The Healer Dream

The healer dream followed the wrestling dream last night.

The wrestling dream was about me taking another’s place in a wrestling match. Throughout the dream, I mocked myself for being part of this crazy scheme where I would wrestle a high-schooler. I was doing so to keep the team from forfeiting. My match was either going to be first or second. I told myself and everyone else that I had no chance, that what we were doing was illegal, and that we were going to be caught, humiliated, and disqualified. In the end, I handed someone my watch, some expensive and exotic time piece, went and dressed for my match, and then waited, learning at the last second that my match would be the second one.

Dream end.

The healer dream was brief. I walked into a room. The room reminded me of a classroom, with desks, windows that looked out onto a lawn and playground, but I have no idea where it was. I don’t know why I was there. A woman dressed in a dark blue sundress in there told me she was sick, and then rattled off her health complaints. Brunette, with auburn shoulder-length hair, she looked tired and pale.

“I can fix that,” I said. Then as I touched different places on her, I would say something about infusing her with healing energy. For example, I touched her shoulders and said, “Infuse your shoulders with healing energy. Infuse your joints with healing energy and strength. Infuse your collagen, ligaments, tendons, and muscles with healing energy and strength. Infuse your bones with healing energy and strength.”

Although I did this all over her, it was done in a couple minutes. She stood up and said, “I feel great. All my pain is gone.” I nodded, like, yeah, that’s what I expected. That’s what I told her she was going to do. I was quite casual about it.

A man had entered while I was doing this with her. He was wearing clay-white walking shorts with a gold, short-sleeved shirt, sweat socks and activity shoes. He seemed in his fifties, with sandy hair cut short but casual, bangs across his forehead. Clean-shaved, he looked healthy enough, tan.

“Do me, do me,” he said.

I didn’t think he needed it, but he’d asked. Shrugging, I started healing him as I had her. When I did, he squatted down and grinned, continuing to grin as I healed her as I had him. He seemed very happy and satisfied with what I was doing to him.

Dream end.


Monday’s Theme Music

In our world’s tiny niche, this was a significant hit when I was a teenager around 1973.

Jim Croce had been around for a few years and had several hits, like “Operator”, “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”, and “Time In A Bottle”. Then a black crash killed him, devastating us, his fans, although it was probably harder for his family and friends. It seemed like even as they were still talking about it on the news, he had a new song rising on the charts, “I Got A Name”.

I awoke this morning still streaming several songs heard in my dreams. Among those were “Sisters” from the movie White Christmas, and James Blunt with “Make Me Better”. But “I Got A Name” was sharper and stronger. It’s silly and sentimental, but here it sits as my theme music this morning.

Saturday’s Theme Music

Today’s song, “It’s Only Rock n’ Roll (But I Like It)” came out in 1974. I consider this song part of the theme music for my eighteenth year of life. I graduated high school, turned eighteen years old, and joined the U.S. Air Force in 1974. I think the song celebrates my attitude toward rock and roll; it’s just music, but —

I use the song for references, to celebrate, and to time-travel through memories as surely as Marcel Proust’s madeleines. I know it’s only rock and roll, and not significant in many universal schemes (although there’s a potential story, there, isn’t there, about how rock and roll changes things?), but I like it.

The song’s opening, too, offers exasperated questioning about the past and new expectations.

If I could stick my pen in my heart
And spill it all over the stage
Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya
Would you think the boy is strange? Ain’t he strange?

h/t to

I’ve found that opening question appropriate for my life. What will it take to satisfy the bosses, lovers, friends, family, and gods? Each employs a different measuring system. The tricks are to find what works, what annoys them and causes me enough pain to avoid doing it again, and then monitor it all for changes – ’cause change is, like, you know, probable. Beyond all that shit, it’s a great song to sing to my stream as I walk or drive on my lonesome.


Monday’s Theme Music

My stream hauled this one out of 1973’s memory bins.

My friends weren’t familiar with Montrose’s work. Their music struck me as raw and elemental. I often sang them aloud to entertain myself as I went about being a student. Most people reacted, “What are you singing?” This was the question no matter what Montrose song was being sung. Could be that it was my singing.

One day, while singing “Rock Candy”, a grinning Scott said, “Is that Montrose?”

“Yes, it is Montrose, “Rock Candy”,” I confirmed.

“You like Montrose?” he asked.

“No, I’m singing it to be perverse,” I said, adding, “stupid fucking question.”

Scott was a new student. Part of a wealthy family, he’d been kicked out of several private schools and had convinced his parents to let him go to a public high school. We shared several AP classes and were on the sports teams together. He was friendly but a little distant, with an interesting sense of humor. He and I were suddenly great friends because of Montrose. Scott sought me out about other groups, and then expanded our relationships to books we were reading.

