Tag: trust

Monday’s Theme Music

Monday. Just come as you are.

Yes, it’s a Nirvana day.

Come as you are, as you were
As I want you to be
As a friend, as a friend
As an old enemy
Take your time, hurry up
Choice is yours, don’t be late
Take a rest as a friend
As an old memoria

h/t to Genius.com

“Come as You Are” always spoke to a oneness for me. Friend, enemy, memory? These matters become fused, and speaks to trust and messy agendas. “Why are you urging me to come there? What are you up to?”

No, I don’t have a gun.

Enjoy the 1992 offering.

 

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Floofmiliar

Floofmiliar (floofinition) – 1. A housepet who is a close friend or associate to the people living in the house. 2 Housepets who are friends with one another. 3. A demon in the form of a housepet supposedly attending and obeying a witch.

In use: “Her miniature Collies were more than pets or friends, especially Gin-gin. Gin-gin was her floofmiliar, attending every mood and acting as a confidant. Gin-gin was trustworthy and dependable, and never told anyone the secrets that she knew.”

 

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The Superpower Dream

I recall three dreams from last night. 

The most memorable had me with superpowers. Yes, I became known as Time Man.

It started with a gorgeous day and a house being built. Standard construction techniques were being employed, and the footers, floors, and frame were all completed. Don’t know if I had a role in building it, but I remember looking at the house under construction, and walking around it in interest.

I then became aware that a large family were after me. From what I witnessed and overheard, they had superpowers and apparently had established a mission for themselves to corral and stop others with superpowers. Hence, they were after me.

At this point, I didn’t know that I had superpowers, and I don’t know how they discovered it. But now, suddenly being chased by this family of twenty donning costumes, I took off, time-jumping to safety. Why, how did I do that? I wondered after doing that. What exactly had I done?

I figured out that, while remaining on Earth and in the proper era, I’d both traveled in time to a few minutes into the future, and I’d also used PK to transport myself about a mile from where I was. Both of these impressed me.

Some of the superpower family (SPF, in shorthand) found me. I jumped again, going further in time and distance to buy some time (sorry). Exploring my abilities, I found that I had become aware of two arrows of time running in parallel, and that I was using both, but also using the time void between them. (I don’t know how the hell I figured all that out.)

Several SPF found me again. This time, I used my powers to freeze them in time, something that I’d learned that I could do. With them frozen in time, the SPF parents caught up with me. By now, confident in myself and what was going on, I confronted them and explained my powers, and told them that I didn’t plan to be evil, so they shouldn’t be afraid or try to stop me. A lengthy discussion about evil and intentions ensued. Essentially, they argued, how could they trust me, and I countered, then why shouldn’t I try to stop them? I could use their own argument about them. They said they had a history, and I replied, yes, but we’re talking about intentions, and subsequently, about unintended consequences.

About that time, the SPF members I’d time-froze (don’t know what else to call it without more thought) thawed and began moving, and other SPF folks began arriving. Mom and Dad stopped their children and began explaining that an agreement had been made for me to leave them alone and vice versa. Then I went off to play with time and explore my powers.

The dream ended, leaving me feeling, “Wow,” but also amused while wondering, “What the hell was that all about?”

One of the other dreams had to do with Mom and my family. I was having dinner with them. Dinner was being prepared, mostly by Mom and my sisters in the kitchen. The kitchen adjoined the dining and living room areas, creating one space. It wasn’t large, and circe 1960s furniture filled it. For example, the kitchen table and chairs had curved chrome legs. The table top was marbled gray Formica, and the seat cushions were bright red vinyl.

Now let’s get into the weird stuff. A man and his boys had a mirror setup, but there wasn’t any wall between us. We and they pretended to ignore one another while going through parallel activities of preparing our meal and sitting down to eat.

Mom and my sisters began talking, though, and left, surprising me. We hadn’t eaten, the food wasn’t prepared, and they’d left a mess in the kitchen. Vexed by this turn, I cleaned and organized, discovering chicken parts left in plastic bags in dish water in the sink. Mom briefly came by. I told her what I’d found and asked her what she was thinking, but she left without replying. Exasperated, I continued cleaning, and then prepared the meal. I waited for the others but when they didn’t show, I sat down to eat what I had.

