Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I was in water, which seemed to be an ocean or sea. Others were in the water, which was a light aquamarine in color. An azure sky ruled. Waves licked and tumbled over flat, white, sandy beaches.
The warm water wasn’t up to my waist, but reached the bottom of my trunks, which were flowers on dark green. I soon noticed the water was rising. I couldn’t figure out why. Others didn’t seem to notice, or maybe just weren’t commenting. As the water rose over my waist, I decided to go ashore.
I found I couldn’t. The waves weren’t any more threatening but strong currents were dragging me further into the water. It was happening to everyone. All were struggling to keep from being taken out to sea.
I tried fighting the current and lost. Then I thought, maybe I could go with the current and then break free and return to land via another direction. I quickly learned that wasn’t feasible.
The water was up to my neck. It was warm and comfortable but frightening as I coped with a fear that I could drown. I tried again striking out for the shore but ended up with water up to my chin and splashing into my mouth.
I dove under. The water was darker and colder. I kicked out and then started using my arms, swimming underwater, taking whatever the currents let me. I wasn’t sure what direction I was going or where the land was. The water kept growing darker and colder.
I came free. I don’t know how or where. I suddenly found myself striding over volcanic rocks, sputtering water and gasping for air. I was on land but didn’t know how I’d made it. Looking back for the beach, I found it. The water was still that pleasant aquamarine with light waves, but darkening clouds had gathered overhead.
Dream end.
A scene bursts into my consciousness. Noisy and busy, I’m outdoors. People doing stuff surround me. I don’t know what they’re doing.
I’m presented with a location stocked with materials. “There are yours. Go to work.” Doing what? I wonder but respond with positive energy, “Okay.”
There’s a hammer, nails, wood, measuring tape, etc., essentially common hand tools associated with carpentry. As people bustle around me in a sunny area (I don’t see much past my immediate work space), I ponder what I’m supposed to do. Build something. Well, what?
A picnic table is in front of me. I presume that I’m supposed to use it as work table. After taking stock of the wood – it’s all sanded, finished wood (I don’t know what kind) – I start working, just following instinct. I’m enjoying it. I’m surprised to discover that I’m wearing a tool belt (which makes me laugh; me, in a tool belt?).
My construction progresses. People come by and compliment me. I’m pleased. Then, I realize, OMG, I’m building the picnic table. Wasn’t there a picnic table there before? I’m unsure. I thought there was, but now, I’m building one, and I don’t see another. Did someone take the original one? I didn’t notice that.
Being puzzled slows me down, makes me pause and reconsider what I’m doing for a bit. I look around for clues, but everyone else is busy. No one is showing me interest. Alright, just continue, what the hell, right?
So I do. I get deeper into the work. It progresses quickly. I have more wood than I realized, and work faster, more confidently. As I near completion, I realize, why I’ve built a room.
Astonishment striking me, I walk around to consider my work. Then I discover I haven’t built just a room, but a small house. How the hell did I do that? When did I do that?
As I contemplate the results, a man comes by. “Good job,” he tells me. “Keep going. Finish it.”
Keep going? Finish it? I have no idea what I’m doing.
After processing that, I notice missing details. I have floors but no ceilings. It’s incomplete. I decide to go back to work, thinking, what the hell, just follow the flow and see what turns out.
The dream ends.
I take Ray’s statement to heart, but sometimes where my intuition is taking me scares the crap out of me. I feel like I’m hanging waaayyy out on a thin branch, and the noise I hear sounds like wood splintering.
Michael Seidel, writer 