Four Dream Snippets

I recall four brief dream snippets from last night/this morning. In the first I was taking broken material and setting the edges together. After I did that, I’d fuse them into one piece. The materials were mostly like thick, green safety glass. After sealing them, I’d shape them. This was all being done with a little effort by using my hands. Strangers began coming by with more of the glass for me to use, but would also sometimes bring other materials that I’d blend into it. I passed out the fixed sections so people could take them to protect themselves.

The next dream segment found me wandering around this place as the sun set and dusk crept over the land. It was an outside venue. Other people were sitting and talking in small quiet groups. As I went around, I discovered a small stash of cut watermelon pieces. I took some for me and my friends, then went back and told my friends about the stash. I went back several times. The second time I returned, I used a different angle so I could see more of the stash, and discovered it was larger than I realized. The third time, I saw that the watermelon was different. Others were using it too, I deduced, but there was still a great deal of watermelon. As I investigated it I found a glass, which turned out to be a champagne flute filled with champagne. I then found a second one. I thought, well, if there’s flutes of champagne, they must be storing them temporarily, but it was odd, storing champagne like that. Removing them and setting them aside, I saw grapes and cheese. I put all of that back and left in, worried about being caught.

The whole episode caused me to think about where else things might be. I looked in another place and found a stash of candy bars. I didn’t see a name on them because they were face down, but they were large, in dark brown wrappers aligned in a row and stacked deep.

Next, I was signing my name to documents while seated at a desk. I was doing this in response to some vague demand; the papers were expected to be signed. A man came along and leaned over my shoulder and watched me sign.

“Just as I thought,” he said.

“What?” I replied.

“There’s power in your stars.”

That amused me. “What stars?”

“The stars in your name.”

“My name doesn’t have any stars.” As I said this, I signed my name again. My signature and name were just as I did in real life, and the ink was the thick black that I prefer.

He said, “The stars between your names. There’s a lot of space in those stars. You can do a lot more with them.”

I responded that I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He pointed to where I was signing. “You’re signing your name twice.” True. “In between them is a star.” Also true, which I hadn’t noticed. “Those stars have huge capacities. You should be using them”

The final snippet found me discovering a small cardboard box. I opened it. A kitten was inside. It meowed at me, so I picked it up. I immediately knew that there was another box with another kitten. After getting the second kitten, I took the two of them and put them someplace safe. I watched until they started playing. Then they saw food and began eating. I closed where they were, knowing they would be alright.

854 Cars Dream

One of the weirder dreams experienced last week stayed with me. This was from last Wednesday.

I’d entered a large building on some business. I was in a hurry and a little annoyed when someone hailed me. The young man in a suit confirmed my identity, increasing my annoyance, and then said, “I wanted to ensure that you knew your cars were here.”

People hurried around us. “What cars?” I asked. Given with great impatience, I waited for the answer so that I could explain that I’d flown in. It also seemed odd that he said ‘cars’ instead of ‘car’. On the other hand, maybe someone had provided me a rental.

“Your cars,” the young man replied, as if that explained anything.

I told him that explained nothing.

He looked at me like trees were growing out the sides of my head. “Your cars,” he responded and then spit out with haste, “Your cars were shipped here.” He spoke like he didn’t believe that I didn’t know this. “You have eight hundred and fifty-four cars.”

I repeated that number back to him. It was a ridiculous number. When he confirmed it, my mind looked for explanations and figured, oh, he means model cars or Matchbox cars or toy cars, something like that. Smiling, I asked, “Where are they?” I’d see them and then I would pursue understanding of how I’d come to have eight hundred and fifty-four cars. Someone was behind this, doing it as a joke. “Can you take me to them?”

Joy lit the young man’s expression. “Yes, sir, right this way, sir.”

We were in one of those convention centers attached to hotels, or the other way around, and had to cross a wide space. We entered a garage filled with cars and stopped. I waited.

“There are your cars,” the young guy said.



I knew the guy meant all those cars in that garage. My vision roamed. Chevies. Ferraris. Fords. Mazdas. Mercedes. Jaguars. Porsches. A Jeep.

