Three Men and Some Others

Dream Man One: …a stairwell open to the outdoors, iron-wrought stairs, an apartment building maybe.  There are leaves blown in under the stairs.  A man has a stick with which he is crushing and mixing spiders in with brittle leaves.  The spiders are in webs  (exact and focused in the dream), but fling strands down, which they climb down into the man’s grinding spot, where he mashes them with the end of the stick.  He’s showing me how to do it, but I don’t understand.

There’s another man on the stairs who encourages me to make my own spider-tipped stick. I ask him to explain the purpose of the stick.  If I know what it’s for, then I will know whether I need a short or long stick, a thin or thick, a stiff or flexible one.  I correct the first man’s method of raking leaves from under the stairs for his grinding, but neither man helps me with my confusion.

Dream Man Two:  I’m walking beside a man on a sidewalk.  I feel happy and carefree.  I’m gesturing with my hands, encouraging the man to do something.  I fling my arms up high in a wide motion.  At that moment, I see that I’m being photographed.  There is another man ahead of us who holds a large, black camera with two hands.  It’s a bulky, outdated machine.  The man is standing on a concrete bench, snapping photos of me (or us).  At an intersection, either the cameraman or a third man begins to erect sticks, branches.  He plants them in the dirt, sticking up, at the points of a triangle around another man.  At the tip of the branches, he wraps aluminum foil so the sticks will act as antenna, at least that is the understanding.

Dream Man Three:  I am in a small, antiquated shop.  There is a man working in the shop at a high, sloping desk, a writing desk.  He has dark, thick hair, long-ish, and pale skin.  He is thin and wears a white shirt with dark buttons in a column down the front.  The collar is high, turned up, and stiff.  He has dark eyes that peer quietly from under his thick, dark bangs.  I think he is a calligrapher and that he takes custom orders.  He can hear me, but he can’t see me.  He is not sure I am real or if I am only a voice in his head.  He wonders if he’s insane.   I have been with him for a while; we have a history and relationship.  I speak gently to him.  I stand near him as he works at his desk.  I lean forward and say, “I love you.”  This confuses him more than ever.  He can’t understand how a possible voice in his head can be in love with him and why he would love her back…if he does.

Note:  I tried to remember the calligrapher’s name, but am not sure.  It may have been Phineas.

Two Homes

The dream starts with an image of a suburban home that I own.  It’s a beige color with white trim around the paned windows.  My husband and I go to dinner at the house of a couple who live down the street.  When I leave, I go to a long, narrow, shiny, black sports car, sort of like a formula1-shaped car with a cockpit for one.  The neighbor man tries to fit into it, but he’s too large.  I can barely squeeze in with my purse flattened down on my lap.  The cockpit has a plexiglass dome that swings down over the driver.  I drive on the road that is only a short distance back to my beige house with the wide, smooth, concrete driveway out front.

There’s a delivery waiting on the driveway.  They are large, decorative planters filled with plants that are supposed to be attached to the wide, beige, blank wall of the house.  I’m not sure I want the blank wall cluttered up with décor.  I can see my husband through the white-trimmed, paned windows.  He’s working at his computer.  Outside, my plant order has become my order of seeds in small packets.  I take it to an old barn with a bench and sort through the packets, organizing them by name.  My husband arrives, maybe to see what I am doing.

Next thing I know I’ve been committed to a “crazy house.”  It’s not so bad, somewhat peaceful without responsibility.  I sit on a bench in the hallway where it turns.  I don’t say much and what I say makes no sense.  One of the other inmates comes screaming down the hall.  His/her demeanor is aggressive.  S/he turns the corner, screaming and waving his/her hands.  I’m frightened, upset.  I cringe, start to cry, and rock back and forth.  There’s a woman, maybe a friend, sitting beside me on the bench.  Two more women, professional counselors, come to talk to me, trying to comfort me.   One of the women says she can tell what kind of person I am by the shade of my skin.  She has to touch my abdomen to determine my skin’s condition.  I don’t like being touched, and it upsets me again.  I begin to say more words, none of it making any sense.  I feel sick to my stomach and lean forward.  I rush outside where there is a deck/porch.  I talk about the shoes I used to have before coming to the “crazy house.”  I know what I’m saying, but no one else can understand because they hear the whole sentence as if it is one word.  I call the shoes “waltzes” or “whitzes,” and the sentence is “alawhitzes.”   In my mind, I picture shoes something like penny loafers.   All my words correspond to images which correspond to memories, but the single words don’t make sense to anyone but me.   Beside the deck there is a very steep hill covered in bright, green grass that slopes down to a river.   The grass and fresh air make me feel better.


