George Takei in the Closet, and The Symposium Project

George Takei Dream:  George Takei is designing clothes, especially puffy-sleeved shirts.  He is placing the finished shirts into closets.  He puts some in my closet, making it too crowded on the clothes bar.  I don’t like a messy closet, so I want to remove them.  A little girl’s many sandals broken in pieces are scattered on the floor of my closet.  I try to pick up the pieces while I protest to George about the crowded clothes bar.  I want the closet minimalized, but I’m not getting my way and, thus, frustrated.

The back of the closet then opens up to a large habitat with a pool filled with fish like an aquarium.  The habitat is filled with colorful birds that George has selected and placed there.  I begin to complain about the birds because I want more colorful finches, but George is offended.  He specifically chose the colorful lovebirds and has his feelings hurt that I don’t find them satisfactory.  I keep quiet about it and choose to appreciate the colors of the lovebirds and decide they are as nice as the finches I wanted.  Also in the habitat, there are stiff, skinny mice, which I find scary.  I also see some cute otters, but I would prefer no mammals at all.

Someone spots a rare bird called a dowager or shoveler, a combination that is something like those two words together.  It’s a duck-like bird, maybe only one of five.  I try to find out how many of these birds are in the world or what they would be worth in currency.  I’m very pleased to have one in my collection.

Symposium Dream:  People are gathering for a symposium that will take place in an auditorium, maybe on a college campus.  My sister is with me.  Somewhere, maybe at a table in a cafeteria, I’ve left my sunglasses so I have to go back to get them.  Now I have to hurry to join the crowds walking toward the auditorium to attend the lecture or demonstration.  The road is brick.  I’m running, but I can’t find a rhythm.  It’s immensely frustrating to stutter-step instead of gliding along at a run.

I come to an extremely narrow bridge spanning a steep gully filled with rocks and brush.  I’m wearing shorts and can see the muscles of my legs as I run across the bridge.  On the other side, I accidentally step on the parts of a project brought to the symposium by a man who is there with a friend.  The parts, pieces of wood and wooden balls/ovals, fall into the gully where no one can reach them.

I feel really bad about ruining the man’s project, but I assure him that I can fix it.  No one can understand how I could possibly fix the mistake I’ve made.  As they watch, I drift out over the gully, levitating calmly, then lower myself down until I can pick up the pieces of the project.  There are quite a few parts that I have to cradle in my arm (my left), and I pluck a  dried pod, shaped like the wooden globes, to add as a bonus.  With the parts in the crook of my left arm, I calmly raise my right arm, swing it down slowly and begin to rise again.  I do it several times until I reach the level of the bridge and can land on the platform.  I wonder at the lack of interest in my ability to fly.

When I get back, I am met by the man with the project and his friend.  They present me with a fuzzy, toy car and want me to sign it “grandma,” so they can show it at the lecture.  This is supposed to garner respect for their presentation.

Back to Tulsa

Transcript from Voice:  I walked across a short distance to a café booth…looking at…I found what I wanted, looking at… though someone said “how can you know anything if you don’t know this.”  I’m  looking at a list of all the latest bands (on a café menu) and then art, a great painting, talked to a man who was interested in me.  He finally got my interest in the painting, long time (studying it), the colors, people moving (across the pages), the brushstrokes.  (Blood red with gold embellishment)…the panels of many pages in the book…sales, the sales like a garage sale, going up the stairs, stairs, talking, thinking about all the things people give, how could all the clothes be given to the people who really needed them.  I need to meet my friend…my sister comes to the house, no, some friends, my son’s friend or could-be friends.  I have to go.  I can’t stay with my sister.  I have to go pick up my friend.  I’m supposed to meet her in Tulsa.  She’s coming from Colorado.  She’s already in Attica, KS or…she’s been texting me…Alvind, KS….she’s been texting me on an iphone from one of the cities.  I don’t know where it’s at.  I don’t know if she’s gotten to Tulsa already and I missed her…I voice-google, use my phone to voice the name of the city.  A video comes up.  They’re having a parade with giant frogs (hopping)…I try to take a still of the video, try to show my sister this funny video of Alvind, KS.  I’m trying to walk down the street.  I’ve got all these…snap (flip) phone and an iphone and (horseshoe) magnets, and I am worried about all my magnets being close to my phones, and I try to juggle all these things in my hand, put them in different pockets so they are not all in the same bag together, at the sidewalk, at the intersection, waiting for the light with a whole bunch of other people… .

