we need more snow in the mountains, wonder how the snow pack is in the Sierra Nevadas) (I should check) (mental note, search for snow pack update) (it is February, and that’s when they usually come out) (and March), I thought one piece of sky and landscape looked like a silver bowl of light.

‘Silver bowl of light’ is a line used in “Suddenly I See” by KT Tunstall (2005). “Suddenly I See” was suddenly in my stream, where it managed to survive a night of dreams (one about eating chocolate cake) (funny, another dream about eating cake) (what’s that all about?) and into the morning, officially earning the title, “This Morning’s Earworm”.

So, passing it on so that it may escape my mind. Cheers

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The Factory Dream

I was working in a factory. I don’t know what was produced there.

Management was coming through to evaluate people, change positions, fire and promote, as they saw fit. Part of that, they were first going through a specific section that was designated personal work space. They would judge it and give us recommendations about our chances and where improvement was needed. Sort of feedback.

The personal section were about the size of a letter slot. Each had eight brass nuts on it.  Space at the corners and across the middle, the nuts were to be there and tight. They were on walls from floor to ceiling, with a continuous varnished blonde wood bench in front of it.

My personal section was faded green, scratched, and worn. It looked like it’d been there since the factory’s beginnings. On the wall opposite were personal sections that looked black and newer. They almost appeared unused.

People packed the factory. Excitement boomed about this pending activity, but I was unmotivated and distant about the whole thing. Then, we came returned to our personal sections. Most people had red tags and were disappointed that they’d not been selected.

I had a note. It read, “Your nuts are loose and your box is dirty. Fix these and you have great promise.”

The feedback amused me but my co-workers and friends were impressed. Reflecting, I didn’t know what it meant in the dream. Others took time to explain that out of all these boxes, maybe one in a thousand had a note. That gave me a chance that most didn’t have, if I took care of the things that were noted.

A manager came by. He told me the same thing and then asked me what experience I had. I told him about my previous involvement with databases, CRM, and RM systems, and my analysis work. Giving me a thumbs up, he said, “You have strong potential, good luck.” Then he left.

Now motivated, I cleaned my worn green box and started tightening my nuts. One was loose and immediately fell off. I searched the floor for it but couldn’t find my nut. That dismayed me. Not having a nut meant a demotion, I’d learned. I didn’t want that and wanted a possible promotion now.

I went searching for a friendly co-worker to get his advice. “He’s been traded,” I was told.

“Traded? To another company?”

“Yep.”

“They can do that?”

“They can and do.”

That amazed me. I wasn’t certain about being traded but I definitely wanted advancement. I needed a nut.

Looking at the black boxes behind me, I decided to steal a nut from down by the floor. I’d used it, get the feedback, and then put it back when I was done. It wasn’t stealing, but borrowing.

I started executing my plan. A young woman in black clothing saw me. “You’re stealing someone’s nut,” she said, pointing. Denying it, I hastened away with the nut in my hand. As I did, she said, “I’m reporting you.” Turning away and hurrying off, she called out to another.

I stepped off. Looking back, I saw her talking to a man and pointing at me. Swearing, embarrassed, and humiliated, I took off into the factory.

I went out onto the floor where huge equipment was located. I’d never been out to the floor before. What I saw awed me. A friend who worked in that section came by and asked me what I was doing. I explained my predicament. He said, “You’d better go back and put that nut back. You don’t want to be caught with another person’s nut.”

I knew he was right. I headed back with intentions of covertly replacing it. Of course, I wanted to avoid that woman and the man she’d been talking to. Not seeing her, I put the nut back where I’d taken it.

Of course, I still needed a nut. Now the future seemed bleak. Looking down the line, I saw the inspectors coming.

My friend from the manufacturing floor came up. With deft moves, he put my nut on and tightened it. “Now you’re covered,” he said, and rushed off.

The dream ended.

 

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Saturday’s Theme Music

I’ve always liked this song. While a powerful declaration, it features a strong beat, and the special voice and style of Aretha Franklin. Annie Lennox’s voice is good as well, and Mike Campbell (of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and the guitarist on “Boys of Summer”) sits in.

Why “Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves” (1986), The Eurythmics with Aretha Franklin,  is running the stream today is beyond me. Dream material? Suppose so; it was a busy dream night (too much to write down today).

It’s a good sentiment, though, for any sex or race, orientation or gender; do it for yourself. Don’t let yourself be labeled and stuck in a silo of expectations and stereotypes. Stand on your own two feet and do it for yourself.

 

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The Fortune Teller Dream

The dream began in a small house. It seemed (these things are not always spelled out in dreams) that the house belonged to a family member. I was staying with them, along with my wife, as part of a visit. Not a large house, it was crowded with people, but the atmosphere was pleasant. The dream took place in the living room, which had green shag carpeting.

We were preparing for a visit, or inspection. I’m not certain which. A woman was present who was a councilor or adviser; I wasn’t certain of her role, but she was authoritarian.

This was happening in the morning. The inspections were due in hours. Someone unfamiliar was asleep on the sofa under a blue sleeping bag. I could only see the dark hair on top of their head.

We were all wondering in soft tones, “Who is that?” And answering, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before. They arrived last night.” Coming into the room and hearing us, the woman finally explained that it was son. “Don’t mind him. He needed a place to sleep for the night.”

Oh, okay. We all accepted that without question. A young ginger cat was running in and out, bringing in mulch and leaves after it rolled on the ground or something. Talking with the others, I said that I was going to vacuum the cat and get the dirt off of it. After I caught the cat, I started vacuuming him. He tried to run away, but then he started enjoying the process. I thought that he had realized that I was cleaning him as he turned to let me access different places with the vacuum nozzle.

The woman’s son awoke. Vague introductions were made. Tall and unshaven with short black hair, he looked liked he’d been living rough. He had some appointment, he said, and would be leaving soon. He seemed withdrawn and subdued. He and I spoke, small, friendly exchanges. I was curious about him, pumping him for more details. He finally, hesitantly, attempted to explain. He would do it with cards.

He said he was a fortune teller. He drew cards out of his pocket. They were made of torn newspaper. “I’m not allowed to have real cards,” he said.

Why? I had to ask. “It’s complicated,” he replied.

Meanwhile, he’d dealt the cards into three piles. I was a little bewildered, because I thought I only saw three cards. They didn’t have markings, but newspaper columns and ads. “No, there are more,” he said. “You can’t see them.”

Sure, I thought, humoring him. I said, “Oh, is this three card Monte?”

“No,” he said. “I do fortunes. I read fortunes in cards.”

I went to pick up a card to examine it, asking him if I could as I reached for it. “No,” he replied, putting a hand out to stop me. “You can’t touch the cards or bet on them. That’s against my terms.”

“Your terms?” I was trying to understand what he meant.

He seemed embarrassed. “The terms of my sentencing, and parole. I’m not allowed to have real cards, bet on cards, or let others bet on them. Nobody can touch my cards, because that would make them real cards. That would…” He seemed to search for words. “That would give me. Power.”

I was like, “What’s that mean? What’d you do? What happened?”

He said, “I’m going to tell you your fortune.” He picked up a flimsy newspaper card and looked at it.

The dream ended.

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