The guy asked, “Is everything alright, sir?”

I explained that I was surprised. I didn’t think these cars were mine. I thought there was a mistake. The other kept insisting, these are your cars, you are the right person and explained that they’d gone through great lengths to verify who I was. “Who did that? Who is they?” I naturally asked. No coherent answer was given.

The young man and I walked among the rows of cars. I verified, eight hundred and fifty-four. He confirmed that and then went on, cataloging the cars’ abilities, amusing me. He said, “You have fast cars and very fast cars, new cars, and old cars.” He was pointing at cars as he spoke and I was turning, gawking at the collection, stunned beyond further thought. Many famous and rare models were present. I eyed pretty green Mustangs that I was sure were in movies, silver Ferraris, and red Ferraris, blue Porsches, and a yellow Jeep. A low and wide Lamborghini and a stately, dark Rolls Royce. Old cars, new cars. All were in great shape.

The dream ended with me standing in the garage wondering, where did I get all of these cars and what was I going to do with them?

Reading this after capturing it all doesn’t give insight into how rapidly this unfolded. The dream was a torrent. I guess that’s the mind, rationalizing explanations of the scenes and images, trying to develop something cogent, and failing. Cheers

A Long Melancholy Dream

AKA, the Four Cars Dream

It could have been known as the Big House Dream, as well. Although I was about forty years old at the dream’s beginning, I was twenty at the end.

It began with a search for car keys.

I was looking for the keys for a car I owned when I was twenty, a signal orange Porsche 914. The drawer where I kept the keys was shallow and white. Another set of keys, for my RX-7, was in there, but where were the Porsche keys?

I began going through the house looking. The house was huge, rambling, and one story, with many low stone arches. Every room was empty except for that first one, which had a desk. This was my house; I’d newly acquired it.

Unable to find the keys, I ambled around the house until I stopped in one long and wide, all-white room. One piece of white furniture, a sort of stand turned upside down, was in it. Finding a can of black paint, I painted the stand. Finding other cans, I spray-painted the walls purple. As I finished up, a large, rotund, bald man with huge, muscular arms came in.

“There you are,” he said. “I need you to come with me.” He looked around at the painted room. “Nice job.”

I knew he was my minder and followed him. I was thirty by now. My minder told me that there was someone to see me. My minder showed me to the door.

Walking up a residential street, I encountered my old friend, Jeff. I haven’t seen or heard from him in RL in almost forty years. Jeff told me he had exciting news. He’d inherited a classic Porsche 911 from a friend. The guy had completely rebuilt it, and the car was pristine. Truly impressed, I congratulated Jeff. Jeff then said that he had a car for me and gave me the keys to a BMW. He said that he didn’t need it and he wanted me to have it.

I was flattered. I tried to turn it down. Jeff insisted. I accepted the keys to the car. The car wasn’t around. Jeff was going to have it shipped to me.

We parted. He went back up a hill, and I returned to my house.

I was now in my mid-twenties, wearing a brown leather jacket which I remember owning from RL. My minder was there, along with a girl who I knew to be sixteen. Her dark brown hair, like the color of oak, was long and shiny, framing a petite oval face. She smiled often, shyly. She wore jeans and a white button-down men’s shirt. She never said her name that I heard.

The minder left us. We chatted, with her peppering me with questions. Hearing a noise, I went out through one of the larger stone arches. It was late dusk, and the light was low. This arch opened to a path that entered the woods. I thought I heard and saw people down the path. It was my property, so I was concerned about what they were doing. As I walked, I picked up several flat stones to throw, if needed, as protection.

The girl had stayed back. After I returned, she questioned me about what was going on. I told her about the people and stood ready with the rocks. Young people came down the path, but they turned away from my house and property and kept going. Not needing my rocks, I set them down. With the BMW keys in hand from Jeff, I returned to the search for my Porsche car keys. This time I found them in the drawer where I’d first search. There was nothing else in the drawer. I thought that they must not have been there before, and someone must have placed them there after I’d searched.