The Dream:  (I describe the beginning of this dream in greater detail in the notes below, so I’ll skip to the café booth.)  I see other people, and I notice objects like a stainless steel coffee pot, which indicate café to me.  There is also a laminated menu in my hands that opens like a book.  Names of contemporary bands, separated by commas, are in black print on a white page.  (I can see it so clearly still.)  They are in the lower, right hand portion of the inner surfaces.  I don’t remember searching, but in the café, I have a feeling of finding.  This feeling is interrupted by being told that I can’t know anything if I don’t know this, which refers to the band names in the menu.  I start to feel the interest of the man in the café.  He wants to talk with me, get closer to me, but I’m not particularly interested in him.  It’s only after he opens the hardbound art book that I begin to take an interest, not really in him, but definitely in the artwork.  The painting is too large to fit on one page.  It’s been formatted on several pages which fold out.  Some of the pages are only the blood red portions of the painting embellished with gold, scrolling, non-figurative patterns.  The impasto paint work is thick enough to be distinct even in this reproduction.  The man and I discuss the brush techniques.  I am fascinated.  Another panel of the painting is filled with people in cheerful, colorful clothing.  They are in motion on the page.  This book goes up for sale at the garage sale that materializes.  This is outdoors.  Someone donates a doll, but it’s waterlogged and unsuitable for sale.  Leaving the outdoor tables, I go up a stair strewn with donated clothing.  It’s a mess and I wonder how all this extra clothing, this over-abundance could be distributed to the people who need it.  (When I woke, I thought about the same problem with food.  There is no problem producing enough food, but all the problem in the world getting it to people who are hungry.)

The stair images are connected to a house with a large window facing the front.  I and my son look outside through the window, clearly waiting for someone to arrive.  (As the transcript reveals, I was never sure who we expect.)  As I leave the house to begin walking outdoors on a sidewalk, the idea forms that I have to meet someone in Tulsa.  My sister is walking alongside me, but I’m going, leaving to meet this friend, who I imagine is female, although I have no image of her at all.  I know she comes from Colorado simply because I do.  (My sister lives there in waking life, which suggests the dream conflation of my friend and my sister.)  As I walk, I’m trying to keep up with the information coming from my phone.  I’m getting progress texts from my friend as she passes through various towns in KS on her way to Tulsa.  I’m trying to reconcile my travel schedule in order to meet her on time.  I don’t want to leave her waiting, wondering.  First, she’s in Attica, KS, then she shows up in Alvind (or Aylvind), KS.  I feel like I’ve heard of Attica, but not Alvind.  I try to locate Alvind by asking my phone for a map.  Instead of a map, a video of a parade begins playing.  There are giant (40 lbs or so) frogs hopping in the parade along with the people walking down the sidewalks of the town.  I try to take a still photo from the video by pushing the “photo” button, but I can’t find the button on the screen.  I really want my sister to see this ridiculous parade.  At this point, I begin juggling multiple devices as I walk.  I recall holding both a flip phone and my iphone, then I also pull out a handful of horseshoe magnets from somewhere.  More people appear on the sidewalk until there’s a small crowd.  We approach an intersection and some are watching me fumble as I try to separate the magnets from the phones. Someone in the crowd must have pushed the button for the signal light because we are all waiting together to cross the street at the intersection.

Notes:  The last time I dreamed about Tulsa, Hugging Him Tightly, it also involved travel, particularly the difficulty of making connections.  The correspondence was strong enough to immediately remind me of that previous dream the night of May 27, 2014.  That is the reason for my title, Back to Tulsa, suggesting I’ve been here before.

