Tag: help

The Towel Dream

I found myself as a young man at a wide, flat river. Dark as a winter night, the river didn’t reflect any light.

It was a cold day. Swimmers filled the river. They were heading downstream. I was not a swimmer, but walked among them as they came out of the water, giving them towels, talking to them and encouraging them.

Three swimmers caught my eye. One female, two males, all young, one black, one brown, one white, nothing extraordinary about them. Like the other swimmers, they wore swimsuits, and these weren’t anything special. Yet, watching them, I thought, keep an eye on them.

Seeing them leaving the water, I rushed to get them towels. All the towels were blue or gray; I wanted different colors for these three. I thought different colors would highlight them and help me keep watch on them. I ran around asking for other colored towels, and then demanded those towels. At last, red, yellow, and white striped beach towels were brought to me. I hurried over and gave the towels to those three.

Someone else with towels asked me what I was doing, etc. I explained that I wanted to keep an eye on those three. The other queried, “Why?”

“Because they’re special,” I explained. And then I knew, “They’re not part of this world. That’s why I wanted to give them special towels.” I gathered insight that the blue and gray towels muted people. Colors brought them more alive, bringing out talents. I said, “They’re shapeshifters from somewhere else, but they don’t know it. They can be anything, but the towels are keeping them unaware.”

After saying that, I took in the rest swimming by or toweling off and wondered, why don’t we give them colored towels, too?

2

The Family Help Dream

Dreamed I was writing a book. Sitting at a small, ancient personal computer, beige and tall, I wore a tee shirt and shorts and worked at tiny desk, just me in a chair by a tall and narrow window.

But I was being helped. I learned through my elderly uncle (my father’s younger brother and alive) that many family members were helping me with it. That list included some who passed on. As I typed, I could see them elsewhere, arranging and editing. Sometimes I could see some of their work and the changes they made because it was in bold.

I was working on a deadline. My uncle knew this and would come by to tell me what was transpiring with the other group and check on me. As I finished, I told them that they needed to finish as well. They did, dropping off the work with my uncle. They left without saying anything to me.

Finishing, I collected my work and went to say bye to my uncle. He presented what the others had prepared. I was grateful and thanked him. Then I hastily changed clothes and got into a small, light green sedan, something older made by BMW. I drove once around the block, which was tree lined, with old trees, and well-paved streets. I saw the others and waved to them, laughing as they waved back. I called out my thanks and they shouted back, “You’re welcome.” Then I drove on.

Weirdly, as this dream fell away, I heard the Thompson Twins singing “Hold Me Now.” The song stayed in my head when I awoke, along with the shadows from the dream.

0

The Messenger Dream

I’d been selected to be a messenger. Don’t know who chose me, nor the message.

I was waiting to get the message in my place, a small apartment in a large high-rise building. Few windows let in light but natural sources outside were diminished by storms. Friends and acquaintances visited. Several noticed that I had four model cars in a case. These were Formula 1 cars from the 1970s and 1980s, 1/12 scale. People bent down to look into the black case to see them. As they began commenting, I turned on the case lights so they could see them. Up front on the right was the Ferrar 312 T which Lauda drove to championships. Behind it a little was a Mclaren MP4/4, a model driven by Senna and Prost, with the markings and settings for Prost’s vehicle. I explained these things to everyone, but then, the time for me to act as messenger arrived.

The message was given on a slip of paper. I went out and delivered it, no problem, despite a deluge. Coming back, I descended a long, steep hill on an asphalt path. Left of me was busy thoroughfare, twelve lanes of newly paved road, packed with cars. At the bottom of the hill was an intersection where a wide new road came down from the right. I needed to cross that wide road. My building was on the other side. I could see its parking lot.

Rain still poured as thunder rumbled. I stepped onto the road into the crosswalk, then looked back and left to ensure the cars turning right from the main road were letting me pass. They were stopped and waiting, so I waved thanks and proceeded. Mind shifting to the traffic coming on the road which I crossed, I saw a huge tanker truck approaching, going way too fast for conditions. I stopped to await the outcome.

The long truck, a blue tractor with a silver trailer, was rushing toward the intersection, sliding with his brakes locked. As he passed me, the truck entered a slow jack knife and then fell over onto its side and slid more, stopping just after entering the intersection. Everyone saw it coming and stopped. No one hit it and it sat on its own, alone in the intersection.

