A Mystery Dream

It’s a tense movie melodrama. A sister-in-law has disappeared. We recount where and when she was last seen or heard, trying to establish where she might before. Then, we know. Her vulgar ex-husband has killed her. We can see this even though it’s already happened, and took place somewhere else. A race is begun. He’s washing himself, washing his clothes, cleaning out the bed of his truck, ridding himself of evidence, as we rush in to stop him, to find evidence, to call the police, to give them time to arrive.

And there is where it stops.

A Nail in the Head – A Dream

I was at some corporate headquarters. A takeover had just been completed. Two others — women — and I were there to go through boxes of stuff. We were part of the company which had just been taken over. But the boxes were from our old company as well as other companies our new corporate masters had previously taken over.

Our boxes were the usual eclectic mix from a software company that had hundreds of computers and monitors for testing. Cables, keyboards, hard drives, zip drives, cassettes, collateral electronic equipment, and tools — small screwdrivers and pliers for working on computers. We were working in a large, open and carpeted space at the junction of elevators and hallways. People went by as we worked, sometimes stopping to make comments. A fun atmosphere prevailed, one of both nostalgia and exploration.

Others began bringing us other boxes. These were from the companies taken over before. Go through those, we were told. See if there’s anything useful. Take what you want.

Bizarrely, first there were cosmetics and personal hygiene kits. One for women, another for men. They were quite fancy. Apparently, we guessed, those were used as a marketing gimmick, given out at trade shows. Using one of those, I washed my face and hair. Then I moisturized. I walked about, looking for a mirror to see myself. Others brought more boxes from my old company. What’s this stuff? I looked through it. Computer games. Purchased software. Why’d they have thought, they wanted to know. Well, some of it was because they needed the programs to do the work. Other stuff was market research, or about packaging and instructions.

I found a hammer and nail. On a whim, I decided to drive the nail into my skull, on the left front temple, right below the hairline. After a little testing, I decided the hammer wasn’t required. The nail was a ten penny steel nail. Pressing its tip into my skin, I wiggled it until it started going in. Then I pressed it firmly down until only the head and about an eighth of an inch of nail showed. I’d left that amount so that I could get it back out more easily. There wasn’t any pain or blood. A little clear fluid trickled out. Brain fluid, I guessed. I was pretty pleased with what I’d done even as I knew it was a little stupid.

More boxes were brought, providence unknown. Others saw the nail in my head. Why did I do that? To see if I could. Doesn’t it hurt? No. I’m sure it’s doing brain damage, I told others. I thought I should remove it but first, I started going through the newest boxes.

Inside these were men’s clothing. It was expensive stuff. Unused. I wondered where it came from. I asked people who went by if they knew. No one did until a woman going by said, that used to belong to the CEO. He was always buying new clothes. Because he liked clothes so much, people were also always giving him clothes.

I tried a shirt on. It was something beachy. It fit and I liked the style. Keep it, people told me. Take whatever you want. Okay.

I still had the nail in my head. I decided it was time to take it out. Finding a mirror, I seized it between my fingernail and gently pulled it free. It didn’t bleed but a little clear fluid trickled out. More brain fluid, I guessed again.

I wanted to put something on the spot where I’d pulled out the nail and began looking for medical supplies, going through the boxes. There were now so many, we had piles of them all over the place. More clothing and electronic gear was discovered. Games. Other software. Others kept interrupting with questions. People wanted to take some stuff. Go ahead, I said.

I finally found a medicine kit. It was huge. Very fancy. All I needed was a small bandage. I found gauze pads and tape. I was just trying to decide what to do when the dream ended.

The Zombies Are Here

The zombies are here.

He wasn’t surprised. Not eating brains. Yet. No. Just a matter of time. Someone will probably tell them that eating brains will save them from the coronavirus or something. He wouldn’t put it past them.

He’d been expecting the zombies for a while. They’d quit thinking several years ago. Clearly were unthinking and undead, not caring about anything except themselves and the undermining of their so-called freedoms.

What else could they be but zombies? Living in such an alternative world, believing ridiculous conspiracy theories for which proof wasn’t offered. Well, okay, sometimes they tried to put up some ‘proof’ – or their idea of it – but then it was shot down. You know, like masks don’t work. Vaccines will magnetize you. The coronavirus is a hoax. No worse than the flu. There’s a secret child sex ring on Mars. Trump is still secretly POTUS. And take ivermectin for the virus that doesn’t exist, that’s no worse than the flu. Now they were trying to blame Biden for Afghanistan. Biden, who has been in office for seven months, who took office twenty years after the war in that poor country began.

