Tag: questions

A Cheetah Dream

I dreamed that my wife and I and several family members were traveling together. Just ending a journey together, we arrived at my house. This was a tiny but crowded place with bare cinder block walls. Included among my family was a sister and one of her daughters, and several of her grandchildren.

I was first into the house. Getting in there, I discovered a full-grown cheetah in our house. My arms were full of grocery bags, limiting what I could do. My dream brain said something like, “Holy shit, there’s a cheetah in the house.” The house was a friggin’ mess, so cluttered with junk that I struggled to walk across the floor. As I did try to walk across the floor, the cheetah gently took hold of my shirt tail in its mouth and tried pulling me in another direction.

My wife and others entered. I warned them, “There’s a cheetah in here.” They didn’t seem to pay attention but I continued, “I think he wants me to feed him. I don’t know if it’s male, to be honest, but I think he’s trying to pull me toward his food.”

That’s what the cheetah did seem to be doing. I talked to it like it was my housepet, explaining that I’d feed him in a second, but I needed to put things down and food his food first. Whenever I’d go toward where I thought the food was, the cheetah would get happy and chirp small, high-pitched mews at me. But if I turned away from its food, it’d would swat at me. Never with true menace, but still, it’s a cheetah.

Sometimes I would swear. Then a second sister, who’d joined without being noticed, would remind me of little ones being present, and I’d apologize. My niece’s husband also joined us, making my place very crowded. All through this, the cheetah paid no attention to anyone except me. Meanwhile, I kept asking the cheetah, “How did you get in here?” The dream ended as I reached for food to give the cheetah.

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The Beginning

Daily writing prompt
You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?
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It was the beginning of the end the moment I was born but before the end was finalized, I was required to travel and seek answers, although I don’t think I ever understood the question.

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Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

It was a weird juxtaposition.

I parked in the coffee shop’s lot. A silver SUV battle scar from its travels had the front passenger door open. I glanced that way. It seemed like the SUV was someone’s home. A woman was in the seat, her foot sticking out the open door, as she painted her toenails pink.

I thought of multiple things associated with painting nails. To feel and look attractive. Or maybe to fit in. To seem normal to others. You know, norms, values, mores, judgements. Or carrying forward from the past, trying to remain that person they were.

Then again, I could be all wrong. Might be that they’re not living in their car. They could just be a traveler, pausing to get coffee, taking advantage of a break in their schedule to do their nails.

It’s the kind of scene that inspires questions and thinking about our life and society.

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The ‘Miles’ Dream

People were running in positions as though they sat in cars, following lanes marked with white lines and arrows. I did the same, jumping into the left-turn lane toward my home. The streets were narrow, lined with tall cement and brick buildings pink, yellow, white. The setting reminded me of Okinawa outside of Kadena Air Base’s main gate back in the 1980s.

Arriving home, a tall, old, cement building, I encountered friends. One needed to leave but his son’s baby sitter hadn’t arrived.

“I can take him,” I volunteered.

Ted, a Black friend, answered, “You sure? I don’t want to burden you.”

“Miles isn’t a burden.” Miles was the boy, a light-skinned Black child with a sweet, happy face, an oddly muscular body, and a head topped with soft curls. “We’ll have fun, won’t we, Miles?”

Miles agreed with a grin and words I didn’t understand, tottering over to show me something in his hand, which was empty.

“Okay, thanks.” Ted left.

Miles and I walked down the street to another building. People there seemed high or tipsy. Performers, I knew. Students. Singers, actors, musicians, artists.

Miles and I spent time chasing one another or playing hide and seek. People knew him more than they knew me. They started asking, where is his father? Why do you have him?

I explained that I was watching the boy for his father because his father had an appointment, but his mother was coming to pick Miles up.

“What was the father’s appointment?” I was asked. “Why isn’t he here?” They were disapproving, even though I’d already explained that the baby sitter had an emergency.

“He was counter-protesting a protest.”

Oh, that makes sense. That’s important, others agreed.

Miles disappeared from my watch. I panicked and searched for him. His father came in just as I found Miles. I said, “I was so worried that something had happened to him. I took my eyes off him for just a second and he was gone.”

His father, who was now another person, said, “I know what you mean. That happens to me all the time.”

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Frieday’s Wandering Thought

He enjoyed people watching. Regulars were given backstories as their habits and details were observed and conversations they had with others were overhead.

One twentyish woman always wore a jean jacket lined with wool. An ordinary jacket except she wore it every day. This was during summer, during the day, during times when the temperature tiptoed up through ninety to one hundred degrees F. Yes, she was inside, where air conditioning sometimes made it feel like we huddled in shacks as we went ice fishing. But she never removed it, always wore it.

