Tag: Dreams

The Hormone Effect

The promises.

Harvard and Yale are considered in her junior year of high school. Speaking five languages, a prodigy with several musical instruments, in advance placement classes, we’re pleased, proud and envious of who she is and her potential. But the boy has changed everything. We don’t see and feel what he brings to her but she’s modified her plans. A small local college is the goal, with a degree in international business.

Our pain of our lost dreams want us to urge her, think again, please, think ago. You wonder how this will work out. What will she be in ten years? Will they still be together? You try not to color her life with your experiences but you understand. You remember the warnings they gave you. You ignored them as she is ignoring them, because it was you, and things were different.

Life worked pretty well, you reassure yourself, but you remember the potential you tasted before the hormones struck.

Oh, the promises.

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Flying Dreams and Pieces on the Ground

I dreamed I was flying.

Well, flying was my first impression. After awakening, I realized that I sometimes traveled through the air as though I flew, but I never saw wings on me, nor did I see me flying in classic Superman fashion. In fact, sometimes I had the impression I was teleporting, perhaps by mental acuity.

The thrust of it was that I was again, as in other dreams, going around and finding pieces to put things back together. This time, it was cars. Huge chrome bumpers, grills, hoods, basically exterior body parts, were sprawled across an otherwise green and pastoral countryside. The weather was sunny, with a few clouds, but warm. The parts were not heaped but each was separate on the ground. All were in excellent shape. Most were from the nineteen fifties, it appeared to me – yes, the decade I was born.

Seeing a part with my amazing vision that I recognized, I would go to it, sometimes by flying, sometimes just moving myself. I’d collect the part with happiness. That’s the gist: I would find a part, go to it and ‘collect’ it, but I never knew what I did with them. That wasn’t shown.

I awoke befuddled. Leaping up, I looked around, trying to understand where I was, beginning to work under an urgent impetus that I needed to recharge. As I was saying that to myself, I was asking myself, “What the hell are you talking about? Recharge what? How?”

Yes, how, I was trying to remember. How did I recharge? Where did I plug in? What did I plug in? What buttons needed to be pushed? What systems were used?

Astonished and horrified that I couldn’t remember how to recharge, attempting to remember how I’d recharged yesterday, I went into the bathroom to relieve my bowels, I slowly accepted that I wasn’t supposed to be recharging anything, that I’d had an anxiety dream. I’ve had these dreams before but they’re as rare as lightning in a snowstorm. Funny enough, during the dream itself, I felt fantastic and happy.

It was only when I’d awakened that I felt anxious. The entire experience provided me with much to ponder.

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Between the Cracks

It may be the time,

the energy,

or the intentions,

or the hope.

It might just be the words or the dreams.

But you notice it slipping away,

through the cracks in the space of your life.

It’s the little things, at first.

Then you notice that much of it that you took for granted as yours has gone.

You never noticed the cracks.

You saw that it was two thousand.

Then it was twenty ten, twenty eleven.

Now it’s twenty seventeen.

It was January. Now it’s April.

Today, you order yourself, searching for the words and motivations in the cracks.

Today!

Before more is lost to the cracks,

today, you will write with abandonment.

Today, you will write like crazy.

At least one more time.

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Dreams of Resistance

New, powerful dreams swept in to replace the soul-dragging sprawl of dreams endured my previous three nights. Now I was once again enabled and empowered. Confident in my understanding of what had happened and what needed to happen, I began installing order on others in my dream.

In one of the dreams, someone who was in charge and outranked me began chastising me for some bizarre local rule. I’d taken my boots off. As punishment, he’d stolen in, taken my boots, wrapped them up in a package and hid them. Now revealing what he’d done, he began lecturing about their rules and procedures in a galling pedantic manner. I gathered from his ridiculing subtext that he thought he would emasculate me and put me in my place.

I didn’t accept the situation. I waited until he finished. Then I politely replied, “But I just arrived here this morning, hours ago. I think you should have set up an immediate orientation for me to know what was going on, if you want me to know your rules and follow them. Otherwise, you would just playing a silly game of ‘gotcha’.”

A person beside me leaned over and whispered, “Right on,” in my dream. Two other dreams from last night were of the same ilk, encouraging me to stand up for myself. Together, the three instilled greater confidence in me. It’s a wonderful sensation to awaken with the belief I know what I’m supposed to do and will do it.

Happy Tuesday, writers!

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Dreams of Ineptness

What a night of dreams. Given scales of one to ten, where ten is the highest, these dreams were around eights on the vividness and intensity scales. They left me feeling emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted. Dreams of these types trigger speculation that I’m living in the dreams, and the dreams are the reality. So while I’ve been here, living with all of its entanglements and needs, I’ve actually been asleep there. Once I awaken there, I experience that life through my dreams.

