Another White House Dream

This is my sixth recorded white house dream as far as I can tell. Again I’m not talking about the president’s abode.

Middle-aged, I was at my ‘dream home’, a large luxury apartment in very large building. The walls, floors, furniture were all white. It was a very serene, relaxed place. Many windows and sliding doors, several levels, great views of a busy metropolis.

Friends were waiting for me to go out. I was rushing around to get ready. But I was also concerned about calling the plumber; I had to find my phone and call the plumber.

Hurrying around my place, I also seemed to be familiarizing myself with it, even though, in a contrary way, I already knew it. I had my own suite, separate from my wife’s suite, and they were on different levels. My suite featured a large bathroom and sliders to a balcony. Steps from it led to down the building’s common plaza with tables and benches.

While I was dashing, around, one of my friends, H.E., kept texting and calling me, telling me, “Come on.” I kept telling him to just hang on.

Going through one door, I discovered a small room that I hadn’t known about before. It had a sprawling white sofa and several chairs. A few relaxing space, I was astounded to find it. I thought, I never knew this was here, and then thought, I came here to rest.

I then found two other things: a door to a room that was a nursery, and steps going down, which had been blocked off.

I knew I was the ‘original’ owner and figured they’d made those changes and wondered about them.

Back in the main living area, still looking for the phone to call the plumber, I encountered H.E.

H.E. was a large, sort of goofy young guy. I knew him in my dream but he wasn’t anyone from my real life.

I asked him, “How’d you get in here?”

Sheepishly, he replied, “I picked the lock.” Then he urged me to, “Come on.”

I told him, “You shouldn’t have done that. Go on out and wait.”

But he was looking out the window. We had a huge, deep blue community blue. An infinity pool, it took up an entire view of one wall of windows.

The pool really impressed him. I explained what it was, and he kept saying, “That’s so huge and beautiful.”

I agreed. It was very striking against the building’s white surfaces.

H.E. then stepped out to see more of the pool, going to our private patio. Other families were going down to the community plaza space and sitting down to enjoy the sunshine.

I told H.E., “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

Dream end.

Breathe

sighing

reading

thinking

restless

my mind twists and seethes

trapped

with mindless energy

about how the world

has changed

worrying

speculating

drifting

I wonder

what will come to be

roaming through memories

of hopes

history

half-remembered

dreams

darkness

spreads

across the nation

troubles

rise

around

the world

I struggle

to find the shadows

or how

we

once were

now I find

I’m frankly

a little

out of breath

I need to go somewhere

quiet

and give my brain

a rest

Sunday’s Wandering Thought

I awoke feeling tired and realized I’d gotten about six hours of sleep. Wasn’t real concerned as that’s been my norm for years. But I usually don’t feel tired, and I wondered if it had to do with aging, as I’m now sniffing on the border of being 68. So I thought, yes, this is probably the case.

When I went into the office, cranked up the ‘puter and turned to the NYTimes this morning after breakfast, the first story spotted was, “Why Does Sleep Become More Elusive As We Age” in Salon. I don’t think sleep is my issue per se, but rest. Still, it made me feel like they were spying on my private thoughts.

I wouldn’t be surprised if another story emerges soon, “Why Do We Get More Paranoid About Being Spied On When We Age” soon.

Two Unheard Questions Dream

We were located in an old service station garage. Tall glass garage doors along either side. It’s raining on one side. Just splatter against the window. Through it, I can see another building. I know it’s a coffee house. I can see one person in there, a tall, slender, white, blonde woman with short, curly hair. I want to go over and have coffee. I will when I’m done, I keep telling myself.

I’m conducting two activities in parallel. In one, I’m in charge of a class where people are learning to play music to calm and relax people. Mixed in with the people learning that are people there for advice on retired life. Both are packed classes. One group is filling out paperwork and asking me questions; the other group is selecting music, playing it on radios, and asking me questions. I walk among them, helping, talking, instructing. We’re all tired. We’ve been up a long time. I’d been up over twenty-four hours. I want to go get coffee. Then go to sleep.

We’re done. Classes are finished. The class members all lie down on the floor to rest just for a few minutes. Two ask me questions, one from each class. Settling on the floor with them, I answer, “I didn’t hear your questions. Were they about music or retiring?”

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