A young Black man on a blue bike had been riding down the hill toward the intersection. When the truck arrived and jack knifed, the bike guy braked hard, slid, lost control and was thrown from the bike.

I rushed to help, recognizing that he was also a messenger. He was conscious but dazed, sitting on the roadway, his twisted bike to one side, rain drenching him. Others came to help him, too. I told them to call for an ambulance. Someone suggested helping the truck driver, but I disdained that; he’d brought that on himself, I thought, and others were undoubtably going to help him. A glance that way confirmed that people were at the truck.

I asked the bike rider, “Are you a messenger?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. People went to help him up. “No,” I said. “He had a big tumble. There may be injuries which we don’t know. Wait for the EMT.”

Then I asked him, “Where does your message go? I’ll take it for you.”

Dream end.

0

A Friend’s Parents Dream

I was a young man, as I often seem to be in my dreams these days. Visiting at a childhood friend’s home. He wasn’t there. His mother, Arlene — who is deceased in RL — was hosted several of us attending a local school. While visiting, we were all watching television. I settled down on the blue carpet and went to sleep.

I awoke sometime later. Sitting up, I discovered that I was in a short-sleeved black dress. A little more explanation is needed. The dress was black, but see-through. It buttoned in the front. It had wide seams which weren’t transparent, and front pockets which also weren’t transparent. The dress came down to my knees, and I was fully dressed, in the same clothes as before.

Standing, I wondered what had happened and how I’d come to be wearing that dress. I attempted to take take it off but the buttons couldn’t be undone. It was tight, but with some maneuvering, I managed to pull it up over my head. Just as I am finishing, I hear a soft tearing sound. That stops me from trying any longer. Just then, my friend’s mother comes in with a tray of food and drink, telling me that it’s time to get ready. She goes on to explain that she put that dress on me to stay warm, sets the tray down, and hastens to help me. As she pulls it over my head and off, she tells me that she hopes she can get this off without tearing it because it’s special to her. We then hear it tear more. Looking at it, she sees that it’s torn and is dismayed, but then tells me to eat because I need to shave, dress, and go.

I eat an egg salad sandwich from the tray and drink coffee, and then start dashing around. My clothes are upstairs but the bathroom I’m to use is down below. As I hustle around, going up and changing clothes, then going down and shaving, others arrrive. I hear that my friend’s father will be arriving at any moment. (He passed away in RL a few years ago.) I want to be dressed and ready to go before he gets there. But then, he comes in.

I’m called upstairs. As I go up the steps, someone else tells me that Fred — the father — and Arlene want to see me. I step into the dining room where they are. Fred has a box on the table, and is opening. As he says hello to me, Arlene explains that Fred just purchased his first CD player and she wanted to know if I had any CDs for him to play because he doesn’t have any. I tell them that I have just the thing and dash downstairs.

I’m thinking that I’ll loan them several of my classical music CDs, which will surprise them, thinking that it’s more like the kind of music that they would like, rather than the rock I listen to. But I brought my little CD case, and there’s no classical music in it. I select a few blues CD and take them back up to them. Grinning, I explain the whole thing about the classical music CD.

Dream end.

I’ve not seen my friend since my late teens. Oddly, I’ve dream of him since then, as well as his parents.

0

The Prisoner Dream

Sooo…I’m on a ship. Never see it, just know that I’m onboard something. It’s huge, apparently.

I’ve been captured and I’m being transported. Zip ties bind my hands, along with my two companions. Either via dream mechanics or I’ve forgotten what transpired, I’m then free of my ties, then lose the two people with me. I know my captors are tracking me. I sneak through this big vessel, going through sections housing people sitting in roads, following a washed-out dirt road, slipping through a jungle…

As I go, I observe the passengers. They’re also prisoners. None are bound in any way. It looks like they’re just taking a flight, traveling somewhere. I know better. Seeing a huge piece of cardboard, I realize that there’s a lot of waste and that we prisoners can utilize this waste to improve our situation. Food is hidden in different locations which we can eat, and there are materials we can use as clothing or to build shelters.