I was sitting opposite the man and his son. They were white, both with dark hair. Taciturn and glum, the man appeared to be in his mid-forties. He was overweight and slovenly in appearance, with a flannel shirt over a white tee-shirt, and he hadn’t shaved. His son seemed to be about ten.

At this point, we were eating but not paying attention to each other, but I couldn’t help but surreptitiously note what was going on and observe. While doing that, I saw his son doing something, but I can’t recall what it was. However, I told the boy a better way to do it.

He and I looked at the father for a reaction. After a few minutes, while putting food on a plate, the man said without looking at the boy or me, “Listen to him, and do what he says. He knows what he’s doing.”

The dream ended.

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The Direction Dream

Hartford, CT.

It seems like a strange place for a destination for a writer living in Oregon, but that’s where I was going in my dream.

It began as a confused melange of chaotic colors. A story emerged. I was with my wife, and a friend, Mark (not his real name), and his wife. We’d survived something and had come together. Now we were going to Hartford, CT. Then we’d fly out of there. I don’t know where we were flying to.

I said, “Okay, I know the way. Follow me.”

My wife and I got in our car and started driving. Mark and his wife were in an eighteen-wheeler truck. Mark drove. His truck was glossy black with neon green trim. At first, I was leading, but coming up on two other eighteen-wheelers, I became stuck behind them. Mark passed us. The three trucks were aligned across the highway, blocking all three lanes. All three trucks were painted the same color and style, glossy black with neon green trim.

I managed to pass them with some aggressive driving. The highway entered a woods and then became an unpaved rough path that grew fainter and narrower. We finally stopped because it seemed like the wrong way, and we couldn’t go on.

Meeting up with Mark, he said, “I have GPS. I’ve mapped out the way. Follow me.”

I said, “Where are we going?” I knew we’d said Hartford, Connecticut, before, but it seemed odd.

“Hartford, Connecticut,” Mark said.

“Why Hartford, Connecticut?” I said.

Mark laughed. “Don’t worry. We’re going to fly out of there. Trust me.”

We drove in our vehicles, me following him. In a surprisingly short time, we stopped. We weren’t in Hartford, Connecticut, but in someplace we’d stay until we could go on. My wife went ahead with Mark and his wife while I stayed behind to help a homeless person, chatting with them while giving them food and money.

Then I went to the hotel. I told the desk agent who I was and who I was looking for, but they knew me, and said we were already checked in. I prepared to pay, but they told me it was all already paid for, and showed me into a luxury suite. It was gorgeous, with a private dining area for the suites on that floor that was on a balcony overlooking an amazing vista. That’s where my companions were sitting and chatting.

Mark had it all arranged. All I needed to do was to trust and follow him. I agreed to do that.

After buying some food for our trip, we departed. Two cats traveled with me. Sometimes they were in a kennel, but sometimes they wandered about freely. It seemed like we were traveling in our suite at that point, confusing me. I’d get in my car to drive, but the entire place would go, not requiring me to do anything but trust Mark. My wife and I socialized with him and his wife.

His wife had a birth defect that left her without feet. Instead of feet, her legs ended in two knuckles that she walked around on. She had several animals, too.

An issue emerged with her. She was eating soldiers. As this hubbub arose, I rushed to learn what was going on, and to basically get involved. What she actually ate were small plastic soldiers. While it appalled me because they were plastic, probably didn’t taste good, and lacked nutritional value, I defended her against the rest, and they agreed. They didn’t like it but she wasn’t doing anything wrong. 

After that, I fed my cats and found several extra sandwiches that I’d bought for the trip. They were in my car, in a compartment made to hold them. The sandwiches were of the kind called submarine sandwiches, or subs, like I bought at G.C. Murphy’s when I was a child. I didn’t eat the sandwiches, because I had food, but hung onto the sandwiches to eat them later.

