A Flood Dream

A short dream, but with impact. Boxes of food were being handed out. Large boxes but not of a uniform size. Mostly brown. Although the boxes didn’t have lids, I don’t know what food was inside them.

Like others, I hurried to get a box of food. That required me to go onto a cement portico surrounded by shadowy white colonnades. The boxes were happily given out and equally happily received. After getting one box, it was suggested that I go back and try to get another one. When I went back, the person giving them out recognized me. He said, “I wouldn’t be going for these boxes, I’d be going for something to survive the flood.”

I didn’t know what flood he talked about. I accepted the box and returned to the others, puzzling over what he’d said. I told them. We debated what he meant, and how the boxes might be different, if they’re for a flood. I decided that I’d get boxes to survive a flood, just be on the safe side and went back to the issuing area. Dark brown flood waters were already to my knees at that point. No more boxes were being handed out. The people giving them out were gone.

More Stormy Dreams

A series of powerful, uplifting dreams rolled through me last night.

Each one presented an unusual or alarming situation, and all had to do with weather phenomena. I often dream about weather. It’s like a standard element in my dreams. I suspect that’s true for many people.

In the first dream, I was striving to go up a sparsely vegetated steep mountainside. I felt it imperative that I reach the top. Strong winds were slamming me back. Not only did it seem like the winds were slowing me down, but seeing a precipice not far away, I thought, “I’m going to blow off this mountain.” Trying to hang onto something, anything, damn it, everything kept falling away. First a walking stick snapped in half. Shoved back past trees, I lunged for branches. I missed at first, then caught some, which promptly broke. Though I windmilled my arms to grab another branch, the wind took me from the trees.

Dropping to the ground — whether I fell or did this deliberately wasn’t clear — I saw a handle in the earth. Seizing it, I thought, why is there a handle here, and then gathered, its a tree root.

All this is in sharp relief because, bang, I awoke to the sound of the wind beating our bedroom blinds. Which, I thought, with a chortle, closing the window, was probably what prompted that dream. It’s also somewhat of a recurring dream, this against the wind on a mountainside motif.

Back asleep in seconds (so it felt), I found myself alone in a pouring rain. Was it day or night? So deep and thick was the rain, I couldn’t tell. The crashing precipitation veiled the world in heavy gray wool but also battered my face as I tried to see, forcing me to protect it with my hands. Yet, I also needed my hands to hold on.

With that realization, I saw that I was ankle deep in cold water. I needed to get somewhere higher, but looked for escape and couldn’t see any. I thought I saw something yellow but it came and went too fast for me to confirm it. Deciding there must’ve been something, I forced myself that way.

The water was over my knees and its current was increasing. Fighting the current was sapping my strength. I couldn’t see and needed my hands to hold onto something that I’d found — couldn’t tell what, and it was wet and slippery — but then let go to try to wipe rain off my face.

I fell backwards into the water. The current immediately victimized me. My head went under. I gulped water and struggled for air while fighting to stop myself and get the fuck up as the water carried me along like a leaf.

My back came up against something hard in the flood waters. I didn’t know or care what it was but used it to leverage myself up. Right then, I turned my head to get my face out of the rain, and saw a yellow light. Rectangular, it was a door or window, and very clear and yellow against the gloom. I headed for it…

And was again awakened. I don’t know what woke me — cat, wind, my mending arm in pain from being in a contorted position, or general discomfort. The dream haunted me while my mind chased connections between the first dream and the second. Similarities were easily seen. I meditated on them as a cat found me, purring in the dark as I drifted off again.

I wasn’t alone in this dream, but with friends and family. Clear and balmy, the weather didn’t seem to be a factor. I’m not sure if we were on a picnic or at a celebration or what the deal was. Everyone was chatting and laughing, and a gay mood generally prevailed. Food on platters and in bowls crowded tables.

Yet, I found myself growing wary, and while that happened, I distanced myself from the rest in search of what was disturbing me. I hunted clues for it like one of those games presented in a ‘spot the difference’ diversion in a newspaper or magazine. I felt suspicious, like I was leery of something sneaking up on me, which seemed unreasonable. The weather seemed clear and everyone seemed happy. Why shouldn’t I be relaxed and happy?

I awoke and guessed the time: yep, seven twenty-five. My cats have trained my bladder to awaken and pee then. They (the cats, not the bladder) clamored for food and attention but I wasn’t yielding to their demands. I didn’t feel rested; I wanted more sleep. Yet, oddly, reflecting on these three dreams as I lay in bed, I felt fortified, like I’d endured something and came out stronger. And my mood, when I finally acquiesced to the inevitable and got out of bed twenty minutes later, seemed upbeat.

All these dreams are part of my regular dreamscape, presenting some variation of theme. This time, I thought they were like a weather storm system, moving through and clearing my subconscious as fronts will do in a region. It feels like that, because the day seems hopeful with promise.

