Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
My dream seasons amuse me. There was a period of episodic adventure dreams that didn’t seem to have me as a character. There are dystopian dreams where I’m part of a cadre of survivors. Military dreams are common in which I arrive at a new assignment and something goes wrong. Then there’s the running dream.
The running dream was had again last night. In them, as in others, I’m running. Yes, that is why it’s called a running dream. This running was being done on a timed closed course full of hills and curves, really like a sports-car or Formula 1 circuit. No purpose was given. All I know is that I arrived to run. My sisters are present to cheer me on. Stripping down to the basics of shoes, trunks, and shirt, I take off on a timed practice run.
I finish and my time is announced. People are astonished by my speed.
But I’m not pleased. I think, I can do better. So I set out again, again, and again. My time improves every time. I’m getting faster and faster. Moreover, I’m noting where I’m slow. Certain curves and hills slow me down. I systematically develop ways to overcome those issues.
Fans are now lining the start/finish line and most of the track. They cheer me on, along with my sisters. My sisters also brag about me. I hear them telling others, “I knew he’d be fast.” Other contestants are dropping out because they don’t think they can beat me. I’m try to encourage them to remain in the race, telling them, it’ll be a good learning experience, and I might not win. They might find more speed in themselves; I might hurt myself. I could fall and fail to finish the race.
But on race day, I’m alone as the sole competitor.
Dream end.
I was set up to run. I learned that there were four courses.
All were unfamiliar to me. A young man, this was a competition. Someone else signed me up for it. Their faith in me — and I don’t know who signed me up — flattered me. I vowed to do the I could.
The four courses were laid out over the course of several green hills. They were long distances but we were expected to sprint over them if we wanted to win. As I chugged over them, I discovered various degrees of muddiness despite a wealth of sunshine. Other competitors were encountered but all of us were focused on learning the courses and practicing our runs. Dressed in dark shorts and a white tank top, I did this for three or four days in a row. Then, while running on another day, I discovered crowds gathering to watch. As I ran by them, I heard some exclaiming to others, “He’s running the race.”
From other comments, I learned that everyone else had quit or had been eliminated. This fueled me to go faster and try harder. But I also learned that many people thought the competition were over. They were crossing the courses, forcing me to go through crowds. Seeing me still running, though, some of the people acted like officials and cleared a path for me. Some now began applauding and cheering. Others said, “He’s going to set a new world record.”
I awoke as I began the final course. I felt strong, exhilerated.
Cool dream.
A day when the writing and editing ‘goes well’ leaves me energized and optimistic. Wish I could bottle it as an elixir and drink a bit every morning.
Here we go. I dreamed about a Porsche last night. It didn’t belong to me, and it was two pieces.
Let’s step back to what I start remembering of the dream.
I was attending some function being held outside. Pleasant late summer weather ruled. A picnic atmosphere prevailed. I have no idea what triggered the gathering, nor my role. Although I never ‘saw’ other people in the dream for a while, sounds informed me they were present.
The first startling thing was the Porsche.
I came across the rear first. Mounted on a piece of asphalt roadway, the car’s rear was planted in a position that lead me to think that the car was plowing into the ground.
Then, almost immediately, I saw the front end. Facing in the same direction, mounting on a piece of road, it seemed to be emerging from the earth about forty yards away. An older vintage spyder with the top down, it seemed to be a model 365, a car which I like, gray or silver in color.
Oh, what they do for art, I thought. I wondered if it was original, and if it had an engine, and the crazy artist’s identity.
Announcements began from a person holding a megaphone. They were gauzy with distance. I didn’t recognize anything about them.
I discovered that the car belonged to a ‘director’. Little details emerged except the director was a a tall, slender woman with a short blonde bob in a red dress, no one I knew.
The director wanted somebody to drive the car, giving others rides in it for a fee which would be donated to charity. Were there any volunteers?
Silence answered. I spoke up, clarifying what was being asked. I pondered, was there another Porsche involved? Then I discovered the intact car in front of me.
Naturally, I was surprised. I looked at the artwork installation. The road pieces remained but the car pieces were gone. Miraculously to me, they were a solid car. I tried to understand how that happened.
“I’ll drive it,” I volunteered. The chance to drive a vintage Porsche thrilled me. This was going to be fun.
Keys were given to me, and instructions about my agenda. First I was to drive the car to another location.
The director made another announcement; “My car is dirty. I need a volunteer to wash my car.”
Again, nobody spoke so I said that I would do it. That pleased me. Weird as it may sound, I enjoy washing, cleaning, and polishing cars.
In a dream jump, that was done. I was driving the little spyder, top down, on a two lane road. The car, which is a two-seater sports vehicle, now had a big seat, and I had four or five passengers. I could glimpse in the car’s rearview mirror, and heard them chattering, and laughing, enjoying the ride.
I pressed the brake pedal to slow us as we came up on traffic. The car slowed some but we ended up bumping into the car in front of us. It wasn’t a hard impact. I was embarrassed and surprised, and hoped I’d not caused any damage.
The other driver, a bland guy, and I met at the bumpers. He looked at it and shrugged, waving it off. I didn’t see any damage to the Porsche, so I climbed back in and set off.
Though I planned and adjusted for the car’s weak brakes, I almost rear-ended another. This really dismayed me.
“Just as I thought,” I told my wife. “This car has next to no brakes. That’s why it took so long to stop. I’ll need to be careful.”
On those words, the dream ended. I came away thinking that I can step up but exercise some caution. I took that from volunteering when others wouldn’t. However, the brakes weren’t working as expected, hence the idea that caution is needed.
Conversely, my neurons were just having fun with me.
The choices seem equally plausible.
Michael Seidel, writer 