That’s where it all ended, giving me a lot to think about on my walks today. We were still enroute to Hartford, Connecticut. It was the place to go, according to Mark, and we’d get there, if I just trusted him.

I’ve already taken some ideas from it. Chiefly, Mark is my muse, and I need to quit second-guessing him. If I do, I’ll get where I want to go.

Hartford, Connecticut? It’s not a matter of the name of the place, but rather a destination that I don’t know. It’s named, but it’s a surprise.

There was another dream, but I feel too exhausted from thinking and writing about that one to go into now. I’ll write about it another time.

Trust me.

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Ray Said

I take Ray’s statement to heart, but sometimes where my intuition is taking me scares the crap out of me. I feel like I’m hanging waaayyy out on a thin branch, and the noise I hear sounds like wood splintering.

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The Trust Dream

Lately, my dreams have had their own unique brand. Except for one – where I was the General of Level Forty-three – the dreams were of me watching television. I would be in a chair, in a small room, facing a small television, watching shows. Most remarkable about the dreams were that the quantity, eleven in the last two weeks, and the surreal surprise when I awoke; it always felt like I’d never been asleep.

As for being General of Level Forty-three, only jumbled images and sounds are recalled, a surprising twist to someone like me, who often sharply remembers dream, or convinces myself that I do.

Last night’s dream broke the pattern. I dreamed I was in a room, part of a new home. Plants in pots and planters were nearby. The carpet was as green as Ireland in all those travel posters. Something else was in the room. I didn’t know what, and was trying to see.

Approaching the greenery, I tried peering past them. Movement before me caused me to stop. A snake slithered out from under the plots. I know little about snakes, but I thought it was a rattle snake.

I moved back from it. Simultaneous to this, a large dark gray rat emerged from my left. I attempted to split attention between the snake and the rat. Both worried me, but the snake worried me more.

The rat scurried in past the planters. The snake followed. As they did, a man appeared. Topless, had baggy pants and blue skin. He wore something like a turban. His hair was short and black. A thick mustache hid his mouth. He carried a scimitar.

His appearance shocked me. I demanded to know who he was, and what he was doing. With a look over his shoulder toward me, he raised his scimitar and pointed it in the direction the rat and snake had taken.

Another man, dressed like the first, appeared with a boisterous laugh. “Don’t worry, he’s here to protect you and watch over you.”

Confusion swamped me. Despite his reassurances, I didn’t understand why I needed protection, and why these people had blue skin. But before I could engage him, he whisked off to the right.

I still worried about the snake and rat. Thinking of them, I approached the green plants and parted them. Beyond were shiny, cherry-red objects. I thought they were large metallic balloons.

My perspective shifted. Flying over them, I looked down, and realized they were all small bright red cars. Parked in perfect rows, they were all shiny. I thought them new.

My wife arrived. I joined her. We were inside the interior of an old car, something with the spaciousness and finish of an American sedan from the nineteen fifties. There were seats, but no glass, steering wheel, or instrument panel.

My wife was seating on the plain bench seat. Trying to explain to her about everything I saw and worried about, I sat beside her, to her left, where the driver would sit.

She put her head on my shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her mouth carried a half-smile. “I’m not worried,” she said. “I trust you.”

The blue man with the scimitar re-appeared. Although he didn’t speak, he mimed that he’d taken care of the snake. His expression comforted me. He left us sitting in the car, and I thought, I have no reason to worry.

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The Tale of Two Cats

I have two cats, Tucker and Quinn. Each choose our house. Quinn came half a dozen years plus ago. I was out a cold winter December midnight, calling my cats, the late memorable Scheckter, and Lady. Quinn rushed over. He clearly belonged to someone. We put up posters, they came, claimed him, and took him home. He came back to us. Again, and again. The charade ended after a few months. We were his. They since moved away without him.

Tucker showed up sick and injured a few years ago. He’s black and white, and was dirty, with infections. I fed him, providing him water, shelter, a place to sleep, checking on him. Once trust was established, he entered the house. I searched for his people. He wasn’t chipped and nobody was looking for him. Posters brought no seekers. We took him to the vet and treated his issues. He was neutered, has gained weight and is now a handsome boy.