His big ambition was to crew a ship and see the world. I joined the military and did the same. I haven’t seen him since we graduated in 1974.

I still sing “Rock Candy” when I’m out walking. I mean, come on:

But you’re rock candy, baby
You’re hard, sweet, and sticky, yes
You’re rock candy, baby
Hard, sweet, and sticky, oh, yes

h/t to

Oh, yes.

Thursday’s Theme Music

This is a twofer Thursday post, featuring a dream and a song, because this song started in my dreamstream.

It was a turbulent stream, with multiple vignettes and one-act plays. I think the music made this one memorable.

“Conquistador” began playing in the dream. Hearing it, I said, “Hey, I know this song. “Conquistador”. Procol Harum.” After remembering hearing the song’s live version in high school in the early seventies, and talking to my friend, Bob, about it (in the hall in front of the art classroom, by my locker, where he was talking overly loudly and enthusiastic, trying to catch some girl’s attention), I thought about other Procol Harum music I know and wondered where the music was coming from. I couldn’t identify its source.

All that was backdream. I was in my most recurring dreamscape, which is dark green, slightly rolling hills. I seem to know or I remember such hills most often out of dreams. Accompanied by several friends, we were admiring two exotic hyper cars, a Lamborghini and Ferrari, that belonged to others, and discussing their styling, price, and performance capabilities.

My friends were envious, but I said, “Yes, but my car is faster than either of them, and costs more.”

They were skeptical. So was I. I thought my ride would be there by now. As it wasn’t, I didn’t think my ride was going to arrive, and was becoming anxious.

“Conquistador” ended, and my ride arrived, a stunning silver Aston Martin. “Wow,” I said, along with my friends. “Wow.” I never believed it would arrive.

Then, it was just there.


The H.S. Football Dream

I dreamed I was a teenager. It was bright and sunny outside, and I was inside a well-lit building. I learned that my high school football team was short of players. Coach Thomas came to me and asked if I’d play. I’d quit the team the year before, after an accident.

Pleased, I quickly agreed. He gave me some instructions. A game was starting soon. I needed to get there fast. “Don’t let me down,” he said, in a joking but serious style.

I raced to prepare. People were giving me things. It took longer than expected to get ready. A player – a real-life buddy from high school – came in. “Coach Thomas sent me in to see what’s going on. You need to get out there.”

I looked out a window. From there, I could see and hear things happening. Part of that was Coach Thomas talking to the ref, who was warning Thomas, “You need to field a team.” Coach Thomas was irritated and impatient as he asked for more time, insisting, “He’s coming, he’s coming. I need him.”

“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying,” I told the player. He left.

I don’t know what I needed to get. It seemed like that’s an extension of confusion I felt in the dream. Finally, I was out there, with the team, and in the line-up, nervous and uncertain. I had a piece of paper with instructions in my hand. The ref made me give that up. A player beside me, Daryl, told me he’d help me know what to do. A whistle blew as I jumped offsides. I wasn’t pleased with how it was going. I lined up again in a different position. The game commenced without any significant highlights, except players would suggest things to me. I’d do those things, and my confidence grew.

That’s how the dream entailed. I took three lessons from it.

  1. Don’t sweat the mistakes. You’re going to make them but you can overcome them.
  2. You have more to learn.
  3. Others will help.

A very positive dream to remember.

Dream Web

A caterruption broke my sleep. I’d been dreaming of watching a high school play. I was part of a large audience in a small cafetorium. Most of the dream attendees weren’t watching the play but chatting as the play went on. It was a light comedy and I was watching and chuckling.

But now, awake, I thought about the dream’s meaning. I found nothing but dream strands returned me to high school. I’d been the lead in our junior year play, ‘Brother Goose’. At one point I was supposed to enthuse about winning a contest and a year’s supply of cereal. I always broke character in rehearsals when I said the detestable, corny line, and then, in the action’s climax, I kissed the female lead.

In rehearsal, I was aware I was breaking character. I didn’t during the performances. My ex-girlfriend was in the audience during the production for the school student body. She said that when I kissed the other girl on stage, she looked down at the floor. She could feel others in the audience looking at her. They knew we were broken up. It was a small school, with a few hundred students.

I had lunch with her yesterday after our protest against Trump’s budget outline. We’ve been married since 1975.

Meanwhile, dream threads pulled me along from the play to a creative writing class in Germany. The teacher wanted us to do a 1940s radio script. I was selected as the narrator and decided to channel Gary Owens. That surprised and delighted the class but it was a natural choice, given the exposure to him from my years of watching ‘Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In’.

I learned a great deal about creativity and active writing in that class. I consider it a breakthrough class for me. Yet, I can’t remember the teacher’s name.

That’s going to distract me all day.

I blame it on the dream.


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