Have you ever noticed that the beginning of a dream is always obscure.  Where does it start?  From where did you come at the point of first remembrance?  That is especially striking in this dream because my memory begins, I feel, very near the beginning of the images.  The “short distance” I walk was nebulous, experienced in a place without structure or proper distances.  The lighting was dim and shifting, and the café and narrative seemed to emerge from the darkness, becoming better lit as the objects became more solid (relatively, of course).

Endings of dreams are less mysterious.  At times it seems they end when I awake, although that’s impossible to know without corroboration.  I have, often without waking, also felt I’ve come to the proper ending of a dream.  Sometimes that is because a typical plot ending is achieved.  A goal is reached or someone dies, twists of that type.  Sometimes it’s less scripted and more intuitive; I simple “feel” like this is the end.  That may be the case in last night’s dream.  It was never supposed to spin out to the point where I actually meet up with the person in Tulsa.  What a lot of extraneous imagery that would have required of a dream that is already exceedingly cluttered with both objects and ideas.  I think it ended just where it was supposed to end, trailing off at the stoplight.


Stolen Orange VW and the New Year

So many dreams.  I remember them when I wake up, but I’m too tired to bother recording them.  Nearer morning, I don’t mind so much.  I’ve read that dream sessions become longer as the night advances and that dreams are more coherent and memorable, too.  I think that’s probably true, albeit I can recall some doozies at 2 am.  In any case, here’s the dream I recorded early this morning, probably my last dream of the night. 

The scene resembles a college campus and its parking lots, although I don’t remember my specific role in relationship to the school, possibly a student.  I have parked my orange Volkswagen, which is shaped more like a PT cruiser, in one of the vast college lots and am trying to find it.  There’s a man who is racing me to the car in order to steal it from me.  In some fashion, he wins or succeeds and has stolen my car, but he doesn’t know I still have the keys.  As I continue to search for the car, I gloat over my possession of the keys, stroking them and repeatedly assuring myself that they are in my hand.  I take a lot of pleasure from retaining the car keys for myself and knowing that I haven’t completely lost my stolen car.

I run past some tall, brick, campus buildings.  I recall there being a sidewalk, then I enter a building that doesn’t have doors, only doorways open to the outdoors.  Inside, it’s a warehouse type store.  [I dream of these occasionally, which is a little strange, because I think I’ve only actually been in this variety of store a couple of times in my life, just enough to know what they look like inside.]  There is a small family inside who look Asian.  They take an interest in me, but I don’t know them at all.  My attention is drawn to a tall, spinning apparatus, something like an amusement park ride with individual swings revolving around a central pillar.  Either I skirt around this or I am momentarily on it and then tossed on to another part of the building.

From the point I begin running, I vaguely sense danger.  It has something to do with the man who stole my orange Volkswagen, which continues to enter my thoughts as I dream.  The color is vivid.  After passing the rotating pillar with swings, I am attacked by someone, possibly male, although I don’t have a distinct image of an attacker.  The attack consists more of feeling beaten up and, especially, woozy.  In this dazed state, I somehow manage to climb some stairs.  In the room above, I meet a man with a flat face like it’s cut from a sheet of paper.  That feels odd to me, but he fortunately becomes more fleshed out as he proceeds to lead me around.  Because I’m still dazed, I have no idea where the man is taking me as he leads me by the elbow.  We enter a hallway with fine finishes.  The carpet and trims are all expensive.  Opening into the hallway, there are many small rooms occupied by sophisticated and well-dressed women.  The passage turns and turns again, and I never have any idea which way I’m supposed to go, although I keep thinking there should be a clue.  At each turn or change, the man has to guide me in the correct direction.

Finally, I am guided into a small room with a small bench like a dressing room.  There is another woman in there, a client I soon learn.  Other women come to take care of us, offering us clothes, lacy and/or sparkly, from which to choose, and talking about a make-over, which I think I desperately need because of the beating I took.  I have a sense that everything will be new or made-over for the new year, and I recall that previous dreams that night also contained this new year theme.

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.