Fascinating Dream: Aliens
It was a fascinating dream for me. When I awoke from it, I thought, I’d been watching a television show or movie. With a bit of surprise, I then realized I’d been in the dream, along with my wife and two children, which were my offspring. But I was both involved by watching as a minor character and sort of injected into some scenes.
My wife and children and I were tourists processing through some station. Aliens were there; sort of Klingon-like, in light grey blue uniforms with a jacket which has a deep red collar and a matching red shirt under it.
While traveling, all of us are stopped by these others who basically want to enslave us. It’s a troubling scene. I’m passive with my wife, not sure what will happen to us verses the others because we’re human and are supposed to have a different status. Nonetheless, we’re detained with the rest.
There’s then a scene where our captor and one of the captives go back and forth about what’s go be done in this cave where we’re being held. I realize that they’re having a disagreement over a matter of reference and perspective.
The captor keeps saying, ‘to your right’, and the other keeps saying, ‘that doesn’t make sense’. I then try to clarify that the captor is talking about the direction from the way he’s facing, while the captive is facing the opposite direction.
I end up getting up and pointing this out on a diagram they have posted on an easel.
We then ‘watch’ as captives are taken to another place to mine stuff. I don’t know what they’re mining. They make a show of it. I then suddenly realize that they’re secretly mining knowledge.
When the captive of before decides they’d learned enough, he reveals that he has a weapon. Shaped like an obelisk – really, just like a foot tall reproduction of the Washington monument, but shiny, silver-gold – the captive holds it up. Pressing a button, he sends a signal.
Suddenly, all these other dead, sleeping, and collapsed aliens awaken and rise. Each of them are equipped with a like obelisk. Using these, they overpower their captors.
As my wife and I watch, we realize that the revolution has begun.
Dream end.
The Little Competition Dream
It seemed as if I was in a quasi-military unit again. A new guy, young, I arrived as a strange ceremony was underway.
I took it in at a glance: large wooden but modern yurt. High wooden ceiling. People in uniforms – could be military, marching bands, firefighters – in groups, waiting.
Two senior people took me aside. The taller one said, “Your timing is perfect. We’re going to have you do the judging.”
I was like, the judging? I said nothing.
They led me to a round wooden table. On it was a brown wooden basket. “Basically,” it was explained, “you find their flare and trinkets and count them up.”
They were doing activity as this was being explained. I watched, following, gleaning the essence. This was a competition. The groups had stuff. I had to find it but judge it not on its merits but on its quantity. This would not be hard.
I counted some stuff. Marked it. Initialed the little slip of white paper it was on.
My instructors laughed. “Don’t bother initialing it. That’ll slow you down.”
I was affronted. I wanted accountability. Precision. But said nothing.
One of the groups’ leaders, tall guy with a rambling reddish-brown beard, was watching and spoke up. “He’s doing the judging? Look how slow he’s going. This is going to take forever.”
The tall leader responded, “He’s just starting. He’ll speed up.”
Indeed, I was speeding up, and learning the challenge’s intricacies. For example, in one green uniform, they had hundreds of small pockets. In each was a little gold trinket. Each had to be found and counted.
That’s how it was with all of these uniforms. The teams found things and hid them. Everything was small, and it was up to me to find and count it. Pretty nuts, I thought.
A woman in uniform, waiting to hand over her garments for my inspection and counting said, “This is pretty important to people.”
I nodded; I could tell.
She continued, “They put a lot of work and thought into it.”
“I can see that,” I replied.
The small things were adding up and time was going faster. I found new places to stack it all, keeping it neat and orderly.
Dream endThe Little Competition Dream
I was in a quasi-military unit again. A new guy, young, I arrived as a strange ceremony was underway.
I took it in at a glance: large wooden but modern yurt. High wooden ceiling. People in uniforms – could be military, marching bands, firefighters – in groups, waiting.
Two senior people took me aside. The taller one said, “Your timing is perfect. We’re going to have you do the judging.”
I was like, the judging? I said nothing.
They led me to a round wooden table. On it was a basket. “Basically,” it was explained, “you find their flare and trinkets and count them up.”
They were doing activity as this was being explained. I watched, following, gleaning the essence. This was a competition. The groups had stuff. I had to find it but judge it not on its merits but on its quantity. This would not be hard.
I counted some stuff. Marked it. Initialed the little slip of white paper it was on.
My instructors laughed. “Don’t bother initialing it. That’ll slow you down.”