Note: I did feel physically ill when I woke up.  I took a pain-reliever, but I still feel a bit off.


Black Pirate, and Crystal Dragonfly Goddess

It was cold last night and nearly impossible to make myself burrow out from under the blankets in order to record my dreams.  It was so much easier to simply drift back into sleep to begin again.    My first record was a mere 5 seconds!  The second was longer at 20 seconds.  Fortunately, those few words were enough to jog my memory of the dreams.

It might be interesting to provide the literal transcript of what I voice-recorded and compare to the dream narrative I recall and record below that.

Word for word, here’s what I spoke into my phone during the night,

The 5 second recording:   “in pursuit of the black pirate and his ship”

The 20 second recording:  “the flamethrowers, the glittering , flying, dragonfly goddess, the test I know all the answers to, the book and the comfy blankets”

Black Pirate Dream:  I’m outdoors standing on the customer side of a counter at a kiosk.  At this point, I’m the one known as the black pirate, and I am being pursued.  I run from the kiosk toward the sea.  Leading toward the water, there is a grassy slope intermittently studded with tall trees with bare trunks.  There is a transitional period in which I am both the pursuer and the black pirate.  One runs on his/her legs, the other is a spirit that skims along at the ear of the runner.  As the black pirate, I am worried about being caught, and I’m trying to not give away my identity to my double, either the runner or the floating spirit form.  I’m not sure I ever fully cease being both entities, although my perspective becomes that of the runner on the shore.  From a distance, I see the black pirate’s ship, a schooner with many sails, racing out to sea and escape.

Dragonfly Goddess Dream:  I enter a classroom in which there is a double-sized bed against one wall.  The other half of the room is furnished with school desks and a teacher’s desk.  I’m lying on the bed reading a paperback, but I’m interrupted to take a test.  Someone hands me the answers to the test before I’m done, but I already know all the answers, so I toss aside the folded answer sheet.  I tell them I would rather complete the test on my own for fun.  I try to go back to my book and the bed, but some other students have gotten into the bed, and they are snuggling under my cozy blankets.  One was my warm, brown, fuzzy blanket.  The other was my equally cozy, brown, electric blanket.

I leave the classroom because an alarm of some kind is sounded, maybe some shouts of danger.  I hurry through high-walled passages open to the sky.  It is maze-like within, although it opens up into courtyards with pavilions here and there.  Where a smaller passage opens up to reveal a gigantic, tunnel-like freeway, I see the danger, which is dinosaurs of different sizes chasing people.  Some of the dinosaurs are T-rex size.  I hurry back into the smaller hallway and find myself being rushed toward a counter under a pavilion where I am supposed to be equipped with a flamethrower in order to fight the dinosaurs.  I can’t get the knack of holding the nozzle, so fuel and spurts of flame keep accidentally dripping out and around.  People are keeping clear of me, and I’m trying, too, to keep clear of the danger.

Turning again to head into the fray, I’m running alongside some other people who are also armed.  As I run, I become aware of a creature flying above us.  [The dream slows down now and images become crystal clear, especially the creature.]  The creature glitters in the sky, small at first, but larger as it descends.  When it’s close enough, it takes on the shape of an insect, a butterfly or dragonfly, something beautiful and colorful, and I know it is female.  When the brightly-colored, glittering entity lands on the ground, it stands like a woman, and my companions kneel to it as though worshipping.  I’m not sure what else to do, so I make a feeble attempt to kneel too, but I don’t think the entity expects/requires it.  She doesn’t seem concerned with whether she’s worshipped or not.  She has come to tell me something, something about the fighting and the flamethrower, but I can’t remember what it was.  All I recall is that she was there because of me…and that she was exquisitely beautiful and bright.