I was now twenty. The minder returned. He said that Jeff wanted to see me. I went to the front door. Appearing very old, sad, and tired, Jeff told me that he’d decided to give me the Porsche which he inherited. I tried talking him out of it. He told me that he drove the car and saw himself in it, and that he looked ridiculous. The car didn’t fit him, but he believed it would suit me. Handing me the keys, he left.

I went outside of my house and sat against one of its stone walls. The girl came out and asked what was wrong. I told her that I was thinking about my friends and how I missed them. She noticed the keys and inquired after them. I told them that they were to four cars which I owned, and then described them. I could see each one. My Porsche was an orange 1974 model; the BMW was also a 1974 model. The green 911 Jeff gave me was a 1971 model year, and the blue Mazda was a 1981, which I had bought. She was most impressed when I mentioned the BMW, calling it a Bimmer. She said she really liked them. I answered, “No, you don’t understand, this is a vintage car from the 1970s, a white 2002. You’ve probably never seen one. They stopped making them before you were born.” I remembered then that I’d owned a BMW 2002 in RL and became confused: was I dreaming or remembering?

More dream followed about taking a trip with other people, but this is where I’ll stop.

A Chaotic Dream

It began with me as a young man. I came into a situation where the atmosphere buzzed with chaos. We were outside. People were everywhere. It seemed like they were all carrying something and were on the run. I looked for signs about where to go: none. I tried talking to people, but all were rushing around like a children on a playground sugar high.

After some bit of this, I managed to see a door and went through it. In there was the information I sought about my role. I was given a tall stack of thick folders. Most were manila folders, but some were red, green, and blue. I started shuffling through them, flipping through pages, assimilating information.

I was to be given a presentation to prepare so that a decision could be made about something, but there was confusion about who was receiving the information and what outcome was desired. I was smiling as I went through the info. I was familiar with all of it. Within a short time, I’d tossed all the folders except two aside. One was a plain manila folder; the other was red with a red and white cover on it, with large block letters in red: 5774.

The 5774 information wasn’t needed for the moment, I decided. That would be used later. First, clean up the presentation. Make it. Get the decision. Then, after that, do the 5774 stuff.

Okay. With that clarified for myself, I pursued that course. A decision was made.

Around me was instantly calmer and more relaxed. People quit rushing. They smiled at one another and started talking.

Okay, good. I went to a car for a rest. Others were heading to a large celebration. I planned to join them but first needed rest.

Others came by to follow up on the decision. I was groggy with sleep and tried explaining to them that the information they wanted was in the 5774 folder. Just find it, and the messages and information inside that, and they’d be fine.

They went off. A young woman in a green 1950s era Chevy pickup truck picked me up and took me to the celebration. The grounds were rutted with mud, but it was like a huge carnival. After I was given some food, I discovered that I was entered in a competition there. Contestants were taken to a center stage. Questions were put up on a screen for them to answer. They were given ten questions. Whoever was most correct most often won.

I watched the other contestants as they were asked questions and failed and was immediately eager for my turn. I knew I was going to ace this thing because the questions were all from the 5774 folder. I knew it intimately.

My turn finally came. Well, in theory. An equipment malfunction put a halt to the proceedings. The dream ended with me in the green pickup, grinning, eager for my turn, certain that I was going to win.

The Designing Dream

First, a woman and I each were given a task to design a swimming pool. This was done in a wide building with low lights. I couldn’t see anything except our work. We each built one but came up with the same L design in off-white. We built them quickly. Along the way, we had lessons in ensuring seams were smooth and tight. Then it came time to fill it. I rolled a suitcase up to one side, inside the pool, jockeying it around on its wheels until I thought it perfectly parked. I then opened the suitcase and began pulling out clothing. I examined each piece, ensuring it was neatly folded, then piled the clothes around me. The clothes piles multiplied like rabbits during breeding season.

That segment ended. I was told that I need to come up with a new ear canal. I quickly devised one, put it in someone’s ear, then walked into it. The ear canal was straight, round, and light blue, but tapered as it went in, ending in the ear drum. “Oh,” I said, inspecting it. “It shouldn’t go straight back to the ear drum like that. The ear drum is left too exposed. Curves are needed to protect it.” Developing curves, the ear canal grew light pink. I backed out of it until I was standing beside a man looking into his ear.

