Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Today’s music choice is another of those, “Out, damn spot,” selections; a song is stuck in my head and must be dislodged by being shared with others.
The song emerged during last night’s dream quagmire. Can’t call it a dream true stream last night. From my memories, the dream streams all torrented down pipes that burst, releasing the dreams into a big sloshy mess. So, boom, here’s a twentieth century Guns n’ Roses Sunday offering, “You Could Be Mine”.
Today’s song is perfect for the moment. A cat’s attentions awoke me about five this morning. Dream pieces stayed with me while I attended the cat, and since I was up, visited the water closet. Sometime during this period, ELO’s 1975 song, “I Can’t Get It Out of My Head”, started streaming because I couldn’t get that dream out of my head.
Now, like the title, I can’t get this soft, mystical, prog-rock song out of my head. Over to you.
Changing seasons
changing times
changing clothes
changing rhymes
Changing mind
changing ways
changing hours
changing days
Changing tastes
changing drinks
changing food
changing links
Changing sea
changing skies
changing clouds
changing eyes
Changing hope
changing dreams
changing plans
changing schemes
This dream could’ve been named a number of things. I first referred to it as the “Born to Run” dream. Then, as I remembered it, I decided the new title was more appropriate.
I was traveling by airlines in America through multiple, crowded airports. After going through Duluth, Minnesota, I went through Fargo, North Dakota. After Fargo, I found myself in a huge building. We’re talking a Superbowl stadium size.
Old, the building was well-maintained, with cavernous but mostly empty rooms except for towering gray cabinets. A woman introduced herself as a director. I was at a knowledge warehouse. Speaking to the air, the director told her staff to assist me with whatever I wanted. She told me to fill out my requests on a request form. The request form should include a learning objective. Catalogs of learning objectives were in the cabinets. I could use them to expedite the process.
Six other students showed up. They’d arrived before me but were coming to meet me and continue with their requests. The director asked me how I got there. After thinking, I said that I’d come through Fargo because that was the best way to get there. After acknowledging that, she departed.
I quickly completed a half-dozen learning objective requests. The other students went off to continue their learning. Thick folders for the first learning objectives soon arrived. Within minutes, I had a stack of them in front of me. Perusing them, I selected one for attention and started reading it as I walked around.
I found myself with a microphone. The warehouse was lit like a stage so I decided to perform “Born to Run”. As I was doing my performance, I realized that security cameras were present. Embarrassed, I quit my performance. Someone was trying to raise me, but I ignored him because I didn’t want to be mocked.
Wandering the warehouse, I soon found myself in wooded thicket. Movement ahead drew my interest. After some investigation, I saw a squirrel, and then a cat, and realized that the cat was chasing the squirrel.
I was summoned back to a meeting room. The other students were there. We sat at a table and talked about our learning objectives. More folders arrived for me. The director called for a few of us to go into another room with one specific folder. It was our choice which folder to bring.
Aha, epiphany. I needed to decide where I wanted to go, and it was a journey to a different, isolated location. I also had the responsibility to educate myself but resources were available to help.
Now, weirdly, the dream ended with “Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows” by Lesley Gore (1963).
I slept fantastically well this week, but had so many dreams. One that stayed with me, though…
I was shopping. At first I thought I was in a department store like Macy’s, and then I thought I was in a mall. I was looking at clothing and shoes, and picked a few things up for myself. When I went to pay, I couldn’t figure out where to pay. That exasperated me. I debated with myself in my dream, should I put this stuff back, just leave it here, or go on? Watching others didn’t help. I didn’t see anyone paying, and didn’t see any clerks, cashiers, or registers.
Without embracing a decision, I wandered, and found myself in a grocery store. Hanging onto my previous selections, I found a shopping cart, and picked up some produce. Spying a register, I hurried to it to pay for everything, hoping that I could there. When I arrived there, I pulled out my money. There was a register but no cashier. Maybe it was self-pay, I thought.
Then, a nasally female voice came over the loudspeaker. “We just learned that you’re not supposed to pay.”
I paused to consider that announcement. Was that directed to me, or someone else, or everyone? As I pondered, a young woman came up and told me, “We’re paying for you. It’s already been taken care of.”
“Who paid for me?”
She was busy collecting materials and doing things, as store personnel often are, and scarcely paid attention to me. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Who paid for me. I want to thank them, at least.”
The young woman waved her hand. “Don’t worry. It’s been taken care of.”
I remained mystified. She went away.
End dream.
Last night was a serene, cool night but wild storms were on the dream menu.
One dream began with me outside, on a worn but mostly green hillock. I think I was in a park, as copses of trees grew around open spaces and statues.
Although bright afternoon blue associated with summer was overhead, dark clouds gathered, moving in like they were answering a whistle. People, including me, were anxious. Talking persisted all around me. All were strangers, though, and I couldn’t understand exactly what they were saying.
I was thinking that I needed to get inside and safe before the storm broke but I was worried about my friends and family. I was also puzzled; I didn’t see any of them but I was certain that they’d been with me. Looking for them, I became frantic as the temperature dropped and the clouds darkened into a fresh charcoal briquette darkness.