Vended Vegetables

I am in the parking lot of a grocery store.  A vendor of fresh produce has set up a tent from which to sell vegetables and herbs.  The vendor is a mature, black man (40s?) wearing a grocer’s apron.  At an early point in making purchases, I slip a butcher’s knife under the table.  The knife has some salad debris clinging to it.  Most of the dream involves the selection and purchase of vegetables.  Each of these is handed over and bagged by my younger son (adult in this dream).  Toward the end of making purchases, I ask for a vegetable that has to be cleaned by chopping off roots or top.  To do this, the man uses the knife from below the table.  When he’s done, he hands me the knife, and I place it in a plastic bag, twirling the top closed.  I give this to my son and caution him to be careful.  Other customers appear, drawing the vendor’s attention.  Hurriedly, he hands me a bunch of onions I requested.  I hold the onions by their tops, letting the bulbs dangle loosely from my hand.   That’s the last of my vegetable purchases.   I take one quick look at the herbs he has for sale, but the man is in a rush now, so I decide I don’t really need the herbs.

The Great One

I am among an entourage of people.  There’s a man, maybe a prince, someone important, but not yet who he will become, and he has a woman looking after him, more a handler than an assistant.  Also, I have a sense that the man has greatness, but he’s not fully aware of himself or others.  There’s another person with me, maybe female.  We hold hands as we follow in the train of the man.  He has wandered off again, hurried ahead to see something in a naïve way.  This frustrates his handler who has to rush forward to keep him in sight.  We all follow, too.

Instead of a prince, now he’s a rookie athlete, football at first, then basketball.  Again, there is greatness in him, but not yet realized.  The entourage remains intact, but we turn a corner (on a street?), and the greater remainder of us come upon the handler embarrassing the young man with a leash.  The embarrassment doesn’t last long, however, because the young man responds by putting her in her place.  It’s as if his sense of greatness, despite his naiveté, won’t allow him to suffer humiliation.

A parade begins, and the young man sees Tom Brady (NFL quarterback great) riding some elephants.  The young man dreams he’ll do the same someday.  As one of the young man’s assistants, I realize he is missing his basketball, and I know he can never fulfill his potential if he’s not constantly dribbling.  I go off in search of a basketball, but before I can, I become a balloon person.  That is, I am made of balloons tied together in the shape of a person.   The young prince, too, becomes a balloon person.  In this form, we kiss, making all the funny noises of two balloons rubbed together and feeling the same, rubbery stretching of the dynamic between the two, air-filled polymers.  We go back to our original forms, but this kiss has defined a new relationship between us, and I occasionally touch him possessively, although I don’t feel secure about it.  I mean that I’m not sure he returns my loyalty.

Alone, I continue to search for a basketball.  Meanwhile,  a parade of fancy, antique cars passes by, and there are more elephants.  I get sidetracked into darkness.  In the darkness, I am completely blind.  I run into something that I can only feel at first.  The air feels stuffy, fluffy, so it’s hard to breath.  Light grows in the darkness, although I refuse to see where I am at first.  Gradually, I work out that I have walked into a display of cardboard block, model castles.  I’ve walked into them, knocking them over, disturbing the shredded Styrofoam filling, which has flown up into the air, getting into my eyes and nose and into my long, long, draping hair.  I’m covered in this white, electrostatically-charged stuff.  Staggering, I wend away from the multiple castles in rows and follow along the parade route, still looking for a basketball.  Alongside the street, I come across the prince/quarterback again.  He’s up on a high scaffold in deep conversation with a construction worker.  He’s learning to build, presumably to tap into his inherent greatness, somehow to become great at whatever he does.

Test and River

Test Dream:  I am worrying about a  college test I am taking, but I don’t need to, because I get my paper back along with all the other students, and I receive an A with a score of 20 or 21.  The number and letter are circled on my page.  My friend is seated in a chair near me, where I can see that she received an A-.  The teacher has written notes and drawn small pictures throughout the test.  There’s a tiny sketch of a hobbit house.  I have written notes, as well.  The notes form a friendly dialog between us.  There’s also a map to someplace, maybe to Kansas City.

River Dream:  I am in a jungle, swimming in a muddy river.  Actually, I am hanging onto some broad, broken boards while kicking to propel myself through the mucky, brown water.  I’m worried about alligators.  I come to a building with one side in the water.  With a long branch, I push aside a thick veil of vines that hid the wall of the building.  Under the vegetation, the wall is white.  Now there’s a guide, a woman, who tosses a rope up onto the roof of the building and climbs up.  She is joined by a man, both of them climbing to the roof by rope.  Rather than follow, I walk up onto the shore.  Looking up, watching them from below, I realize they could have just walked ashore instead of climbing out of the water to the roof of the building.  Shortly after, I’m sitting on a tidy, made bed, telling my DIL about alligators in Louisiana, where I was born.