A new segment began. I was at my aunt’s house. She’d had a new place designed and built, she said, effusively greeting me amid charming smiles. Many cousins were present, not just from that aunt, but from all my uncles and aunts on Dad’s side. I was about twenty. They were all eager to impress me and show me around. The setting seemed luxurious. Arched stained-glass windows lined the walls, along with paintings in gold frames. Dark green houseplants were everywhere. Dark green carpeting, and overstuffed leather chairs and a sofa arranged polished, dark wood end tables and coffee tables completed the setting. I could see into other rooms as well, glimpsing a long, polished dining table, part of a modern kitchen, and the side of a billiard table through an open doorway.

A cousin said, “Let me show you around.” In RL, this is a man who was four years younger than me, who died years ago, passing away in his forties from a heart attack as a pizza was delivered to him. This aunt wasn’t his mother, either; her youngest sister was the deceased cousin’s mother.

I asked where a specific room is. He answered, “That’s downstairs.” Seeing a staircase that went down, I confidently headed for it.

He caught up with me and asked, “What are you doing?”

I said, “You said that it was downstairs.”

“You can’t get to it from those stairs. Follow me.” He turned and led me up a staircase to an open area above everything. Looking down, I saw people with drinks engaged in conversations and milling about the rooms. My cousin pointed to another flight of stairs going down. “That’s how you get down.”

I said with some wonder, “You need to go up to get down?” I thought that was a strange design.

My aunt appeared beside me and nodded with a smile. “You need to go up to get down.”

The dream ended.

The Tiny Horses Dream

We began with my wife and I in a car. I was driving. We were a young couple. Our car was a tiny but new silver import. As I went to turn right, I became aware of other cars racing up around me. Unable to see them, I just stopped the car as they went past, including a small, bright red car. Several turned right up the street that I was going to use. My wife and I talked and complained about the cars. I turned right and went up the hill into a modern housing plan. We immediately saw several wrecked cars, including the red car. As we commented that there was an accident, I realized that there were many more wrecked cars, and that there hadn’t been an accident; they had been attacked.

I stopped the car, but we stayed in it. I started to call the police on my cell phone but we heard sirens growing louder. Although we thought the police would want to question us, I was more worried about our safety and drove home.

We were in our house. It was a massive but beautiful, rambling place, with several levels. Airy, well-furnished, with many windows. Very clean.

One door led downstairs where we had several suites of rooms. These connected with other people’s places. We discovered a large, strange family had purchased one of the neighboring places. They were settling in. From their clothes and accents, it seemed like they were from a rural area and had just moved to the city. Talking to a female teenager, though, I learned that her mother just retired from the Navy and had moved there to take a new job.

Meanwhile, the new family was going into our rooms that were attached to their area. A few of them began moving some of their items in our rooms. I went upstairs and talked to my wife, confirming that those were our rooms. We then found a warning written in red marker on a brown paper bag on the floor: “I CAN FIND YOU.” The writing was terrible, but we were unnerved because it was in our house. I suspected that whoever did this came in through the downstairs part that connected to neighbors’ houses. I went down to try to make it secure so no one could get in that way. I realized that I couldn’t, and complained that this was one of the house’s shortcomings. I then told the new people that they couldn’t use those rooms because they were our rooms. They were confused and this entailed some extended conversations with different people, including the mother, before they understood. One aspect was emerged was the mother had pink skin and platinum blonde hair but two of her sons were very swarthy and hairy, and her daughters seemed Hispanic. There seemed to be about ten children running around. It was very confusing.

We got into our car to go somewhere. The car was a green golfcart. Rain started falling. I drove past railroad tracks. Glancing right, I thought I saw a tiny horse. I told my wife and then started trying to turn around to see it again. Reports came to us that a tiny horse had been spotted trapped on the railroad tracks. My wife urged me to go rescue it. Rain was pouring. Although I knew the tracks were no longer used, I agreed to rescue the horse, but thought I needed to get some tools first, so we went by our place.