Cat number three…came to us last fall. I called him Stubby. A black beauty with a white chest triangle, he had no tail, just a stump. He’s clearly been abused by his reactions to feet and hands. My wife renamed him Boo Radley. I searched for Boo’s owners. No one hunted him but he was clearly a house cat, and expected us to serve him. We fed him, ensured he had water and a place to sleep. Then winter hit…. You’ve seen this movie. You know the plot.

Fourth is Meep. Meep is the Orange Prince, a little blade of a cat, and so sweet. Meep belongs to the people who live behind us. Here are the points about Meep.

  1. Boo is out to dominate Meep. Meep doesn’t want to be dominated. Fights ensure.
  2. Tucker is a fierce fighter. One mighty fur and fury battle arose one night. Tucker intimidates Boo, who watches him carefully and makes great warning noises. Meep becomes the orange bolt when he sees Tucker. He’s off and gone, trailing Roadrunner smoke. Meep, Boo and Tucker are kept separated from one another. It’s like a chess game on my part as I move and segregate cats, loving on them and feeding them. (Fortunately, Quinn is accepted by all three of them.)
  3. But Meep likes our house.
  4. He’s not permitted in his people’s house, apparently not under any conditions. So he’s always at our house. I bring Meep into the house to feed him twice a day (after locking up Boo and Tucker in separate rooms), and provide him sanctuary against fireworks, storms and cold temps, putting him in the guest room with food, water and a litter box. He scratches on the door when he wants out.

Meep has mites. He has terrible mites. Glances into his ears confirmed it, and they gave him huge issues. Raw scratches around and behind the ears ensued. Naturally, we had to clean his ears and start him on miticide. Our treatment of his situation changed his treatment of us. He used to bound into our house, tail up, raging with purrs and meows. Now he became wary. Cautious.

He even avoided coming into the house.

Despite losing his trust, we persevered. It wasn’t fun, becoming a perceived threat, but it was better for him that it be done. We cleaned his ears and treated him for three days, and then stopped to assess, continuing to clean, when we could get him to let us. That became tougher as he kept his distance.

Last evening, as always, he was sleeping in an unused grow box in our back yard. It was time for his feeding so I opened the back door and called. He arose, crossed the patio and stopped. Sitting down ten feet away, he watched me with sad golden eyes.

I lowered myself onto the ground at the door and put out a hand. I usually call him by the name we’ve given him, Meep, but last night, I blinked my eyes at him and called, “Here, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty.” Softly, softly, again, and again, and again.

He rose. Stretched. Looked around. Raised his tail. Sauntered over. Paused on the threshold. Looked around again. Stepped in. Pressed himself against my arms and sides. Released a squeaky purr. I closed the door. He escorted me to his guest room, and I fed him.

He returned this morning, came in and ate, and promptly came in this evening. We resumed his treatment this evening. This time, he accepted it with little complaint and didn’t race away. His tail was straight up until it curved into a question at the end.

We feel he’s recognized that whatever we were doing made him feel better, and so he’s forgiven us, and trust us once again. I appreciate that he trusts us, since he’s not our cat.

Tucker and Quinn were on the desk asleep beside me as I typed this. Then Meep and Boo got into it in the back yard. T & Q rose up to investigate and I went out to separate and placate.

Cats have always liked me. My wife calls me the cat whisperer. Cats love to visit me, quickly making themselves comfortable on my desk, my lap, my chairs, my patio. There was Grace, Alexander, Scratchy and Blur. All belonged to neighbors but could be readily found at my house all hours of the day and night.

I could tell you about Pepper, who sleeps on our porch and cries for food (which I give her), but she’s not our cat, belonging to the person next store. I could mention Buddy, the small black who visits me when I check the mail or do yard work. He lives across the street. Sketch, a gray and white neighborhood newcomer, could be mentioned, as his people have discovered that he likes it around my yard. I try not to get too friendly or familiar with Pepper, Sketch and Buddy.

I have two cats.

I don’t need more.

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