I try explaining to other prisoners what I’m thinking. Most don’t understand. Worse, they speak very loudly. One young woman finally understands me and tells the others. Going, “Oh, I see,” they lift a corner of the cardboard and see a pile of uneaten food. They all start passing food out and eating.

I hurry on because I know my captors are still after me. I come to a chute. In it, I find packaged food and help myself. Taking three of them with me, I move on.

I come to a sandy stretch. Not sure if it’s a desert or part of beach or something else. Briefly, I think, should I go through this? Am I going the right way?

I decide to go on because going back doesn’t seem feasible. As I trudge through the hot white sand, I became aware of small things fluttering around me. They’re on the sand and become airborne as I walk by them. They have wings, I see, and think that they look like very small, winged people about the size of ladybugs. All are white, in white clothing. As they fill the air around me, I see that all are females. They start landing on me, leaving small sand deposits. I start swatting them, trying to keep them away, and dust the sand off, and then I ‘know’ that they’re actually treating illnesses in me. I go still, because that will help them. The sand is gone. I’m instead in green water. The little fairy women are still treating me.

Dream end.

0

The Red Mustang Dream

I was a young man, as I often am in my dreams, probably in my thirties. I was in the home of a woman I knew. It was a standard modern place but basic and clean. I was standing in a dining area by a patio slider. She wasn’t there, but two other young women and a young man were present. They were about ten years plus younger than me. We in the middle of a conversation in which I related to them that they were ‘taking the wrong medicine’ and told them what medicine they should be taking. The man walked out to get it even though I told him that I had it with me. One of the women left and the home owner returned. She asked what was going on so the other young woman and I explained it, with me doing most of the talking, telling her that they’d been using the wrong medicine. She appreciated me correcting them because one of them was her niece (I never knew which). The young man returned then, without medicine because he could ‘t find it as “everything is closed”. I gave him a huge black backpack which contained the medicine he and the others needed.

As the young man thanked me, the other woman returned and the homeowner announced that she was leaving. She told us we could stay or go, it was our choice. I said I was going because I needed to do other things. The young man left with me. We walked down a busy small-town street for a bit, and then separated. I went over and got into my Mustang. Red, it was a 1965 convertible in very good condition, highly polished, with a white interior and convertible top. I needed work on it, so I took it to this little place. I backed into a spot and then got out to get a number and get in line, because that’s how it worked there. As I was waiting, another person arrived and backed his car into the Mustang.

I was upset, more so because he shrugged it off and walked away. He was much smaller than me and a little younger. I confronted him, pointing out the damage. Body damage, on the driver’s side front, was very slight, but the tire was torn up. Looking at it, the tire was made of white foam mattress and had lost a large chunk from the accident. He talked to the man about it but he claimed it wasn’t his fault, went and got a number and got into line.

I was upset. He’d hit my car and wouldn’t take responsibility for it. A friend arrived and I told him about what had happened. The guy who’d hit my car was in line with several large companions, who had been there when I arrived. My friend said, “Know how to start a confrontation?” I shook my head and he said, “Let me show you.”

He walked up and attempted to grab the younger guy’s nut sack, but one of the big other guys instead did it to him, saying, “You trying to start a confrontation?”

That didn’t make sense to me. As my friend was released and limped off, departing the business, I decided that I would leave. As I went to depart, I encountered another young man with thick dark hair. He was looking into the shop and asked me if I would recommend it. I told him that it depended on what he needed and how badly he wanted it, but I was disappointed in the shop and told about the accident. I asked him what he was looking for. When he told me, I said, “I recognize you. I read about your story on the net.”

He verified that was him, and then the homeowner from the dream’s beginning arrived. As the young man looked across at her, he said, “Excuse me, that’s my mother.”

Dream end.

A note that the dream Mustang reminded me that Dad had a 1965 Mustang when he was stationed in Germany in the late 1960s, blue with a white convertible top and black interior, with a 289 and four speed. I wasn’t with him in Germany, but he showed me pictures of him with the car with its top down in Paris.

0

The Affair Dream

I dreamed my friend’s wife offered to have an affair with me. She’s not a person I know from RL. I knew her in the dream from previous visits. After this visit with my wife, she asked me to walk her home. I agreed, to be polite. She said good-bye to my wife and the woman and I began walking. As we were walking, she began singing “Close to You”. The Carpenters had a hit with the song in the last century.