I was affronted. I wanted accountability. Precision. But said nothing.
One of the groups’ leaders were watching and spoke up. “He’s doing the judging? Look how slow he’s going. This is going to take forever.”
The tall leader responded, “He’s just starting. He’ll speed up.”
Indeed, I was speeding up, and learning the challenge’s intricacies. For example, in one green uniform, they had hundreds of small pockets. In each was a little gold trinket. Each had to be found and counted.
That’s how it was with all of these uniforms. The teams found things and hid them. Everything was small, and it was up to me to find and count it. Pretty nuts, I thought.
A woman in dark green serge uniform, waiting to hand over her garments for my inspection and counting said, “This is pretty important to people.”
I nodded; I could tell.
She continued, “They put a lot of work and thought into it.”
“I can see that,” I replied.
The small things were adding up and time was going faster. I found new places to stack it all, keeping it neat and orderly.
Dream end
Sometimes, These Things
I was running for exercise. As I did, I became aware of my body’s sounds. A novel concept emerge.
I curtailed the run and went home. Sitting down, I typed up the first twenty pages, about 2500 words, then went for water and to clean up and change clothes. While I was doing those things, I realized a potential ending and saw more scenes.
I added the book to my To Be Written document.
Just the way it goes, sometimes, you know?
Watchin’, Waitin’, Etc.
I’m watching a 2019 television show called Years and Years. Terrific cast, led by Emma Thompson and Rory Kinnear. British, it’s set in Manchester, England. I’m watching it on Netflix.
They set us up in the first episode. Things are swinging to the right. Donald Trump, POTUS, is in a pissing contest with the Chinese. On Trump’s last day in office, he launches a nuke.
That sounds so Trumpian, it’s plain damn scary. I can see Trump doing that and then crowing about being strong and manly, a peace president who is only killing 40,000 to 45,000 to show the Chinese who is boss.
Right-wing ugliness, inflamed with financial instability, spreads around the world. Banks fail. Recession blooms like flowers in a warm wet spring. Along the way, a daughter decides to become trans. Not transexual or transgender, but transhuman. Another daughter is a spirited protestor who ends up with radiation sickness after filming the nuclear strike.
Refugees, torture, intolerance, hate, and spite are on display, along with differences of opinions, treachery, hope, and humanity. It’s a pretty amazing, compelling brew of life.
If it just wasn’t so damn prescience about what could happen with a madman like Trump holding the controls to a nuclear arsenal.
Friday’s Theme Music – Domination
Ashland, Oregon — Friday, March 27, 2026.
39 F and the heater is on. Blue skies and sunshine dominate, and we’re expected to reach the mid to upper 70s today.
Mom dominated thoughts and energy yesterday, and this morning, so far. My sisters began texting about three hours ago and are still going at it. There’s a lot of dark humor in today’s text, though. Mom once told one of her husbands that if they made a television show of our family, it would be “Combat!” A sister replied, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”. Yes, I answered, and there’s our issue: Mom sees one thing and we see another.
Gina took supplies to Mom this morning but didn’t talk with her. Gina reports that she thought she saw a staff member spotted her entering the building and hurried away.
I’m fuming over Trump news. First, he voted by mail in Florida’s elections, which is something he’s trying to do away with. It just leaves me incredulous. But when asked about it, he said, “I’m president.”
Bingo. That is his response to everything. He sees a different standard for himself, and by extension, his people. Voting by mail, okay for him — bad for everyone else.
He exercises an infuriating double standard. With the GOP’s help, and SCOTUS, he’s made a mockery of the office and what it’s supposed to be, a servant of the people. He clearly sees it the other way, as is evident by his behavior and policies.
Now he’s putting his signature on the money, adding to where his name shows up in the nation. It’s all about him.
We see it, too, in the war with Iran. “They gave me a very nice gift”. The gift was letting supposedly Iran letting tankers through the Strait of Hormuz.
Not a gift to him, except in his ego-crazed mind.
And he’ll end the war “when he feels it in his bones”. Not about the war and its objectives, the nation, or even Iran; it’s about him.
Oddly, The Neurons provided me with a song that goes in a different direction in the morning mental music stream. Although I recall several dreams — one involving collecting diamonds and another about traveling and eating pie — I have George Harrison singing “What Is Life”. My subconscious might be feeding off those opening lines, “What I feel, I can’t say.”
I can’t say. *smile*
May your day progress with peace, grace, and happiness. See you at the protests tomorrow, Saturday, March 28, 2026.
Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 