Tag: mirror

The Wife’s Colors Dream

First, I had this dream about sharing my apple pie with a young woman. As she was eating my crust, my wife came along. I went off to talk to her.

My wife and I ended up in what seemed to be a living room. Other family members were vaguely int the area. But my wife came to me and said, “I want you to look at my colors and tell me what you see.”

And I was all, “Huuuhhh?”

Other than being Caucasian as my wife, this dream wife didn’t look at all like RL wife, even though she’d started out as RL wife. Her hair was darker, heavier, and longer, and she had this pale, long, face with bright red lippy.

Second, she was dressed like a goth.

Third, she was holding up some kind of panel in front of her.

I thought the panel was a mirror at first. Then I saw that it reflected with nothing but swirled with images that reminded me of melting steel. I was trying to answer my wife’s request to tell you what colors I was seeing and describe her clothes, skin, and hair. She unleashed a heavy exasperated sigh at me and said, “Not those colors.”

Then I saw the mirror thingy was changing. Yellows and oranges were emerging, along with lesser spots of apple green and pine green. There was also a stretched out blotch of purple that was so dark, it was almost black.

I described these things to her, and then, somehow, I knew the colors had to do with her health, and told her, “I think you can change these colors. Just think of the color that you want to be, and that’ll happen.”

She was doubtful but almost immediately, a soothing fair blue swept across the mirror.

Dream end.

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Saturday’s Wandering Thought

Sometimes when he glances in the mirror, he sees his younger self in there grinning. “Looks like you made it, old man,” the kid says.

He scoffs, “Yeah, despite all your efforts to kill us.”

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The Beard Dream

The weirdest damn dream. Well, dreams tend to be. At least in my world.

I was looking into a mirror. There was my gorgeous younger self (hah!) looking back. Mustache and goatee in place. Dark brown, almost black, because I was young.

My beard grew. Came in nicely along my jaw line. I admired it in the mirror. I liked that mirror. Then it crept up my cheeks and down my neck, growing fuller but remaining dark. Still liked it. But was chuckling. I could never grew a beard that full. Always rued that shortcoming.

The beard’s downward creep stopped at the bottom of my neck. Its upward growth continued. My mouth was bearded over. Then my nostrils. It covered my cheeks up to my eyes.

I was laughing. Looks like I need to trim my beard around my nose and mouth, I told myself. No one could see either of them.

Dream end.

As a bonus, another short dream followed. Short as a webisode of a net series, if you catch my meaning.

I was in a fighting style clothing such as what the Saxons wore around 1,000 A.D. (or common era), if my television history is correct. Standing out there by myself, with water, like canals, on either side, others approached me. Asked if I would take over. Don’t know what it was I was taking over. I guess I knew in my dream.

Anyway, I declined. They walked away. I basically stayed where I was. Twice more, they approached and I declined. The fourth time, I accepted. I said, okay, I’ll do it. I’ll lead.

Dream end.

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The Broken Mirror Dream

Dreamed I was outside with lots of people. I could see myself among them. I was wearing a short-sleeved yellow shirt. All the people were my age, and I was younger than I am in real life, with longer hair, maybe twenty years old. I seemed to vaguely know a few of the other people. The area appeared to be a college or business campus. Sidewalks connected plazas with fountains, gardens, and buildings, bisecting swatches of cut green grass. Forest lined the edges. I don’t know why I was there. An air of excitement almost shimmered, giving me — and others — goosebumps. A few of us talked about it.

My vantage kept changing. Sometimes, I was outside, looking at myself with other people from ten feet away or so, or coming in for a close-up, but other times, the point of view was from inhabiting myself.

I’d been laughing and talking with others but ended up walking alone, and decided to check out the woods. After passing a line of mature trees, I discovered a stream and began following it. After some distance, I saw a clearing ahead on the right. Climbing the bank, I drifted that way. As I did, a flash of light caught my attention.

I headed there to investigate and discovered a shard of mirror on the ground. The clearing was all dirt. Wondering how the mirror had gotten there, I picked it up, careful not to cut myself, and glanced around for clues about its origins. When I did, I spotted broken mirror pieces littering the ground not far away.

More puzzled then ever, I tried putting some context around the pieces of broken mirrors in what was a clearing in the woods. I guessed there were more than a hundred pieces, thought about counting them, but then shrugged that off as irrelevant. I thought, someone would have needed to bring the mirror here and break it. Part of me guessed that children could’ve stolen the mirror somewhere, brought it here and broke it, but that seemed like a lot of trouble to go through, and an odd location to do that. There weren’t any clear paths into the clearing that I saw.

Going toward the pieces, I glanced at larger sizes. None of the pieces seemed to match to the other pieces, like they’d been separated after the mirror was broken. Dirt smudged some surfaces, making me think that they’d been somewhere else, and then brought here. Bending over pieces, I realized that they didn’t mirror the area. On the ground, they should’ve been displaying reflections of sky, trees, or something. Instead, each looked like an opening into another place, a weirdness that made me shiver.

None of them reflected me, either. I leaned down lower for a closer look at one, trying to see the place in the mirror. Seeing gray behind bushes, I thought it could be part of an old castle.

A noise like a large tree cracking and splintering came behind me. Standing, I turned to see what it was.

The dream ended. Or, that’s all that I remember. Remembering this dream feels creepy. I feel like I’m being watched.

Before, when I began recalling this dream, the song, “Touch Me” by The Doors, began playing. I wondered if my mind had created some connection to the The Doors and the pieces of mirror – the doors of perception.

It’s another dream mystery.

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Mirrored

He had no sense of direction, she noticed, but then she observed other oddities. When he entered a room, if the door was closed on his arrival, he left it open. If the light was off, he turned it on and left it on, and if it was on, he turned it off.

As she realized these things, she also saw that he was always confused about which pull to use on the up/down blinds, lowering them when he meant to raise them, exclaiming, “I don’t know why I can’t remember which one of these to use. I’m always doing this.” Of course you are, she thought without telling him. When she asked him to look right, he looked left, and when he was told to turn right, he often began turning left. Sometimes, she heard him tell something that he’d said as something that she’d said, insisting that the false memory was true.

With these traits piling up, it didn’t surprise her to realize that he always thought that lies were the truth, and that truths were lies. It was, she decided, that he lived in a mirrored world. With that observation, she understood him much better, and could use words to get her way.

And she lived happily ever after…

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