Imagination began fabricating reasons for her jacket. It could be fashion commitment. Perhaps a medical condition? Maybe the jacket provided her with extraordinary powers or protected her. There was also the possibility that the jacket gave her form. Removing the jacket would reveal that she had no body beneath it, exposing her as a neck with two hands and a lower body.

It was hard to say why she wore the jacket, but many possibilities existed.

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The Sex Connection Dream

I started out with a petite dark-haired white woman. She and I were going around on inspections of odd places. Two stood out: a giant mailbox — I mean, it was huge, we were little people walking around inside it — and a large cement room with a single metal door. At each place, we answered questions on a piece of pape. At the end, I was given my results, which was on a large scroll. I had missed thirty-one out of thirty-one questions because my response required me to include something of the subject in my answer. For example, I was told in the dream, if the question was about toilet paper, my answer must have a piece of toilet paper attached to it.

Well, I thought that was stupid. Then I was angry. Then I blamed the woman I’d been with because I’d been following her example. Then I accepted that it was my own fault because I have free will and should have done better. Then I said screw that.

Next, another woman and I were about to enter a room. We knew hostile people were within. The small-statured woman — middle-aged, blonde, and white — was armed with a small machine gun. I picked up a double-barreled anti-aircraft gun. Normally this would be a problem because it’s a big, heavy weapon and I’m a small guy, but for the dream I was suddenly four times my normal size, dwarfing the little lady with me. I told her that I was tired of those people and if they attacked me, I would shoot and kill them. Then I asked her to hold the door open for me so I could go in.

She had trouble with the door. I hovered by her, making suggestions about turning the knob, pulling the door, and how to hold the door open while she still held onto the machine gun. We entered the room; it was empty.

I then left and heard about these six people who claimed to drink an elixir and then travel telepathically to have sex with people in another dimension. I encountered one woman who was part of the six. “So you’re real,” I said, “and you can really do this.” As she nodded and answered, “Yes,” I went on, “I’d heard about your group, but I thought you guys were all just crazy.”

She explained to several of us how it was done and what was involved, and that is, while they’re in a meditative state on this end, they each inhabit another person in another dimension (or maybe it was just in another time period — they weren’t sure) while the other had sex. They said the others were willing participants because the travelers’ presence enhanced the sexual experience.

I had a number of questions and put them to her, like, do the hosts definitely know they’re there, can you experience things from the others’ perspective, and can you control them?

She told me that the others knew of her presence. She could feel them when she started getting close to them, then see them as shadows, which then transformed into figures of white light. She knew that they could control them a little but had never pressed the issue. She and her group had taught the others about the elixir and meditation so both groups could have sex and transport themselves at the same time, amplifying the effect. Yeah, that didn’t make sense to me.

But I was intrigued. The dream got a little weird, because I could hear this woman talking to other people, but I had gone off and was following myself. From the dream perspective, I sometimes had a ‘split screen’ while I otherwise swapped perspectives between me and her.

She told the others that I was going to try and that I would succeed because she’d felt me awakening as she explained what they did. Hearing that, I found some elixir. I was leery of drinking it because I didn’t know what was in it. She explained that to the others. After that, I took a small sip. As soon as I did, I became aware of shadows moving nearby. I was surprised at how quick and easy it was.

Dream end.

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The Prophecies Dream

I was invited to participate in a picnic with a number of families. It wasn’t a large gathering, perhaps thirty people. Adults and children, both sexes, very casual, being conducted at a tall apartment building where the all lived. I was invited specifically to answer questions about prophecies. In the dream, I thought nothing of it and felt quite prepared to answer questions and explain prophecies.

First, though, we ate. Mountains of food – BBQ chicken and ribs, salads including potato salad, corn on the cob, burgers and hot dogs, along with plenty to drink. The food was great and I ate my share, though I was warned to save room for dessert. A presentation by a couple people followed. Then, I was asked to explain why what they’d prophesized in the presentation was wrong. Before I could speak, though, dessert was called for. Everyone walked and milled about, finding themselves a piece of pie or cake. Several men approached me and asked if they could quiz me on some other prophecies because they’d heard me speak before. Sure, no problem, I said. But before that could take place, they were interrupted by their children and the little meeting broke up.

I waited to answer questions but everyone went down to play whiffle ball in the backyard. Adults and children were playing. It was a crowded, narrow green field with a white split rail fence to one side. They talked me into playing. The rule is, you were at bat until you hit the ball into the field of play. I was first up and hit the first pitch, a long line drive that only managed to be a single. Getting to first base, I laid down while the next person took his swings. He finally got a hit but I wasn’t paying attention by then. I finally managed to leap up to run but instead said, “Know what? This just proves that I shouldn’t be playing. I’m sorry.” I walked off then, going back upstairs.

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Dream and Dream Again

First dream was one of those short, sharp ones my mind has been recently providing.

