Tag: friend

The Friend Dream

I dreamed I was working for a friend. He was unreasonable and kept getting shunned by co-workers. Then he’d be fired and get hired elsewhere.

This happened multiple times. I’d always end up working for him again. We’d always be working in a clean, modern office environment, much like the ones I worked in in Atlanta and Foster City. Realizing what was happening to him, I started avoiding him. This often entailed me going around the hallways to avoid him, but the hallways formed a square, so he could turn around and confront me. Further, a co-worker who also worked for him informed on me.

At last, though, seeing that the inevitable was happening again and deciding that I wanted to break the cycle, I stole into the office, grabbed my gear, and ran out. Hearing him calling me in another hallway, I changed direction and quickened my pass. The co-worker spotted me and called to my friend. I found a stairwell and hustled into it.

Although I was now in the stairwell, I witnessed the co-worker tell my friend what I’d done, and then heard my friend tell her, “If that’s how he wants to play it, I’ll just cut him off.” I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but deciding that I needed to get away, I raced down the the steps and  out the building. As I left the building, I heard him shouting from the door. Looking back, I saw him waving at me.

The dream ended.

The thing is, I worked for this guy several times. We’d worked together in one place and then sought me out and lured me to another place. I enjoyed working for him. He was intelligent, insightful, patient, and good-natured, with good communication skills.

The dream is something to ponder as I go about things today.

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The Good-bye Dream

I’d been thinking about J on and off during the past week, a typical melange of, “How long has it been?” blended with “I wonder what he’s up to?”

Easy math answered how long, coughing up thirty-four years. I choked on a “wow” response as tangent thoughts about his children’s ages and lives bounced through. Thirty-four years since I’d heard or seen him, thirty-four years since I’d heard anything about him.

These thoughts boiled into my dreams, bringing a visit from him in a dream last night.

I was in a steel, glass, and concrete complex. Dust motes surfed wind currents as people walked along the corridor. Hot, I squinted against sunshine through the windows. I thought, it’s winter outside, but it’s so hot an stuffy in here. Then I paused, looking ahead at an intersection.

His back was to me but I knew it was him. “J,” I said, increasing my stride. As he turned, I caught up, but we didn’t close the distance.

Always a smiling person, even when pissed off, he was smiling and much, much younger in my dream than when I knew him. “Where you been?” I said.

With the smile hanging on his face, he said, “It’s okay, I’ve moved on.” Giving me a wave and a shit-eating grin, he walked on down the corridor, leaving me behind.

Awakening, I wondered what that was all about, and whether this was a signal that he’d died. I searched for him through social media this morning, but he has a common name. Not the first time I’ve search for him, but it was the same results.

Not surprising. He didn’t trust computers as they were emerging. He didn’t really trust society and the government. Buying and stashing gold and silver coins in a safety deposit box, he planned to buy a large plot of land after he retired.

We’d always had good times together, and we’d work well as a team. A few years older than me, a survivor of the Vietnam war (although served in Thailand), I wish him well, whatever he’s doing, and wherever he is.

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Our Twinkling Star

We’ve lost our twinkling star. It came (at last, we thought with some relief even as we mourned, because the last few years were so difficult for her and her family), but it came at last, a few weeks short of her hundred and first birthday.

We think and talk about the amazing person we knew, and all the things she did in the thirteen years that we’ve known her. She’d wanted to be a comedian when she was in her teens — that would have been around 1935 — and loved hamming it up for us, and we loved her for that humor.

She also loved ice cream, and family. If you wanted to fire up that twinkle in her eyes, just ask her if she’d like to have some ice cream.

She marched in parades for social justice and equality. She put her name on petitions for change. We thought about all the change and upheaval she saw in her hundred years, the wars that she witnessed, and the others that she lost through death, and wondered if upheaval isn’t our natural state.

She was such a cool, friendly, and happy person, but this is life. You meet people, and eventually one of you goes away, leaving the other to remember and wonder.

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Dream Meanings

I don’t know what dreams mean but I visited with a dead friend last night.

Randy died this year in May, colon cancer, fifty-nine years old.

He was in the last part of my dream. In the first part, I was in a wilderness area not far from a two lane road. It was a pleasant day, sunshine and clouds mixing to keep it from being too warm or bright. Rugged topography dominated, with mountains in the background. This was difficult land, mostly granite, with a few stands of tall fir trees and meager dry, brown brush.

I was with other men. I think there were eight of us but I’m not certain. We were out ‘visiting with nature’, which is all I can guess from my memory of the dream. We’d deliberately separated, fanning out to do different things. I came across an older friend, Frank. He was part of the group. Frank is alive and I see him every other week or more.

A cougar was stalking Frank. He didn’t know. I saw it and warned him, and the cougar left without incident. Frank and I talked briefly in general terms. He drifted in one direction. I headed back toward the road, where a small pavilion on a stony hillock was erected.

An enormous brown bear appeared. Its size shocked me. As it ambled in my direction, cutting me off from the pavilion, I realized it was far bigger than the pavilion. Round and broad, the bear dwarfed some of the granite boulders strewn about.

I worried about him getting me so I was staying as still as I can, and moving carefully when needed so the bear couldn’t get too close, trying to keep the pavilion between us. When that failed, and the bear might come my way, I went invisible for a bit.

