Tag: traveling

The Sandwich Shop Dream

A phone was ringing. It was a late hour, but I thought it was Dad calling. I couldn’t get to the phone. I had my backpack on with my laptop and was heading for work.

I was in an airport, walking with others, none recognized from RL. We were gathered into a white side room to pick up our paychecks. They hadn’t been delivered on time to the regular place, and this was where we’d been sent to get them. We milled through with many others, then realized there were lines. People working with us weren’t in a line, so we formed one. We met with a rep, a tanned white male with a tired face. He was a friend of sorts but also upper management. He told us our paychecks were coming, that there’d been some issue, yada, yada, and the checks would be here later today.

‘Later today’ came. We returned to the room. Far fewer people were present. In fact, it was really only my group. The management friend never showed up. Neither did our checks. Disappointed, we left.

I got in line to have a sandwich made at a Subway shop. I’d been there many times before and the staff and I knew one another. The lines were long and so was the wait. When it was finally my turn, I ordered a sub sandwich only to be told that it was after five o’clock.

I looked at the clock; they were right, it was now a few minutes after five. I protested, because I’d been in line before five, and appealed to their sense of right. I appealed the time, too, arguing that it was just a few minutes after five, what difference could a few minutes make? And, I was a regular.

They would not make me a sandwich but offered me something else for free. I thought I’d get something for my wife, so, mollified, I started ordering. After a few minutes, the guy behind the counter said, “That’s just another sandwich.”

I realized that he was right. I started apologizing and held up a large quantity of paper money. I said, “I can pay for it.”

The counterman took all the sandwich ingredients and wordlessly slid them onto the floor in front of me. He then took all the money from my hand and drop it on top of the food on the floor. I protested again, “I forgot, I didn’t realize.” Then, seeing the futility of that effort, I picked up my money and rushed off into the airport to catch my flight. As I went, I kept telling myself, “I really forgot. I really did.”

Dream end

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The Confused Writing Dream

I was in a small building where there was a small office busy with people. It had a feel that seemed lifted from a 1950s movie. They had published something. Different authors were asked to read it and express what they thought. I was one, and my response was not like everyone else’s, triggering a new path.

Yet, I was never certain what was going on. I’d read and commented on something, but it seemed vague throughout the dream. My response made them ask me attend a conference with them. An old friend, a college professor, was going, too. He and I would go together, driving across country in a big, dark blue Lincoln Continental. He prepared to go in a hectic frenzy. I seemed baffled about everything he did and confused about what was going to happen next. Yet, soon we were in the car, driving across the country through light rain.

He was driving. I said something about seeing people needing a ride and wishing we could help them. Next thing that I knew, he pulled over for a hitchhiker. The hitchhiker climbed into the back. I offered to take a turn driving but the professor insisted that he was fine.

Seeing several more people on the side of the road, he pulled over and offered them a ride. I was leery of this, feeling that we didn’t have the room, but people crammed into the car. I looked into the back seat; it looked like a small, cluttered room. A blanket covered the rear window. That was to keep out the light so people could sleep, I guessed, but worried that it was illegal and we’d be pulled over. I again offered to drive, but he dismissed the offer.

We arrived at the conference. My impression was that it was a giant flea market, although it was indoors. People selling junk seemed to cover every square foot. Moving was done slowly, carefully, patiently. Food was being sold. I was hungry but passed on getting something to eat because I was reminded that we were having a big banquet. Someone gave me cookies, which I ate.

The head, a tall and bald white, middle-aged male wearing hornrim glasses, gave a short speech. He told everyone else that I was going to write about my impressions of the article they’d published. That startled me. Everyone applauded except me. Bewilderment was overtaking me. I was to do what, when? I didn’t understand but didn’t know how to ask the question.

Then, without me doing anything, the professor told me it was time to go. I realized that it was the weekend and that he needed to be back in order to teach Monday morning. We rushed around, packing things into the car. I offered to drive, since he’d driven us out there. He agreed. The dream ended as I entered the car and put my hands on the steering wheel.

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Another Airport Dream

I experienced three distinct airport dreams last night. Two were of the, ‘hey, I’m traveling in an airport’ style, once with my wife, and once without her. They were essentially just in the airport, milling around, waiting for my flights, without any events happening. The third was weird.

My wife and I were in our thirties and looked just as we would in photographs of that time. We were outside on asphalt, between low building with white siding. The buildings reminded me of military buildings erected in the late 1950s/early 1960s. Cyclone fencing encircled the site. Beyond were tall pines and firs in a sandy but flat land sketchy with broken asphalt and foundations where other buildings had been torn down.

We talked as we waited. I asked, “I wonder how much of this land and these buildings are going with us?” Because it was my understanding that they would fly us out by lifting the land we were on. I was struggling to visualize that process.

As time passed, we drifted into another area. Tall, fat, white, cylindrical pillars held ceiling up hundreds of feet above our heads. The paved area was open on all sides. People in knots, clumps, groups, were waiting all around although the center was clear. I walked around a while, looking, wondering when we were leaving, then found that I’d lost track of my wife. As I looked for her, I heard an announcement that our flight was ready and that we need to return to our places.