My wife and I have a home. Two stories. Not a house but part of a building. The outer walls are open to the other places. We’re making improvements. I’m pleased with the progress. As I go about, though, I discover that a neighbor has installed a central vac system. There’s an open outlet on a kitchen wall that sucks in air whenever they turn their system on. Well, that’s not acceptable. Who wants a hole making news and sucking air out of your place? I was in a good mood though. Heard the neighbors and went over and informed them of the error.

Off I went again. That was all upstairs. I went downstairs. Confusion reigned of the Abbott & Costello ‘Who’s On First’ variety. Used to be that there was a room opposite the stairs when you went down. Thought it was the kitchen. But I just left the kitchen. Are there two flights of stairs? Did we used to have two flights of stairs or is this new? Do we have two kitchens. I darted about looking for answers that didn’t come before the brief dream ended.

Second dream was long, involved, and anxiety driven. Mild understatement.

Wife and I were vacationing. Our last day. We somehow get separated. Where is she? I’m looking everywhere. Panic is rising like a thermometer on a hot day. I can’t find her and we need to check out and catch our flight. With time passing, worse fears that something has happened to her is growing.

I hurry past buses disgorging tourists. Among them is Jennifer Aniston as Rachel from “Friends”. She’s in a dress with messages attached to her with safety pins. Don’t know what that’s about. Deciding it’s not related to me, I go on.

Stopping to tie my shoe, I set my glasses down. A young boy with his father pulls his suitcase into me and then picks up my glasses. The father picks up his son and apologizes to me. I accept those apologies but where are my glasses? I need those, thanks. The child doesn’t have them. I discover them sticking out of the father’s shirt pocket. “My son must have put them there,” the father exclaims, proud, amused, appalled, apologetic. No problem. I take my glasses and hasten on. I must find my wife.

Anxiety growing, so does confusion and bewilderment. Where is our hotel? What room is it? What day is it? I can’t remember these things. I can’t remember our airline or flight numbers, or what time we need to be there. I can’t find the tickets or room key. Can’t recall how to work the electronic device in my hand. Seems to be a phone but it looks weird to me. Can’t recall what email account I used. And can’t find my wife.

Somehow, I acquire all our bags. I’m carrying something in each hand, on each shoulder, and on my back. Then, there’s my wife. She’s been shopping. I’m outraged. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to go.” She’s vague, disconnected. She’s been right here. She doesn’t understand the problem.

Never mind, we need to go. I find our rental car. We’re in it and driving with other traffic but there are no lane markers or directions. The road is slick and smooth. There’s no traction. The car is sliding all over. I discern that there are some markers but it’s all faded away. Never mind, we’ll follow other cars.

We reach a parking garage and stop. It’s inside a building lined with stores. I’m thinking, now they’re putting stores in parking garages, too. I remember my email account and suddenly understand how to use the phone to retrieve my email but, oh, no, we forgot to check out of the hotel.

Dream ends.

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A Dream of Angst and Symbolism

Dream hits keep coming. In another busy night, one stood out.

I was welcomed into a luxury hotel, room 506. There, I found wonderful devices. Connected to my brain, they enabled to accomplish things with simple thought. Think the words and they’re typed. Imagine a food and it’s there. Ponder a drink and it’s at hand.

Wow, of course, right. I was giddy with amazement. Enjoying myself, I went off. Dream time zipped by. I found myself lost. Struggling to find my way back to my hotel and room, I ended up down on an airport tarmac looking for a way in. A woman gave me a white cap. Realizing everyone was wearing one, I put it on so I blended in. Then, trying to sneak into the building past the others (I was casual about it), another woman with a loud voice accosted me, demanding that I write three things on my cap. That confused the hell out of me. (Love that expression: look, no more hell in me! It’s a temporary state, though.) I asked, “Why should I write that on my cap?”

She snipped, “Because you’re part of my security team.”

Removing the cap with a smirk, I answered, “No, I’m not.”

I just walked past her after that. Suddenly back in the hotel, I asked the staff, “Where’s my room?” They replied, “Who are you?”

Although it irritated me, I gave them my name. Then I asked, “What room am I in?” They told me that I should know my room number. Irritation growing because they weren’t helping me and I couldn’t remember my room number, I began guessing. I recall something about two. “Two something, two something. Two oh five. Two oh six.” Then it hit me, no, no, it’d been eleven. One and one was two. I’d reached that by adding the numbers together. Right, five oh six.

Knowing the room number and suddenly the key, a card, was in my hand. I rushed to my room. Shock and dismay quickly displaced my happiness and satisfaction. The room had been trashed. All my neat stuff was damaged and broken. Walking around, I demanded, “What happened? Who did this?” As answers didn’t come, I thought, I must fix these, and began picking up the pieces.

That’s when this dream ended. Yes, this one was weighted with all manner of symbolism and angst. Still fun, you know?

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