The bear entered the pavilion. He could barely fit and it was somewhat comical. Frank appeared then and I re-appeared to warn him about the bear. As we watched together, the bear left the pavilion and walked away, sniffing the air as he traversed the rocky landscape.

The others came and I told my story, trying to convey the bear’s incredible size. Then we were off, headed for home, separating at different points along the way. I was soon traveling with another group.

Here’s the weird part. They were traveling in a vehicle that wasn’t a vehicle. Five abreast, they were lying in something that conveyed them but had no color or form. It made no sound and was open to the world. It was like they were just lying in the road, five abreast, reclined at a steep angle, like in an airline seat, but they traveled on a unlined black asphalt road faded gray with age.

A guide was with them, talking about what was coming up. She stopped to introduce me to the group as I stood off to one side, calling me by my name, Michael, and mentioning I was one of their leaders. Then, proceeding to tell what was to happen next, she mentioned that they were coming up on Randy’s house on the right. Then she faltered, unsure what to say about Randy.

Realizing she was at a loss, I said, “Randy isn’t there any more. He’s a great guy, but he had to check out early.” After I spoke, the people drove on. I turned, and there was Randy. I put my arm around his shoulder and told him I was sorry what had happened to him. He, in his typical manner, told me not to worry, it’s not bad, that he was alright.

We separated, with him walking away in a green shirt and blue jeans, just like we’d run into each other while shopping. I continued on.

Reaching the end without incident by following the road and then cutting across a field, I came to a large, well-lit white warehouse. I knew this was where I was heading. The doors were open. People were busy inside. Dusk was gathering. I was just beginning to enter when I awoke.

I’ve been researching dreams for a novel in progress and discover that progress about them has been made but we understand little. While Freud and Jung had their ideas, others later bashed those ideas. Studies estimate that 70% of people dream, and the average person has five to seven dreams per night. Dreams seem to take place during R.E.M. sleep. Dreams last longer when they happen later in the sleep cycle, which is usually later at night. It was once theorized that dreams originate in the brain stem and was related to more primitive processing, but a neurologist discovered that people with brain stem injuries continue dreaming while those with parietal lobe damage (in the forebrain) did not dream. We don’t know why we dream or what they mean.

Studies continue.

 

 

 

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Dream Conflicts

They came while I slumbered, stealing into or from my mind, leftovers, prophecies, or beginnings, mysteries to study with eyes open. We call them dreams, and despite centuries of co-existing with them, we’re not sure what they’re about.

I attach significant interpersonal meaning to my dreams. They tend toward the authentic, but with elements of illusions. For example, scenes switch instantaneously, dissolving without even the notice of doors opening or closing.

First up was a snowy town outside. There I am, out there, but this POV is first person. I’m experiencing it and can’t see myself. It’s night, the snow is falling and has collected. Ruts on the streets mark how long its fallen and its resilience. Vehicles can’t pass and they’ve abandoned the efforts. Illuminated by yellow streetlights, a steady wind blowing, people go where vehicles can’t.

There is a cry, followed by a call, “Cougars.” Excitement rising in their voices, children call out to their parents that there are two cougar kittens running through the snow. I see the animals, tawny silhouettes  dashing through the grayish yellowed snowscape. They’re not small but they are juveniles. Others want to chase them. I protect them. Unleashing a snarl, the cougars race off and disappear around a snow rutted corner and up a hill.

I’m in a home with a friend. I know she’s a friend but she’s not anyone I know. She and I are waiting. We talk quietly. Coping with others’ illnessess, we’re sharing a spartan home while we visit them in the hospital. I don’t know who either of us visit nor what’s wrong with the others.

Awakening (in the dream), I walk through the house. I find my friend in one shadowy room, a chair with a blanket, a radio beside it, and a board game in a cone of light. The game is Monopoly. I’m quizzical. “I was playing,” she explains. “By yourself?” I ask. “Yes,” she answers, “I won two million dollars. I won it all.”

Going into another room, I sit on an old sofa and pull a blanket around me. Sitting on a small chair opposite, she motions toward me. I lean in. We tentatively kiss, and then kiss longer, but gently, and reach out to stroke each other.

An interruption breaks up the scene. I’m still with her but in another place. Daylight enfolds me. I’m a little confused. My house has disappeared, leaving only my bedroom items surrounded by a white picket fence and sitting on a large green lawn. Someone has stolen my house. It was children and young adults. Now they’re sneaking around, stealing other items, like my computer, and my bed and clothing. I’m angry but no one is around. I try learning who took my stuff, where it’s at, or the thieves’ locations, and how I can get my stuff returned. I complain to my friend but she’s distracted. Her patient has died. I’m sorry for her but then she is gone and I’m left to pursue collecting my stolen goods.

I’m in a small, older house with two stories where I believe the children have taken my goods. Young adults are present. They taunt me. I break up a chair and use one leg to threaten them. Some scatter but one smiles, bemused, arms crossed, dismissing me with insouciance that infuriates me. I poke at his chest and shoulder with the chair leg, issuing demands for my stuff, until he becomes uncomfortable. Swatting at the leg, he tries moving away but I keep him cornered.

Another young man watches and laughs. I turn to him, asking him what’s funny. We’re in a dining room. There is a table. He begins to dissemble. I threaten him more, then I begin hitting him with the stick, seeking an intelligent response, and I awaken.

 

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