I didn’t think anything of it. When we reached her place, we hugged. She didn’t release me. That’s when she proposed the affair and told me, “Wasn’t it a clue when I was singing the song?” I admitted that it wasn’t. She was very attractive and I was interested. I asked her how it would work. We ended up parting ways with a promise to see one another again.

I went to a friend’s house. Other women were there. I heard them talking about having affairs with different friends. They were apparently paying the men after they broke off the affairs. One woman said emphatically, “I give them three weeks and then I’m done with them. They want more but I won’t give them anymore.” Another woman answered, “They always want more.” I didn’t know any of these women.

I went back to my house. We were preparing to have a dinner party. I found that my wife had moved all the furniture out of one bedroom and planned to make it the master bedroom because it was larger. The house was light blue and the interior walls were white. Both bedrooms were very large and ensuite. I didn’t like the plan, reminding her that she didn’t talk with me first and that there were reasons we’d made the decisions which we had about which room was the master bedroom. She told me that her friend, who’d proposed the affair, had made the suggestion.

I went off to do a task, which was to etch a line in a glass so I could break it off and splinter it. A friend arrived for dinner and asked what I was doing. I smiled and explained, “I’m breaking glass. We need broken glass.” He replied that he thought there was an easier way to get broken glass.

The affair friend arrived. She talked me into going into another room with her where we ended up passionately kissing. Hearing a noise, we broke it off, separating and leaving the room.

I went to another friend’s house. He wasn’t there but several other friends were. They were helping him to submit a manuscript for publication. I stepped up to help, listening as the friends spoke. They said this was the last time they were helping him. As they talked, I checked out the box they were using. Opening it up, I found a poorly typed manuscript and several mailing labels. The labels weren’t affixed to anything. I commented on it, telling them that the labels needed to be fixed. They ignored me, closing the box and taping it shut. The tape was old and kept breaking and wouldn’t stick. They were still talking about how they’d tried to help him for yours and was tired of it because he didn’t seem to be making an effort. I’d been about to appeal to them for help but decided they weren’t very helpful.

Dream end.

0

The Supreme Court Dream

A young man, I was newly hired as a manager at a large, modern corporation — unnamed in the dream — and was just learning the what, who and where of my duties. The day was energetic as exciting news circulated. Marketing was hosting an important event but also, all the SCOTUS justices were arriving at our building. They were using it to attend another event, and I was invited. My boss was one from my RL (a favorite, in fact), and told me that I should go. Truthfully, I was a little intimidated — I shy away from events like that in RL — but I didn’t tell her that, instead saying, okay, I will. Friends from this era of life, younger in the dream, came by and urged me to go. Okay, I answered them.

Meanwhile, I came across a mess where the big event was to take place. I thought someone had vomited all over. It horrified me. I worried that it had been my cat because I’d seen him eating a lot of food. As I asked that question, I looked to my left and saw more ‘vomit’ and realized, no, a PA bringing pizza into the room had tripped, dropping several pizzas out of their boxes. I scrambled to help him clean up. Rushing into another room, I asked several people for cleaners. One guy opened a backpack and began searching through it, removing all kinds of materials, like boxes of condoms, from his backpack as he searched. It was like the TARDIS of backpacks.

Before he found a cleaner, the announcement came through that the justices had arrived and it was time to go to their event. People were scurrying around with nervousness and excitement. Joining a queue, a woman friend said, “You have to walk through water to get there. It’s not deep and it’s worth it.”

I puzzled through that as the line move. Turning, I discovered that I was beside a female justice. She wasn’t anyone recognized from RL. I urged her to go ahead of me because we were getting on buses to go to the other place. She politely declined. We entered the bus.

Then we got off. A wide artificial lagoon was before us. Lined with cement, steps led down into the calm and clean, clear water. I saw a winding path going through the water. A pair of women ahead of me went down the steps and entered the water. I followed, with the justice behind me. I offered her help; she said she was fine.

I followed the path through the water. It rose deeper than expected, coming up to my waist. Looking ahead, though, I saw that the people leaving the water didn’t look wet. I dipped my hand into the water and then lifted it out, confirming that my hand wasn’t wet. How weird was that, water that didn’t went you. It must be special water, I thought, but how was that possible? Where did it come from?