Yep, the zombies are here.

An Inspection Dream

My dreams remain plentiful and involved. Sometimes, it feels like my brain is switching channels between realities as I sleep.

In this segment, I’d arrived to conduct an inspection. Three gentlemen in sites, all white, but of different ages, met me.

They knew why I was there. The oldest, with receding, thick white hair said, “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Do you have what I want?” I asked.

“Yes, but we must find it.” He nodded to the youngest man. “Go tell the others he’s arrived.” After going up white steps, the young man entered a tall, narrow building.

We followed him. The oldest man said, “It’s in one of the safes. We don’t know which one.”

We were walking down a narrow hall. I asked, “How many are there?”


I’d not expected so many safes. The oldest man nodded at the other. “Open number six.”

The other turned and opened a door, revealing a silver vault door within with a silver combination dial in the center. Stepping forward, the man put his hand on the dial.

The dream ended.

A Knowledge Dream

This dream could’ve been named a number of things. I first referred to it as the “Born to Run” dream. Then, as I remembered it, I decided the new title was more appropriate.

I was traveling by airlines in America through multiple, crowded airports. After going through Duluth, Minnesota, I went through Fargo, North Dakota. After Fargo, I found myself in a huge building. We’re talking a Superbowl stadium size.

Old, the building was well-maintained, with cavernous but mostly empty rooms except for towering gray cabinets. A woman introduced herself as a director. I was at a knowledge warehouse. Speaking to the air, the director told her staff to assist me with whatever I wanted. She told me to fill out my requests on a request form. The request form should include a learning objective. Catalogs of learning objectives were in the cabinets. I could use them to expedite the process.

Six other students showed up. They’d arrived before me but were coming to meet me and continue with their requests. The director asked me how I got there. After thinking, I said that I’d come through Fargo because that was the best way to get there. After acknowledging that, she departed.

I quickly completed a half-dozen learning objective requests. The other students went off to continue their learning. Thick folders for the first learning objectives soon arrived. Within minutes, I had a stack of them in front of me. Perusing them, I selected one for attention and started reading it as I walked around.

I found myself with a microphone. The warehouse was lit like a stage so I decided to perform “Born to Run”. As I was doing my performance, I realized that security cameras were present. Embarrassed, I quit my performance. Someone was trying to raise me, but I ignored him because I didn’t want to be mocked.

Wandering the warehouse, I soon found myself in wooded thicket. Movement ahead drew my interest. After some investigation, I saw a squirrel, and then a cat, and realized that the cat was chasing the squirrel.

I was summoned back to a meeting room. The other students were there. We sat at a table and talked about our learning objectives. More folders arrived for me. The director called for a few of us to go into another room with one specific folder. It was our choice which folder to bring.

Aha, epiphany. I needed to decide where I wanted to go, and it was a journey to a different, isolated location. I also had the responsibility to educate myself but resources were available to help.

Now, weirdly, the dream ended with “Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows” by Lesley Gore (1963).


It’s humbling to think about how little I know, and disturbing to ponder how much I’ve learned and forgotten, or how often I learned, retained, and applied wrong information.

The information was sometimes wrong because we thought that’s how things worked back when we learned it. Then, later, you discovered, “Oh, shit, that works for everyone else, but it doesn’t work for me.”

Yes, this is another Big Lie rant. The Big Lie is that we’re all the same. Eat these foods, gain these nutrients, do these exercises, and you should be good to go.

Yeah, they then admit — you know they, the great aggregate of society, social media, medical professions, governments, you know, they — well, they admit, there are some exceptions. Like, you may be diabetic because your body rejects the insulin it makes. So you’re like, whaat?

Maybe you’re allergic to things. Or you may have problems because your body doesn’t process certain vitamins and minerals well, rejecting them. Maybe you hear things different. Perhaps you hear shapes, or you taste something because you hear a sound.

Whacked, right?

I grew up learning that people that talked to themselves were most likely not right in the head in some way. Now we’ve learned, no, they’re probably fine. Their personality is different from your personality. Conversely, telling me to come out of my shell and socialize more works on the assumption that I’ve made a choice to stay in my shell and not socialize, and not because of the components at work inside me.

Not all people we called slow were slow thinkers, but they didn’t benefit from the learning environment. Too bad for them, back then, because we didn’t know.

We keep learning that there’s a lot that we don’t know, and that what we thought we knew and pushed as truth was wrong. This was sometimes done deliberately to further someone’s wealth — remember how they told us for years that smoking cigarettes aren’t bad? — or to achieve a political advantage.