When we arrived at the tracks, we discovered two tiny brown horses. Located on a sidetrack used for deliveries, these horses were smaller than cats. They weren’t trapped and didn’t need rescued. They were pretty lively, as evidenced by them starting to play with a white and calico cat that showed up.

The rain had ceased. We got out of our car to watch the two tiny horses as they played with the cat.

Dream end

SIDE NOTE: I’ve dreamed about this house, a sprawling place with a downstairs that connected to several other homes, multiple times before. It’s weirdly familiar.

The Talking Cat Dream

It is mostly such a mundane dream. My wife and I are outside our home. We’re youngish, roaming about in our middle years. This is not the house we live in, nor a place we’ve ever lived in, but easily recognized as a standard, pleasant American middle class dream place, part of a planned development, a few stories tall, with a yard and neighbors in like houses. Not quite homes cut from the same design, but homogenized with individual flares and nuances. Our home is stucco and off-white.

As I say, we were outside, in sunny weather, in the backyard. Our cats walk about, being cats. One began scratching his claws on a headboard. “No,” I chase him away, telling my wife, “Don’t let him scratch this.” I set about repairing it. Adding a strip of wire grid that will keep murder mittens from scarring the wood. I pursue this past time for a period. It’s more tedious than I expected.

Railroad tracks are laid not far from our backyard. I’m up in the house, on the second floor, looking down when a train comes by. It’s an old-fashioned steam locomotive. I can see into the neighbor’s backyard on the right. They have a little train, about knee high, just an engine and coal car, that goes out and greets the train when it passes. I see this several times in the dream and conclude that the neighbors have a motion sensor along the rails. Or maybe they’re just sitting inside, waiting for a train. I never see them, though I know the man is bald, in his late fifties/early sixties, white and wears glasses and flannel shirts.

I’m back in the backyard, working in the bed headboard. It’s an old piece but mass produced, one we purchased from J.C. Penney when we were young, with decoupage flowers.

The cat, a ginger, starts talking to me. His enunciation isn’t very good but it’s clear enough that I know that he’s talking about birds. I snort this away, amused. Cats and birds are like sun and sky. The cat insists, “You have to see these birds, Michael.”

I follow the cat just to appease him. We go down a sloping meadow to a small cottage surrounded by glossy dark green bushes. “There they are,” the cat tells me.

I hear the birds before I see them and know that they’re parrots. Five of them, green, red, blue, and yellow prominent among them, flock toward us, chatting at us while coming up to see what and who we are. I worry about the cat and birds fighting and hurting one another, so I’m wary and cautious. But the birds interest me. I tell the cat that they’re parrots. He’s intrigued. I tell the birds that the animal with me is a cat and that he and I live up the hill from them.

I then see a snake. Don’t know what kind it is. It moves fast and is gone. I worry again: will it bite or harm me, the cat, the birds? I tell the cat, “There’s a snake here, watch it.” He’s immediately interested in trying to find it.

I retreat back up to my house with him, away from the colorful, noisy parrots. Back in my yard, I tell my wife, “There are parrots down there. Come down and see them.”

That’s where it ends.

A Keys Dream

Randy, a friend who died years ago, showed up in my dreams again last night. A few years older than me, Randy died of colon cancer before his sixtieth birthday, after a twenty-year military career.

In last night’s dream, Randy and I were playing ‘Empire’. Empire was a computer game I played in Germany in 1989-1990. Randy had never played it so I was teaching him as we played. But we were playing the computer game while we stood in warm, salty ocean water. And though it was a computer game, the screen was on large sheets of scrolling white paper. I’d taught Randy the basics of exploring, conquering a place, and setting up production. Now I was teaching him strategy.

Meanwhile, someone tossed someone else a set of keys. The second person missed the keys. The keys fell into the ocean. I knew exactly where the keys had landed on the ocean floor but didn’t go after it. People with boats were arriving. The boats were oddly shaped, as if constructed from large Legos but missing pieces. The trucks bringing them in were in different color schemes, like red and black, and green and black, almost like auto racing teams, with numbers on the trucks and boats. Eyeing those as they passed, I tried placing where and how I knew the trucks.