Then I was back in the company building. The pizza mess had been cleaned up. I discovered that a copying machine was out of order. Looking around, I found something and made an out-of-order sign with a black marker. As I put it on the machine, a PA rushed up to tell me it was out of office. “I know,” I answered him. “I just made a sign and put it on the top.” I indicated my homemade sign.

Seeing it, he thanked me. “I’ve been so busy,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe it. I appreciate your help.”

I shrugged it off. “No problem. Happy to do it.”

“Would you like a beer? We have beer for our guests. I’m sure we can spare some for you.”

I accepted beer in a plastic cup and thanked him. Sipping beer, I began returning to my office to work on a document which I knew my boss wanted me to review but then thought, I probably shouldn’t drink beer in my office because the company would probably disapprove.

Another female justice arrived. I was surprised, as I thought all of them had left. She explained that she missed her bus back and needed to contact someone, but she had no phone or telephone numbers. I scrambled, finding a phone and realized that I knew someone to call. I called them and gave her the phone. After she hung up, she told me that they were coming for her and thanked me for the help.

The dream ended.

6

The Help Dream

Sunshine streamed in through large windows. I was younger and installing something involving wires in my home’s living room when I asked my wife for help. I needed to go back into a small space and I wanted her to hand the wires through to me. She asked me if I could do it by myself. I countered, I could, but she was there, and that made it easier.

She said, “How would you do it if I wasn’t here?”

I replied, “I have a ball of twine. I’d tie the wires’ ends to the string, and then tape it so it wouldn’t pull loose, and then just pull it through.”

Turning away, she answered, “Then why don’t you do that? Just do it yourself.”

0

A Not-quite Military Dream

Ah, young again. I was with my wife in a luxurious apartment complex. The entire floor was shared with her co-workers from the advertising agency employing her. They were all excited, plans afoot! Preparations were being made for awards ceremonies and celebrations. They wanted me to be a part of that. Keeping to my normal personality, I remained on the edge.

In comes a guy in military uniform. He’s older than me, bald, dark red mustache, with specs on. He identifies me, verifies who I am, and gives me a sheet of paper. It’s ‘welcome information’ explaining where my new quarters are, where I go for various items, operating hours, etc., because I’m a senior NCO in the USAF. Just as in RL.

He explains that I have a roommate, contrary to policy, because the guy is trouble. They’re trying to remove him but he’s elusive. I thank him for the information and he leaves. Celebration preparation continues among my wife’s group. I begin changing clothes to leave. First, which uniform should I wear? I prefer the battle dress but, wait, I only have white crew neck tee shirts, so that’s out. I’ll wear the casual blue office attire instead.

I strip down and shower. Then I discover, damn, I left my undies in the other room. Further, people are coming in here, where I’m naked. I whip a towel around me. They don’t seem to notice me at all. I slip out to another room and find undies. I put them on but these undies are uncomfortable. I think they may be somebody else’s underwear.

As I decide to change, the door opens and people flow in, chattering away. I hold the towel up and do a fast-change under it, then drop the towel. I’m in my undies and a tee shirt but put on my uniform shirt and pants.

Red stache returns. He tells me that the guy, an E5, won’t leave my quarters, but that I need to deal with him. No problem, I’ll do that. I just need to put on my boots. I consider my jump boots but then put on my dress shoes, polishing them up to an amazing shine. In full uniform now, I prepare to leave.

People stop, look at me and ask, why are you in that uniform. I explain, because I’m in the military and that I need to leave to take care of business. I plan on coming back. All are amazed by my shoes’ luster. I shrug; just mil standards.

I go to my new place. Other military personnel see me coming and step out of my way, except one tall, large guy. He tries to tell me that I don’t have the right to be there. I warn him that he’d better watch what he says next because I’m in a mood. Apologizing the other gets out of my way. I continue to my quarters. The guy I’m to evict is there. A tall, young, white guy in white underwear, he’s a babbling wreck. I figure out, he has problems and tell him, you can’t stay here, but you’re coming with me, I’m getting you help. First, you need to dress.

Dream end. Hah – was this one fraught with psychological flotsam, or what?

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