I started walking fast. Others were running. Growing drumming like a drum and bugle corp was approaching announced the storm’s beginning. Lightning licked from north to south in long and spectacular prolonged, brilliant slashes, captivating and frightening me. With a sharp suddenness, a wind howled through, knocking me over. After rolling and tumbling, I struggled against the wind to stand.
I heard rain hammering the ground. A deluge like a fire hose was being sprayed began. As lightning struck trees and thunder shook the air and explosions boomed, the wind tossed and slammed me, eventually shoving me against a tree trunk. Arching with pain, soaked and cold, I managed to hang onto the tree as the wind tore my clothes and hair. I was shivering with cold and fear.
With lightning striking everywhere around me, I thought, I can’t stay here. I need to get out of here. Nothing was visible for the heavy rain and dim light. I didn’t know where to go. Desperate for movement, I struck out blindly.
The wind drove me forward and then lifted me. I tried grabbing the ground but the wind took me on a ride toward the trees. As I spun and spotted the looming branches, I was sure that I was going to be impaled and killed, but the wind carried me above the trees.
In seconds, I was out of the storm. The wind calmed but still carried me. Feeling its energy dissipating, I was sure I was going to plummet to the Earth and die. As I looked down to see where I’d land and what I could do about it, I realized that I was over the storm, and flying above it.
A cat hissing awoke me then. Scrambling out of bed to confront the situation, I saw that Boo was telling Papi that he couldn’t come in through the pet door. Boo ran out of the room and down the hall and Papi sallied in. Since I was up, I went to pee and think about the vivid dream, as my mind stayed wrapped in it.
It’d been a shockingly vivid dream.
A dusky, beautiful young woman approached me. Wearing a short, light-blue skirt and high heels, she seemed like she was sixteen years old, but trim and gorgeous, with a doe’s large, dark eyes, and long, black parted in the middle framing a heart-shaped face.
Solemn and reserved, she stopped before me. She was holding a paper and pencil, and held them out toward me. “I’m from a writing class. We’re writing novels. We’re supposed to ask you for help.” Puzzled, I took the paper as she explained that the paper was a checklist of eight things to do to write a novel.
I asked questions to clarify who she was and where she was from. During that exchange, she indicated a large building at the top of the hill. Other classmates approached. All were young, with clear, clean skin and groomed hair. I knew several of them. They, like the first girl, were there to get my help with their writing assignments. They were writing novels and had the same checklist that she had. One boy, who was familiar to me, explained to me that they were on the first step, and needed help to write their novels because they didn’t know what to do.
I felt flattered and told them that I was happy to help them. Meanwhile, I became obsessed with the building that they were supposed to be going to school in. A dark, spicy mustard color, it was set into the top of a green mountain. It was the backside of it that intrigued me most. A floor rested at the very top. Its windows seemed broken and it seemed like it was empty. I wanted to know what was in it. I felt like I’d always wanted to know what was in it.
I asked one of the young men who I knew well if that building was where they went to school. He confirmed that it was. “Then you’ve been in it,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Have you been in the back?”
“The back? I’m not sure.”
“I want to know what’s in the back of the building.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what you mean. I need to go.” He took his checklist from me and stood. “But you can go into the building yourself and check it out.”
I went with him to the building. He went off to class. Climbing stairs and taking elevators, I went up as high as I could. One door was in the last room. It was a modern space, but didn’t have any windows. I went to the one door and tried opening it. It was locked but the young woman who I’d first met opened it. She wouldn’t let it open more than the width of her slender body.
She was holding a large mug of coffee. I tried seeing past her. “Can I come in?” I asked.
She shook her head. “But I can give you this coffee.”
“Thanks.” I took the coffee. “I can help you with your checklist, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you. We’re okay.” She closed the door.
Dismayed and frustrated, I stepped back. I wanted into that other room but didn’t know how to get there. Returning to the outside of the building, I contemplated the place that I desired to enter and confirmed, there was movement behind the windows. Something or someone was in there. Sipping the coffee, I plotted ways to satisfy my curiosity, determined to find a way.
The dream ended.
I experienced many dreams last night. One of the most interesting ones was the healing dream.
I’d been walking and my feet hurt, so I sat to massage them. A man sat beside me. Large and black, his head was as round and bald as a basketball.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
“Massaging my feet because they hurt.”
“I can help you with that.” He held his hands up. They glistened with oil. “I have the power.”
“Okay, cool.”
Taking my feet, he rocked back and forth, humming and massaging them. Skin sloughed off my feet. Pain and soreness went with it.
He finished and rose. “Thanks,” I said. “That was amazing. I really appreciate it.”
Nodding and waving, he said, “No problem,” and then ambled off.
I was still sitting when a woman then approached me. I couldn’t get a clear look at her. It seemed like a misty gauze moved with her, but from glimpses, she seemed slender, young, and white. She wore light blue but her arms were bare. She said, “You look like you could use a massage.”
I debated it and then said, “Okay, sure.”