Randy then interrupted to announce he was building submarines. We had a side conversation about that, with him explaining that he liked submarines and he didn’t care about strategy. Boat people arrived but worried whether their boats would float, alternating between confidence that they would and anxiety they wouldn’t.

Someone then mentioned the missing keys. I announced that I knew where they were and could get them.

Dream end.

A Messy Dream

I was at a party and having a good time. Two women were trying to seduce me. Both were my age, and brunettes. One was tall and in a red satin blouse while the shorter one wore a forest green shirt. I was an eager participant. But every time that I was alone with one, an interruption would stamp stop. Once, one of the women became sick and vomited. Hah!

Meanwile, I then went out and off to a place being rented by me and others. The others had children and the children were making a mess. We were due to check out in a few hours. Walking around, I was horrified to discover the children had put food everywhere and seemed to have damaged some furniture. I went back to inform their parents, but they were having a good time and ignored me. After failing to get anyone’s attention, I attempted to dismiss it. Going to a recliner, I settled back. Two of my cats showed me, one on either side, which made me happy. The third cat showed up, wandering around the chair, sniffing. One cat jumped down and started going after the other one. The two cats went running around. I called to them to stop, then went to find them when they disappeared.

Other cats appeared. Two were black and white like the cat of mine who chased the other. Each was walking upright on their rear legs. One had a mop of pink hair on its head. The other had yellow hair. I thought each was my cat, Tucker, but realized it wasn’t. Then Tucker came out, walking upright like them, with a mop of light blue hair crowning his head. I tried telling other people to look at these cats but no one did.

A child had locked something up. A really tiny key was needed. I had one but it broke so I went to a counter where a man offered me a similar key. To get it, though, I needed to subscribe to getting a key a month. I didn’t need a key a month so I wasn’t willing to sign up. Looking for something to work as a key, I found some small toy and broke a piece off. That worked.

A Ragtag Dream

I was staying in a disheveled sort of place, a ramshackle series of hotels connected to a large, decrepit aircraft hangar. The hangar was white; the hotels were pale green and light pink. A number of friends and my wife were there. We seemed like refugees trying to pull it together and move on.

Activities were taking place in all of the hangar. One person with us was S, a short, energetic woman who’d been an office manager where I’d worked. S and I met up by an aircraft in the hangar. The jet was something like a 737. We planned to take it to leave. But before we could board, S said, “We need to have all the rivets sealed.” She had a rag and some stuff. Showing them to me, she went on, “A little of this needs to be rubbed on each one.”

Looking up at the aircraft, I answered, “We would need to start at the top and work our way down, section by section.”

S said, “It needs to be done in about an hour. Can you organize people and get this done?”

I replied, “Sure, okay.”

She thanked me. We parted.

After we walked away, I thought, we don’t need to do that. That’s overkill. I’ll talk to S about that.

I kept going. I saw some other friends just arriving. They had some clothes. I recognized the clothes as some stuff I’d left behind. They were returning them to me.

But we didn’t meet up. I needed to get back to my room to get my wife ready to go. As I wend through people across the hangar to my hotel section, I saw another pile of my clothes on the cement floor and scooped them up to wear, then went to the room.

My wife was still in bed. I roused her. Our room was small and cramped, with a bed and a tiny bathroom. She was confused about what was to happen. I went about, explaining it to her while packing. She climbed out of bed; she was wearing gray pajamas. As she started moving and looking for clothes, she went into the bathroom. In there, I saw a huge cobweb with a dead mosquito eater hanging in it. I pointed it out to her, saying, “That’s been here the whole time that we’ve been here.”

She agreed, then as she moved around it, we saw other, larger ones.

We exited the bathroom. She said, “I need to think.” She took out four small gray rectangles from a bag, then set them on the floor, spacing them about four feet from one another. I didn’t know what she was doing.

Bending to the first one, she pressed a button on it. Music began playing. She repeated this with the next two. I recognized the music with each. She began dancing and singing to the music coming from the third. It was an old pop song by Abba, “Dancing Queen”. Then she moved to the fourth and pressed its button. She stopped dancing and singing, listening. I realized that it was playing “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen and sang along with it. She seemed unable to hear the music and stood listening.

Dream end.

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