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?

The Mom Dream

First, I was with other men. I was younger than now but can’t say what my age was. We’d been inside doing some unspecified activity. Finishing, we headed to elevators and exits. I was with one guy. White and young, I estimate him at six foot five and two hundred fifty muscular pounds. His hair was short, brown salted with gray.

We spoke briefly about the thing we just finished, alluding to its recurring nature. I said, “You know, we meet all the time to do this. We should get together outside and do something.”

He replied, “I’d like that.”

Now I’m at my place. Some rednecks are trying to rob me. I’ve become aware of this. They’re armed. We’re outside. I’ve hidden weapons outside. I drift around under their eye until I’m by a hidden pistol. Grabbing it, I start firing. It’s a plastic pellet gun and sprays yellow balls all over the place. They pull up similar weapons and fire back. We run around like that.

Others arrive. I realize that with the others there, the rednecks aren’t going to do anything. I’m not sure how many rednecks are present. At least two, including one with a thick and glossy black beard who seems to be their leader. Other people mill and chat, wine and champagne glasses in their hands. A redneck or two constantly follows me about, keeping me under watch, but I slowly grasp that they’re not going to rob me. Still, they make me uncomfortable and I want to leave.

I go into the house. A few people are in there but I notice that no rednecks are present. Going to a window, I climb out and run down the street.

I pass through a large activity room. People are sitting at tables. I think at first that they’re playing bingo, but they’re not. I hear Mom’s voice on speaker. Mom is on stage, moderating something. She’s in her mid-forties, about forty years younger than now. I’m surprised that Mom is moderating this. I listen to her asking and answering questions. Sometimes she laughs, but she always has a smile, red lips around white teeth.

Going on, I reach a crowded bus complex and join the queue to get on a bus. It’s a bottleneck. People are trying to go several different directions. Noticing this, I step back and let people go by since my line isn’t moving. Others see what I did and do the same. The bottleneck is cleared up, freeing me to enter the bus. It’s a huge one, like something companies use for tours or cross-country travel.

The bus starts up and begins moving. We’re driving down a steep hill. I’m in the back of the bus and Mom is driving the bus! I think, Mom is amazing, when did she learn to drive a bus? Someone back by me calls her name and then asked, “Did you ever figure out the GPS problem?”

Mom, laughing and steering, braking the bus at the hill’s bottom to turn, replies, “Yes. There’s a funy story there. Let me tell you.”

Just as Mom always used to do, except she never drove a bus. This is where the dream stopped.

Saturday’s Wandering Thought

On the one hand, the sky’s smoky haze incubated worrying questions about the fire’s location size, growth, and containment. But the smoke blocked the sun and kept the temperature in the low 90s F, granting relief from the previous broiler level days.

Fire, smoke, heat, he just hoped the animals, lands, and people all stayed safe. He crossed his fingers to amplify his hopes.

The “I can” Dream

Had another parade of dreams. As I’m in buoyant spirits and have a busy day on top, not going into much except for one piece of one segment.

I was high on a rolling green hill. Clouds marred a perfect blue sky but the clouds also dropped a dash of nostalgia into the moment, as it reminded me of being a young boy in Pittsburgh, PA, in the 1960s. I was an adult in this dream, though, but not the adult I am now. I was somewhere south of my current age, but north of being a man. But I was young, slender, strong.

Standing on a hill, I began chanting and clapping, laughing as I did.

“I can, you can, I can, we can.”

As I did this, others joined me. Of about my dream up, they climbed the hill, laughing, chanting, and clapping.

As it went, perspective changed, lifting to enable me to see myself in a crowd of people on a hillside chanting together.

Dream end.

Friday’s Theme Music

Candlebox’s 1993 tune, “Far Away”, is with me today. I’m in a reflective mood, so the song fits. It’s all about the growing distance between friends.

The song came out in 1993. I was in the military then, stationed at Onizuka Air Base, Sunnyvale, California, right off of highway 101. I worked in a building called the Blue Cube. I’ve been thinking about all the people I worked with there. I’m friends with some on Facebook, and we keep up with one another. Others have veered far right politically, so we’ve distanced ourselves from each other. A few have died. Others have fallen off the map. None, that I know, live in the same place, i.e., Mountain View, Sunnyvale, Santa Clara, etc. All have left that area.

Life is poignant with change, isn’t it? Let me sip my coffee, look out the window (the smoke is back; air quality has been hazardous for the last three days), and speculate.

Cheers

Floofpendent

Floofpendent (floofinition) – A psychological condition or a relationship in which a person is controlled or manipulated by an animal.

In use: “She wanted to travel more but lived with a man who was floofdependent. They could (and did) take the Jack Russell (Joey) with them, but the cats (Oswald, Jorge, and Truthiness) always needed a carer whenever anything more than an overnighter was planned.”

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