Darkness fell around us until we were in a circle of yellow-white light. The air grew cooler. She began massaging my chest and shoulders. Her hands and arms went into my chest. I could suddenly see into my chest. Her fingers embraced my heart and massaged it. Shocked and amazed, I just sat there, gawking.
A little girl ran up. The woman took my heart out of my chest. It looked like a piece of fried chicken. She gave it to the girl, who gave the woman a new heart.
As the girl ran off with my fried-chicken heart, the woman put the new heart inside of me. “That feel better?”
I couldn’t speak because I felt so amazed, so I nodded.
“Good.” Shifting her hands, she began massaging my lungs. Air rushed into them like never before. As she massaged me, my perspective changed, so that I was now watching her from outside of myself. Next, she massaged my liver, and then my stomach, and then moved her hands up, and massaged my head. I held my breath as I saw her squeezing, shaping, and re-shaping my brain.
“There,” she said. “Done.” She was gone, and I was back in my body.
I awoke feeling like I’d been scrubbed clean from the inside out.
Last night’s dreams were a crowded, cluttered mess of happenings and objects. They began with a leather jacket.
Someone gave me a black leather jacket as a gift. I was taken back. The gift wasn’t expected. Its style was not the style that I prefer (yeah, aren’t I the fashion plate (snort, right!)). It wasn’t the highest quality (indeed). But it was a gift. I was drilled by parents and wife to be gracious about accepting gifts. Don’t mock or deride them, but accept with gratitude.
Smiling, I accepted the jacket and began wearing it. The fit was better than expected, and I looked good. Within a few minutes, I find myself surprised that I genuinely liked the jacket. Going back to the one who’d given it to me, I thanked them with more enthusiasm.
You know what? I never saw anything of the person giving me the jacket. If I did, it’s wiped from memory.
Shifting in the way that my dreams frequently do — without a true transition — I found me and my wife in a new place. Guess what? Yeah, I was back in the military. I amused me in my dream that I was dreaming about the military again because it’s such a recurring pattern in my dreams. I also told myself in my dream, go with it. See where it goes.
My wife and I were sharing a large apartment with two other families. None of them were in the military. We each had a bedroom with a bathroom. The place was bedlam. My uniform was wrinkled, so I needed to press it but had to find the iron and board. A hundred things were going on, with people unpacking, sorting stuff, strewing it around, and also dressing and leaving for appointments.
With my uniform pressed, I went to shower. The largest bathroom had towels, toiletries and clothing strewn everywhere. It appalled me. I thought, even if they have so little regard for others ability to use the facilities, have they no sense of order and tidiness?
I considered tidying the bathroom but returned to my bedroom and discovered a clean but small bathroom. The problem with it was that windows allowed anyone to look in and watch me from multiple places. I discussed this with my wife. She thought only one vantage allowed others to look in, so I could shift and stay hidden. I pointed out an entire set of other windows where people could see me. But, I decided, screw them. Let them look if they wanted.
I showered and shaved without issue. Then I heard noises outside. Green towel wrapped around my waist, I went out to investigate. Somehow, I became disoriented and began wandering. Then I lost my towel.
Again, amusement struck me in my dream. We’re employing that cliché? Mais qui, bien sûr. Okay.
Now, I’m naked but still wet, and outside. Fortunately, this was the young version of me, when I was slender and fit.
Buses were arriving. Uniformed airmen were piling out. I kept walking around, trying to figure out where the hell my place was.
I wasn’t embarrassed. I knew what stripes I had, and the authority and respect they command. I’d learned how to wear them, and I was metaphorically wearing them while walking naked back to my place. Go ahead, I mentally encouraged the crowds and lines of airmen that I passed. Say something. I dare you. None did.
Without fanfare, I found my way and returned to my place, entered, and began dressing, which is where the dream ended.
I’d just received word in this dream that I’d been selected for a movie role. I was going to be a star!
That was exciting news. Details flooded me. The movie was a remake of a classic. I don’t know what movie, but I was going to be in the role John Wayne played.
I roared with laughter. John Wayne was a big fellow. I am not. How could I possibly play that role? Then, I thought CGI. Magic. What the hell, whateer. Not my concern. I’d been selected. Go with it.
I wanted to share my news and went to my friend, who was also going to be in the movie. I found him in a dorm where he was in the old woodlands camouflaged battle dress uniform. I found out that I was, too. Then, the dorm wasn’t a dorm as first expected, but a tight, tight space crammed with bookcases. The bookcases created a labyrinth.
He came up to me. I said, “I understand we’re going to be in a movie together.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
That bothered me. Other soldiers in woodland BDUs came out around him and I. I said, “I’m going to play the role that John Wayne had.”
I awaited a reaction but got nothing. I said, “It’s a starring role.”
“Yep.”
“Um…filming is supposed to start in two weeks.”
“Right.”
I cleared my throat. “But first, we have to get through this.” I gestured.
“I know.”
“I wanted to let you know, though. There’s going to other roles to fill. They might come around and ask you if any of your troops are interested in a minor role.”
He nodded.
“It might be an opportunity for them.”
Sniffing, he nodded. “Right.” He turned away. I left.
End of dream.
Michael Seidel, writer 