A stocky pale man with short hair, a red baseball cap, and a goatee asked, “Are you looking for your wife?” As I nodded and replied, “Yes,” he said, “She went to the Starbucks,” and pointed. I turned and saw my wife up on a platform, waving at me. Thanking the man, I walked toward her and waved her toward me, telling her, “Come on. It’s time.”

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A Commnication Dream

I was traveling alone. Between flights, I was staying at a hotel. The hotel was pleasant, and I was in a mini suite. It was a smooth trip. I had everything I needed and all was working. My fight was at 6:35 AM. I thought that was perfect; I always prefer traveling early. I made my plans, working backward, getting there ninety minutes before the flight, traveling to the airport, checking out of the hotel. Meanwhile, I passed time by having dinner, surfing the net, having a drink, and socializing with strangers. All smooth, under control, relaxed. I decide to dress, check out, and head for the airport. But before I do, I’ll check emails. I found that my wife had sent me messages but that I’d missed them. She wants me to call.

I check out and call her on the way to the airport. The connection is horrible. She’s angy and upset. It sounds like she’s telling me someone died. I set my phone down. It gets misplaced but two woman come up with it as I’m searching for it. The phone has a code on it in red numbers: 752. I somehow understand that this a code to lock the phone because a problem has been detected. I’m exasperated because I don’t think the phone has a problem, and I need to use it now. But using it requires me to call corporate to get it unlocked. I’m confused about where to call because I don’t work. Is it IBM, ISS, Network ICE, Tyco, some other corporation who employed me?

Somehow, though, using my computer, I manage to get the help needed to unlock the phone. It’s still plenty of time before my flight. I call my wife; she tells me my brother-in-law died. Who? Which? Give me details. Instead, she chastises me because I’d not called her in several days. I realize that she’s right, that I hadn’t called or emailed her in almost seven days.

The dream ends.

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A Flying Car Dream

To begin, I was a detective. Didn’t look much like RL me. Only commonalities were white and male. My dream detective had a florid face – pink as a carnation – on a square head with receding blonde hair. I seemed to be in my forties. Clean shaved, a nose bent by fights finished my facial ensemble.

I’d just solved a couple big cases. After receiving accolades, I headed to my flying car to go home. The flying car was a BMW and some sleek sedan or SUV variation – wasn’t given a good look at it. No need to because a flying car is normal and common, and this was my regular ride.

A few people needed a lift. I was heading generally their way so said I’d provide taxi service. They sat in the back. We headed out.

Even though it was a flying car, we followed surface roads and the same road rules now in effect. Traffic was end-of-workday heavy. Stopped at one traffic light leading to an Interstate maze, I was in the wrong lane. Knew I needed to get into the left-hand land for my destination. So I had to outrace the other three lanes of cars — which I did. But then, I found the car wasn’t following the road but drifting right. I took manual control of the car to combat it, then found it a greater problem than first thought. I announced to my passengers that I was having a little car trouble. I pushed buttons in, trying to make the car work right. The buttons were square and silver. They wouldn’t hold in as expected.

I talked to the car, telling it to fix itself. The problem was given a temporary solution after a few minutes (according to the car). That’d eaten into my time and mood, so I had a change of plans. I pulled over and got out. Taking a control, I told the car to take my companions to their destination, go get itself fixed, and then come back and pick me up. I then gently tossed the control into the air, and the car took off. I turned and began walking.

That segment ended. A young man, closely resembling my RL self, I was in an airport when I stopped to check email on my computer and play games to kill time. The computer didn’t work right. I sat down and took some of the computer apart. These were hollow brass cylinders, about one and a quarter inch in diameter and an inch tall, unlike anything I’d seen in a RL computer. They were threaded and reminded me of faucet components.

Putting the computer back together, I decided to leave them off, in case I needed to address the problem again, then packed up and headed for my flight. I went through turnstiles with others, then overheard a younger man talking about a computer game he’d enjoyed. I knew the game and asked him if he’d ever played another game.

I couldn’t recall the game’s name. It stumped me for a few. I remembered playing it when it was big in the late eighties to early nineties, and described it to him. Then the name came home: “Empire” by Interstellar.

The guy thanked me and went on. I found that my flight was delayed. I began wandering the airport. While doing that, I went back to where I’d fixed my computer. I discovered that I’d left the two brass pieces behind. Horrified at my oversight, I stuffed them into my bag, thankful that nobody had picked them up while wondering what others thought they were if they’d seen them.

The dream ended.

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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 Zeppelin Dream

Not referring to the great rock group Led Zeppelin, nor any cover group in this. We were traveling via zeppelins. I was with others but didn’t know any of them beyond their first names. I don’t know why we were traveling or where we were going. I knew it was a zeppelin because the dream actually had a scene of conversation in which it was discussed what the vessel was. Semi-rigid. Inflated. Airship. An enormous passenger compartment with plush red seats similar to a movie theater was available.