That takes me to food shopping. Oh, lawdy. I’ve decided to cut down on processed foods and reduce my sugar intake, so I’m reading labels more intently than before. A correlation often exists; if a food is low-fat or non-fat, it’ll be loaded with sugar. If it’s sugar-free, it has a lot of fat.

They say — now — that supplementing your diet with vitamins and minerals probably doesn’t do anything for you, if you’re healthy. You really can’t tell that from the advertising and commercials that abound, can you?

If you’re not healthy, too much of one mineral or vitamin can cause greater problems. All this comes with that caveat, for some people. You need to learn early that you may be some people. You learn by observing your body and reactions to different inputs, studying those differences, and consulting experts when necessary.

And these deficiencies can have profound effects. Constipated, tired, and depressed? You might have a potassium deficiency. Or something else. Just saying.

Consulting experts — or the Internet — doesn’t always work out. Some experts dismiss study results. Reasons vary for why they dismiss the results, or skew them. It could be from ignorance, religion, or false information that they acquired. It could be because they’re being paid to dismiss the evidence, or they’re pathological liars, or protecting someone or something else. This spectrum about why is as broad as humanity.

Even when you find your flaws and shortcomings and address your patterns to cope, it ain’t over. Your body and brain, and our society, are dynamic. Our body is changing, sometimes from aging, sometimes from abuse. Sometimes, it’s just a slow shift because of habits.

As a society, we’re always learning new information, or revealing old frauds, or finding something new about the human body. Our food security gets exposed in unimaginable ways. Consider from this week:

Cocaine in shrimp

Cocaine in salmon

Blood absorbs sunscreens

In each case, these findings surprised scientists and investigators because it wasn’t expected. The sunscreen lotions were most interesting to me. They’ve been around back to a time before governments, industries, or individuals worried about the active ingredients in sunscreens, so they were never tested. That was partly propagated by the good ol’ common sense approach that sunscreen is rubbed on your skin; how the heck would it get into your blood? (That’s typically followed by mocking chortles because doesn’t that seem so self-evident?)

Yeah, there’s a lot that isn’t self-evident, isn’t there?

The Church Tam Dream

* I always thought a tam is a hat. The use in this context is from the dream.

A friend of mine (L) was beside me. He’s exactly how he now is, about twenty-five years older than me, a retired, silver-haired engineer coping with COPD.

We were on a wide, well-paved asphalt street lined with trees. I said, “Where’s Church Street?”

He said, “Here. You’re on it. This is Church Tam.”

“Church Tam?” The term confused me.

L said, “That’s why we were confused. You’re asking how to find the place where you are.”

I was still thinking about that when he moved off with a shoulder shift, nod, and wave that signified good-bye. At that point, I saw a white Church off to one side. It was set well-back on a sloping green lawn. Large and simple, it looked like many of the unassuming, clean-lined churches I’ve seen throughout my lifetime.

I was more interested in another set of buildings that were further back and off to one side. Built of cinnamon-orange bricks and of a straightforward, square design, the two buildings were in tandem, with a smaller one in front of the taller one. Whether I knew it or heard it, I knew that the building in the back hadn’t been opened in many years and that it held secrets and historic information. Wanting to explore it, I followed a sidewalk to the front door.

Large, paneled windows were visible on each. As I walked up to the front door, I saw movement behind the windows. A tall man was looking out at me as he moved toward the front door. Half-turning, he waved to others behind him. Two children trotted after him, followed by a woman.

Opening the door, he stepped out. Tall, slender and white, his hair and beard were a dark gray. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and blue jeans.

The children came up as he said, “Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” As he finished that, a woman in an apron came out, wiping her hands as she joined the other three.

I didn’t say anything but looked at the group and building. I was wondering how to get into the big building to learn its secrets. The man said, “Come on in. We have room for you and food.”

“Thank you,” I said. He and I shook hands. The children were shy but seemed to know me. The woman smiled and then went into the house.

We followed her in. She was going down a polished, dark wood hall, but the man and I stopped in a large front room sparsely furnished with a fireplace, thick wooden coffee table, and several leather armchairs. He repeated his welcome. I protested that I couldn’t stay with him and that I thought he was mistaken about expecting me because I’d just decided to come here on an impulse. He laughed at that, telling me, “No, we’ve been expecting you.” Telling me that he’d been right back, he went down the hall.

I was left alone. Looking around, I saw pale-green double doors set in a stone wall. Sconces were on either side. Like cathedral doors, they were pointed at the top of the arc where they met. They were painted, but it looked like a century had passed since it was last painted. The doors were hinged, with a large keyhole in the middle.