Or just maybe, that’s the coffee.

A Sprawling Flood Dream

At the start, my wife and I are vacationing on the coast. She and I become separated (as often happens in my dreams that feature her, an intriguing trend).

While we’re apart, I get lost on some mountain. Eventually, I find a path and decide that it might take me to where I want to go. Impatient to have it resolved, I begin running along the path.

The path goes up and down mountains. Although it’s strenuous, I run it with little effort, and can see myself, in short blue gym shorts, young, muscles pumping.

I come to a place and slow. The path is cutting through this place. I can guess from what I see that it’s a vineyard. Encountering a young boy and a woman, I ask for directions. They assure me that I’m on the right path for where I want to go. I worry, though, am I trespassing. It’s fine, they assure me.

Off I go.

Now I’m back at the hotel with my wife. We’re in the dining room. The hotel is an older place, a motel affair from the vintage sixties of U.S. road travel. Not completely run down, but far south of its splendor years.

A large package has just arrived for my wife. She’s excited. Before she can open, though, I look up. Outside, through the open door, I can see roiling white waters rushing towards us.

“Flood,” I shout, pointing. Repeating all that, I grab my wife. As she sees what I’m pointing out, she takes up the warning, and then the woman behind the counter does the same.

My wife and I rush into our room. We leave the door open. I open the window, with the reasoning, if the water enters and gets high enough, it’ll go out the window, and we’ll be safe. We get on the bed to watch and wait. The cats, I remember. I hope they’ll be okay. I don’t know where they’re at.

The water comes into the room. The room quickly fills. Soon the water is going out the window, but more water is coming in. The mattress is floating. Then, I float out the window with my wife’s large package. I’m trying to save it, but I’m taken out to sea.

It’s not the sea, I realize. It’s a river, and I’m rushing toward waterfalls. Knowing that, I frantically swim against the current. I can’t do it while holding onto my wife’s package, so I let it go. Unburdened by it, I swim toward some fallen trees. Grabbing branches, I pull myself to the shore and out of the water, saving myself.

But I’m miles downstream, I realize. I need to get back to the hotel once again. Fortunately, I recognize the winery.

I go there. One, there’s no flooding there. Their weather is delightful. Two, they don’t remember me at first. It takes some prompting. I take some time to admire the vineyard and learn about the property’s history. It reminds me of Italy.

I run back to the hotel. The water has receded. Clean up is underway. I talk to my wife about the vineyard, telling her that I admire the people’s foresight in buying the property. She’s snide about it. I try explaining again.

Then I remember the cats. I’m worried about them. Could they survive this disaster?

I find one of the cats, a ginger and white, right away. He looks dead but when I say his name, he responds and comes to me. He seems fine. I put him in a laundry basket for protection and resume my search.

The search is interrupted. We’ve left the hotel and checked out, but we didn’t turn in the key. My wife has it, but gives it to me. It’s a standard key on a large, plastic diamond. I’m supposed to be going somewhere, so I promise to turn in the key.

Then I remember, the cats. I was looking for them. Of I go to find the cats. I find a cache of cats that include kittens. They all dry, but they all seem dead. I’m horrified, but remembering my earlier experience, I speak to them, reassuring them that the storm is over. They all open their eyes and start leaping out, safe.

But where are my cats? I find the third. He’s okay. Where are the other two? After searching, I remember that I found them and put them in laundry baskets.

I hurry to that location. There they are, safe in their baskets, waiting for me. I set them free.

Now I’m in my car, a small sports convertible (another trend to my dreams). I drive to the hotel to turn in the key. I’m blocking operations of some sort that I can’t understand. The road here is a muddy set of two tire tricks along a grassy path. I drive forward and stop. A young Clint Eastwood is part proprietor. He’s working on something, insists I’m in his way, and urges me to go on. I show him the key and explain why I’m here. Mollified, he accepts the key. We wave good-byes, and I drive off.

I go down the road a bit. I need to leave my car to get to where I’m going. I enter a large, well-appointed dining room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Crystal, china, and silverware sparkle on white table clothes.

There are few people there. Two are Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. Talking with them, I explain where I’m trying to go. Adam tells me that I’m on the right path. Drew agrees, telling me to listen to Adam because he’s followed that path and knows what needs to be done.

I go deeper into the building. I’m carrying a package. I’m at the the top of a steep, narrow stairwell. I’m supposed to go down here. The package is too big for those steps. I need to leave it.

I hear a young boy. He’s with his family and he’s throwing a tantrum. He and I look across the space. I tell him, “Shh, it’s okay.” He stops crying and goes on.

I begin to descend the steps. Something makes me turn around. I see the boy. Although it’s as large as him, he’s about to steal my package.

I threaten him, warning him that if it’s gone when I come back, I’m coming after him. He starts crying. I hug him and tell him that it’s okay. He stops crying.

The dream ends.

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