Makes sense. In the dreams, I was bewildered about what was going on and expectations for me. Everyone liked me. Nobody was concerned about me. I was just there, part of the landscape. It was an incoherent landscape. Some others and I were in the back interior of a giant parked 1982 Camaro. It was so large, we were standing and moving around without being encumbered. Things were sometimes written on the car’s immense rear hatch window. But I knew I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to be doing. Fueled by guilt, anxiety burned through me. I was going to be found out at any moment. 

Leaving the Camaro, I raced around in a covert frenzy, attempting to cover my tracks and do what I was supposed to be doing all along. The office made no sense. Everything had been moved outside. Meanwhile, new instructions were being introduced. I struggled to stay abreast of the new ideas. I was supposed to be understanding this stuff, using it and explaining it to others. I had little idea of what was going on.

I sought out the people in charge and the files. The files were supposed to be locked up. I didn’t know the combination. One of those in charge confessed to me that the locks didn’t work. They were a facade. She laughed as she explained this. As I tried catching up on my tasks and correct everything, I began learning through intimate encounters with others, nobody else knew what was going on. It was chaos with a veneer of normalcy and knowledge. Nobody else was doing it correctly. Most barely understood what I talked about and laughed when I mentioned it. A series of giggling confessions were shared with me to that end.

Understanding that I wasn’t going to be discovered because I was an inept fraud, I began relaxing. My errors and shortcomings weren’t going to be discovered because everyone else had shortcomings and were making errors. None of them cared about it.

Writing about them, I chortle with insight. Ah, yes, the classic dreams of inadequacy and our latent, perpetual fears of being exposed as a fraud. Do writers ever experience anything like this? I suppose not. Most writers are powerhouses of security and self-confidence.

I should just move on. I would, but I feel too tired. I need to sleep to recover from my dreams.

Now there’s a metaphor if I’ve ever read one.

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A Turn Into the Weird

Once again, my dreams took a hard turn into the weird. The one dominates my waking thinking.

There are six lanes of highway. I’m overlooking them with friends. One of these friends is Randy Moore. Randy and I served twenty years in the U.S.A.F. and were together at Onizuka Air Station, Sunnyvale, CA, in the early 1990s. He passed away from colon cancer the month of his sixtieth birthday.

He was alive and the Randy I knew in my dream. The six lanes of traffic have five ‘support lanes’. That’s the only way I can explain it. It’s a fast highway. But, while studying it, Randy and I (and others) realize there’s a huge gap in the road. Basically, it ends in a black chasm.

Then we realize we’re in an enormous cave. Then, we find, oh, wait, the highway continues on the other side of this chasm. The catch is, that’s several hundred yards away. That’s a helluva catch.

So we’re chatting, what a weird design, is it by design, what else could have caused this, and end by saying, “We should stop cars coming down because they can’t make it.” But we were also noting, “They see it. They’re stopping.”

But the driver of an old van guns his engine. Tires screaming, smoke billows out and the vehicle launches down the road into the dark sky. “He’s trying for it,” either Randy or I say.

“He’s not going to make it,” one of us say.

“Oh, wait…maybe it will.”

The van flies through the air like a scene from ‘The A-Team’. We watch.

“He’s not going to make it,” I declare. As I make the statement, a red Ferrari screams past.

“What the hell is he doing?” Randy asks.

I’m amused and appalled. “He’s trying to save the van.”

The Ferrari catches the van as both land on the other side. They bounce and skew sideways before slamming into the cavern wall in a ball of flame.

Randy and I begin wandering the cavern lanes. Examining the structure, we wonder, how will we ever get to the other side.

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Up My Game

In what I must consider one of my strangest dreams ever, I dreamed I was a running back in the NFL.

It was the off-season, and we – running backs – were being tested. I didn’t know this, though. The whole thing was unfolding in the dream.

I was approached by a man in athletic gear. Holding a stopwatch and clipboard, he asked me to run a course. I didn’t know who he was or why.

The course was in a high school slash…ummm…hotel. I was to run the course through the halls.

It was a funny request to me. I was in my late teens in the dream. “Okay.” Shrug. It seemed strange, but what the hell.

Only after I ran it did I begin to realize that it was a test. Players, coaches, owners and sports announcers were staying in the high school slash hotel. Then I realized the test was about rating NFL running backs. With that, I experienced memories of being in NFL games. I didn’t have many touches but I had a high yards per touch score. Watching film in my head, I saw how I could improve.