Spilled Water

Water has spilled on a kitchen floor.  It’s flowing around an obstacle that is hard to clean around, and the water has bits of dirt or debris in it.  I’m trying to soak up the water with towels.  I keep adding towels.  While I’m doing this, my sister approaches from a living room area.  She has a gray, nubby/tweedy blazer in hand, holding it out to my mom to try on.  I protest and tell my sister it’s my jacket and I don’t want to give it away.  I circle around the kitchen, my mom propped up on a counter maybe.  My sister and I try to explain to my mom that she’s long overdue for signing on to facebook.

Brief Internship

I arrive at a farm/research station to begin an apprenticeship with an anthropologist, although she’s not there at first.  I come by Land Rover, and the location has a 2 story farmhouse and a barn.  Another car/jeep pulls into the gravel turnaround.  From the direction of the barn…sunlight through slats…a strong, gray-skinned woman appears, maybe flying (a harpy?).  She attacks the anthropologist, who has recently arrived by Land Rover.  They fight, and I have a vague sense that the anthropologist gains the upper hand.  Or did she?

I next recall being inside the farmhouse, which doubles as a research station.  There’s a delicate, porcelain cup on a shelf.  Internally, I caution myself not to break it.  Later, I accidentally break it, and the anthropologist proceeds to throw me out of the research station.  I become defensive, acting as if I wanted to leave there anyway.  I point out faults in everyone and everything, justifying my departure.  Indignant, I fold up my sheets and stack them with my pillows, preparing to take my bedding with me.

I whisk quickly around the living area…aquarium with fish…a television…images….  I pack my flute in its case then notice another instrument belonging to my son, who is leaving with me.  It’s a recorder, although I don’t call it that in the dream.  I use a more exotic, romantic word.  I put the recorder with my flute, packing both.

Finding My Way

Reluctantly, I let myself be led around the library by a librarian pointing out the historical paintings and books.  I already know the information she tells me about the woman in one particular painting because I’ve researched it before.  The painting comes off the wall.  We’re looking at it together on a table.  Do I tell her I already know this woman and much more?

I try to find my way out of the library.  So many passages lined with books.  There are small exit signs with arrows on the walls, but they are few and far between.  The librarian disapproves when I go the wrong way, and points me outward again several times.  There are many children now, too, all going about their activities.  It’s a school or children’s home, maybe a boarding school.  It’s rather chaotic, making it more difficult for me to find the exit.

To pass through the dining area with tile floors, I have to wear roller skates, as do the children.  They appear on my feet as I skate through and then disappear when I have passed.  Now in a wide hallway, then to the outside.  Chain link fencing separates the children from the streets.  There are chain link doors through which some of the children pass with permission, but I can’t go through those because I’m a visitor.

I continue to follow the signs, looking for the visitor’s exit.  I go through a checkpoint monitored by a teen boy.  He grins cheekily and says that I must certainly be a visitor and so I have permission to go through without a pass.  I want to know why I look different.  He points something out about my appearance, a small thing, maybe the way I wear the barrettes in my hair.  Then he points to another detail, the way I wear my shirt?  As each item is mentioned, I change it.  I pull out the barrettes in my hair.  I adjust my shirt.

Finally, I pass through a chain link gate, although it wasn’t the visitor’s gate I sought all along.  I sneak by with the children.  At the time, I acquire a walking companion, a young woman.  We have to find my car, which is parked in town alongside the street.  Checking the map on my iphone, I see “blips” for various, marked locations.  My car is one of them.  All I have to do is travel toward the car-blip until I bump into it.

We walk along the streets, which are confusing.  We have to backtrack.  I check my iphone again, but I’ve lost reception.  The screen is blank, black.  We continue on with our best guess of the direction and a vague memory of the route.  We come to an intersection not far from an “old town.”  Here, I pause to consolidate the baggage I’m carrying.  I open my suitcase and shove my coat inside.  I also have some holiday packages, cakes, cookies.  I rearrange them so that they fit like puzzle pieces in my bag, thus reducing the number of packs to carry.   An old couple (man and woman) reach for the holiday goodies, but I won’t let them have any.  Once again, I check the iphone and discover my reception has returned.  I can see the “blip” for my car.  I’m going to make it.