I had a mission. I was going to raise money for refugees by selling raffle tickets. I wasn’t certain what the winner would receive; that was to be resolved, although I was doing all of this on my own. I’d made the tickets, red with black marker, by hand, and carried them in a red basket. I also had red cloth napkins. Besides this, I carried open cans of wet food for cats and animals so that I could feed any animal that I encountered. After preparing myself, I entered the passenger compartment, greeting travelers as they rushed in to find preferred seats. Someone jostled me, spilling cat food onto the ground and upsetting me. As I cleaned it up, others asked why I had open cat food, so I explained that I was feeding animals while selling raffle tickets to raise money to help refugees. When asked what the prize was, I exclaimed, “The prize can be whatever you want.”

Dream end.

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Monday’s Theme Music

The daily cycle has commenced again. The beat goes on. Monday, Monday. Sunrise, sunset. Here we go again.

Hello! Welcome to Monday, August 23, 2021. Sunrise in Florence, Oregon, was at 6:29 AM in a clear pale blue sky, a sunrise of hope and optimism. Sunset will come at 8:08 PM. It’s 52 in Florence now but it will be 72 later today. Should be beautiful. But we’ll be on the road. Heading home. Ashland. Current temp there is 58. High is forecast to be 85. Air quality has improved, but it’s poor — 69. Still, it’s home for all that it implies, with its failing and securities, comforts and frustrations. Home. Such a four-letter word.

Unimaginatively, many home songs scale my brain. Home, sweet home, I’m on my way. Just set me free. Home, sweet home. And road songs. On the road again. Just can’t wait to get on the road again. But I’m also thinking, ain’t that a shame? Ain’t that a shame that I must leave this lovely place and ain’t that a shame that more people can’t live better lives? That we can’t find and sustain a better balance between nature and humanity’s endeavors? So I’m playing “Ain’t That A Shame” by Cheap Trick in the morning mental stream. I know Fats Domino was first with it. Great version. But I’m rocking today.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Cheers

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The Friends Dream

This is not about the television series. This dream was about Mary & Bruce, names given to them for this dream. May worked for me. I met Bruce through others. He and I became good friends. He and Mary married.

Bruce has died in the dream. I just found out about it. He’s such a wonderful person, I’m completely shocked by his passing.

Mary has become a VIP. I want to see her to learn about Bruce’s death. In parallel, I’m told by another that Mary got him a good deal on a Jeep. I decide that I’d like to try to get a good deal when I see Mary to learn about Bruce’s death.

I call her office. There’s a little verbal altercation between me and her assistant. They don’t know who I am. Mary is a VIP with a heavy schedule. I’d like to see her. Mary comes on the line and tells me, “Of course I’ll see you, Sergeant Seidel,” just like we’re still in the service and she’s working for me. “I’ll make time.”

I go to her via a traveling montage. Arriving, I learn that Mary is struggling to get some photographs developed. I look for and find the photographs. They’re of her and Bruce and their children while on vacation. There’s also some photographs of symbols on walls. I understand that photographing them is forbidden. This is why the photos aren’t developing right. But I still believe I can fix them.

Mary and I met and walk along outside. She’s lovely as ever. Yes, she can get me a car discount, she tells me. We don’t really talk about Bruce’s death, just that he abruptly passed away. She misses him but she’s okay.

She has to return to work. I walk with her. We come across a man. He’s a VP who works for Mary. He’s tried to develop the photographs and couldn’t do it. I tell Mary that I want to try. She agrees. Tells me to take the photographs and see what I can do, but she wants them back. I agree. I’m wearing a leather jacket and slip them inside. Then I get on a motorcyle and ride away.

Dream end.

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The New Clothing Dream

A friend and I were staying with a gay couple. I seemed to be in my early twenties. The couple lived in a city apartment a few floors up. A big city, the place was busy and noisy. I was there to get rid of my old clothing, and then I was taking a trip to get new clothing. We were flying out for that purpose the next day. Meanwhile, my buddy wanted us to go out on the town before leaving. Parallel to this, our hosts were throwing a party (unrelated to our visit). They’d also received a new table and were putting it together.

As I’d chosen to get rid of my old clothes except what I was wearing and what I was traveling in the next day, I decided to find something to wear from the clothes I was getting rid of to wear out on the town. It should be something festive. I found an old pale yellow shirt with a red parrot embroidered on the left chest, a shirt I haven’t owned in over thirty years.

I paused while dressing to watch them trying to put the new table together. It wasn’t going well. They thought parts were missing and were calling the manufacturer for help. I thought that I would be doing it differently, as they seemed disorganized, but I believed part of the issue was that they already had too many people involved, so I remained uninvolved.

My friend was urging me to hurry up. It was night, and the night was calling him. He was wearing jeans and a maroon puffy jacket. I was only in a shirt. “Is it cold out? Do I need a jacket?” Without awaiting an answer, I went into my old clothes for a jacket. I pulled it on, but then decided it was too heavy and replaced with a lighter jacket, an old black “Members Only” jacket I used to have. I then worried, maybe I should change shirts because the parrot was no longer seen. But I left it at that. He and I scampered down the steps and into the brightly-lit night to have fun.

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