Eventually, hanging around and talking with different people, I confirmed that I was an NFL running back and we were being rated from one to thirty-two. I was eight rankings from the bottom. Doing some dream math, I determined that meant I was twenty-fourth. Not a great score, but hey, I was an NFL player with no idea how he achieved that.

I immediately began visualizing how I could improve my rating by upping my game, how to better protect the quarter then cut into the flat as another passing option. I saw how I could change the way I see the field, watch for blocks, be more patient and cut more explosively. I was dismayed that I was only five foot eight and one hundred and forty pounds but determined I could gain weight.

Then I spilled a glass of water on a carpet in a room in the dream, and the dream ended.

The glass had been half full.

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Dance, Dance, Dance

Succinct dreams remembered.

I was in the military once again, USAF, wearing my light blue shirt with its salad, dark blue pants, working in the command post. I’m in my mid-thirties.

I’ve acquired an additional duty. Every day at noon, someone comes in and relieves me so I can teach others to dance. I teach two to three people at a time.  don’t know them. They learn their steps and moves quickly. Once they learn, they disappear and others replace them. It’s important to the dream me that the students get in and out quickly, because I’m teaching them to dance to reduce tension and conflict.

The dream logic puzzles the dream me, who points out that I can’t dance in real life. Oddly, I’m not actually dancing in the dream, either; I just offered music and told them to dance. They would dance, laugh, and disappear. I was pleased with the assignment.

The song in the dream was Justin Timberlake’s ‘Can’t Stop the Feeling, from ‘Trolls’. 

The second dream was as succinct. Living on some land I’d fixed up, I was now feeding the cats. I measured out food into bowls and then go find the cats and give them the food.

Then I awoke and fed the cats.

 

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Coming Clean

Cleaning

To dream that you are cleaning indicates your ability to make situations more positive and to solve pressing problems. You are learning how to replace pessimistic views and beliefs with those that are more uplifting and pleasurable. This can suggest your desire to seek inner peace and enlightenment.

To dream that you are cleaning an object means that you want to improve a certain part of your personality or character. If you are cleaning the refrigerator or oven, then it implies that you want to tackle an issue head on rather than trying to solve it gradually. Perhaps you feel as if you have reached a stagnant position in your life and you are unsure of where to go from there.

To dream that you are cleaning out a desk implies that you have decided to shed unfavorable pressures and instead follow a new path. You now comprehend the fact that you have options and choices to make; you are not stuck in the same rut.

h/t to dreamforth.

I dreamed I was cleaning last night. Once again I was returned to military life, where I enjoyed the structure. Expectations were clear and you were rewarded for doing an outstanding job. I liked that.

In this dream, I was rushing to get dressed in the military. Part of a large building, I hurried to find my gear and then to a shower to clean and shave. Finding one, a person of lessor rank, someone who I knew, confronted me and told me I had to clean the shower.

I was outraged. Number one, why should I need to do that, now, without expectations established? Number two, who was this person of lower rank to tell me that I was clean this shower? Why not one of the many other people milling around there?

I was furious. Nothing like the wrath of an experienced senior NCO. We knew how to do angry and focus it like lasers.

I did so in my dream. Everyone shrank away, the cleaning supplies left behind. This pissed me off, too. Feeling it needed to be done, angry that others had shirked their duties, I began cleaning. Unfortunately, as I cleaned, I saw how filthy it was. I was resigned; I was cleaning it, so personal ethics insisted I do an outstanding job.

So I cleaned and cleaned, scrubbing away mold and soap scum. Then, I found something that belonged to me. Oh, was I surprised. With more cleaning, I found more of my materials there. I then began to see that the person who confronted me was trying to explain it was my doing, something I refused to accept and understand. Instead of trying to understand, I was brow-beating them with rank.

On waking and thinking about the dream, I realized that this was another recurring dream. I have dreams about being in the military, but I also have specifically oriented dreams about those periods. Cleaning a common room, like the shower, was one such dream.

The question, why do I continue to dream about cleaning in the military, led me to dreamforth. Is it correct? I don’t know. I was surprised to awaken in a surly, low-energy, blackheart mood. Considering that cleaning in dreams might be a way of trying to tell myself that I needed to seek new balance or improve was my dream entity’s way of trying to help me cope.

 

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The Strike

Wild as tornadoes,

flashy as lightning,

wondrous as magic and technology,

the Moon and the Grand Canyon,

the Great Wall and Angel Falls,

majestic as rolling ocean swells,

enigmatic as love and death,

dreams strike,

jolting you into confusion and fear,

surprise and excitement,

and contemplation and searching.

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