Giggling, the children shuffled up, but stayed back. They talked in tandem, telling me that people couldn’t go into the other place because it had a lot of secret and important treasures and things in it, and that they’d never been allowed in it.

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I want to go in.”

“You can’t,” the children said. “Nobody can. Nobody’s allowed to go in there.”

I said, “Someone must go in there. Does anyone have the key?”

“Yes,” one child and then the other said with thoughtful looks. “My Dad,” the boy said. “He has the key.”

“Maybe if I ask him nice, he’ll let me in,” I said.

As I was saying this, the man approached. In one hand was a large ring of keys. On his other palm was a single key. “Here you go,” he said. “I think this is what you’re looking for.”

The dream ended.


I had this dream four days ago as part of a dream bomb that lasted several days. Its impact was more sharply felt than the rest.

The Knowledge

Listening to sudden sirens outside, he wondered where they were going, and what sort of emergency prompted the sirens during the night’s darkest trenches. He didn’t know, and would probably never know.

What he knew, he thought, wasn’t much, about anything. He knew a little, pretended to know more, and bullshit about knowing much more. But when reviewing what he knew while staring into the dark hours dedicated to sleeping, he knew he didn’t know much. Didn’t know what was going on with his body, his mate, his house, or politics, nothing really, not even when more was revealed. In fact, he decided, he could probably fit what he knew into the tip of one little finger.

He didn’t know if it would fit into the right or the left better. He assumed they were pretty much the same, but he didn’t know.

The Piles of Pennies Dream

Here we go. I remember three dreams from last night, but will only cover part of one dream. Consider this the highlight reel.

I had nothing except the clothes that I wore and had returned to one of the places where I lived as a child. A poor place supported by a dying industry, it wasn’t a hopeful place. Neither child nor mature man, I was a young man in my dream. I knew most of the people in the dream through the business I owned back then, but I knew some from high school.

It was sunny but muddy, and I was scrambling to cope with losing everything. As I began thinking that through, I realized that I did have some small objects. Collecting them, I started carrying them around in my hands. They were mostly watches, keys, and coins.

I knew I couldn’t continue carrying them around in my hands so I acquired a pouch. After I put everything into the pouch, it was full and heavy. Now it needed to be turned into cash that I could use.

The dream went off into a few tangents of me exploring ways that I could make money from knowledge that I had. Nothing panned out, but while going about that, I kept looking for coins on the ground, or on the buildings’ floors as I came and went. Finding dimes, pennies, and quarters, I’d surreptitiously add to my collection.

Then I realized that there were literally piles of pennies outside in the mud. They’d been swept up, or shoveled up into even piles. Everyone was walking around them, dismissive. I thought, they’re walking around a fortune, and they don’t know it. I wanted to acquire some of those pennies and turn them in, but I worried that once I did, others would catch on to what I was doing and start a scramble.

Meanwhile, I cashed in some of my pouch’s contents, including an old wrist-watch. It wasn’t anything special, but the man who bought it said, “I’ve always admired that watch.”

I then sold other things to a shop run by an acquaintance. Having money relieved some anxiety I was feeling. I felt like I could buy food and clothing. After seeing piles of shiny pennies that looked new, I went back and asked him if he converted pennies to dollars. Laughing, he said, “They’re money, aren’t they?” I confirmed that meant, yes. I then converted pennies into dollars from my pouch. Checking on the piles of shiny pennies that remained outside, I began thinking about how to acquire more.

The dream ended.

One area of me was appalled by the greed that I saw in me in the dream, hoarding the pennies for myself. While thinking that, I also recognized, I’m not hoarding them. They’re all there for anyone to take but the others are ignoring them.

Perusing old dream posts and entries in my notebook, I see that I’ve dreamed of mud, pennies, and watches before. Looking up dream meanings for mud, pennies, and watches, I cherry-picked some with positive meanings.

Seeing or stepping on a mud pile means good luck— take advantage of the chances that are coming your way. See Excrement, Manure. Toiling in the mud: success and wealth through hard work.

To see pennies in your dream symbolizes luck, especially if they are shiny. Do not underestimate your talents and abilities. Dreams of pennies occasionally represent a fear of being poor.

To see a watch in your dream signifies luck and prosperity.

h/t to e/dreaminterpretation.org

I don’t know what or if (if any) my subconscious mind or restless neurons were trying to tell me, but I elected to apply some cognitive appraisal and decide, it’s all good.


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