The Apothecary


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My little boy was a baby who was sick and had to stay in the hospital.  The nurses told me that every night he would pick out the same stuffed animal to cuddle, a little blue bunny.  One of the young nurses showed me the bunny.  I took the baby boy to have some tests done.  It was in the hallway of the hospital at a cart.  He got hold of a baby bottle and totted off sucking it.  I told the nurse that he wasn’t hungry, that he just wanted the bottle for comfort.

Another dream merged into the hospital setting.  There was an elderly woman come to visit me.  From the hospital, I took her through swinging double doors  into a living room that was a mess.  My sons and their cousins had been playing/watching media in the room and had pulled the cushions off and left their trash lying around.  There was no place for the woman to sit so I was apologizing, but she said not to worry about it at all, and she sat on a sofa cushion that was on the floor.

She had come to complain about a reference I gave her.  Before she could say very much, the man in question appeared and tried to slip her his business card in the crease of her folded arms.  Indignantly, she fended him off and told him she wanted nothing to do with him.  He was oblivious to the rebuke and meandered away.    The woman explained that she had gone to the prison to help her friend, and she had tried to use this man’s name as a reference, and it had only made matters worse.  Apparently, the man was a former criminal and his ex-wife still worked at the prison.  The ex-wife had said scathing things about the man and revealed to all that he was what the elderly woman whispered to me, “an apothe’ary.”  I had no idea what she meant so she repeated it, still whispering close to my ear.  She finally had to say plainly, “apothecary,” and then had to explain this was street slang for a drug dealer.  We both had a chuckle at my naivety.  I laughed as much at the silly slang as at myself.

At the hospital again, I talked with a young nurse, and we both said it was a terrible thing that the elderly woman had been misled by the reference.  The woman had been a long time friend of both our families, “decades,” we agreed.

Not Giving Up


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The dream setting was amorphous.  My dad appeared to be in his elder years, and we were planning to play a family card game.  He did not think my younger sister knew how, which vaguely insulted her.

I heard my mother’s voice.  She said clearly, “Your father is not giving up.”

I woke from this slowly with the memory of my father’s many journeys around the world and felt my mother’s words had something to do with that.

Demon Sex


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My theta waves seem to have helped again.  I dreamed independently of my books, so that’s something.  Normally, I don’t share my ‘sexier’ dreams because it invites creep-os and spam to my page, but I’m making an exception for this one.  If I get creepers, I’ll delete it.

I was in a complicated building-scape.  There were large warehouse spaces connected to one another, but also short stairwells of concrete with railings, and these led to short arched doorways that opened onto enclosed, open-skied rooms.  I was tagging along with a group of elite military fighters.  We were trying to remain unseen and sneak up on a clutch of bad guys.  I was not one of the fighters and was separate, but I tried to hide while they went forward stealthily.

The bad guys charged into a large warehouse room where I was trying to hide under a sofa, and we were all discovered and taken prisoner.  I was taken into a room where a pot-bellied man with a green superhero suit was making decisions about all of us.  The symbol on his suit was a large green X, and when he took off his shirt, the green X was painted on his pot-belly like he was a sports fan.

The pot-belly gang leader determined that I was unimportant, which I was, and he told his people to let me go.  When I was leaving, one of the elite fighters shoved a set of earphones at me to get me to smuggle it out.  I was trying to hide the wires under my shirt, but they wouldn’t disappear so I was walking down the stairs with the wires dangling.  I was nervous about getting caught because I felt lucky that they were letting me go.

I went down into this complicated building-scape and was confused, not knowing which of the little stairs with railings would lead out.  I could see light from multiple skies through the little arched doorways, but there was no way to tell which would lead me to freedom.  I tried one and stood in the light, but it was only a dead end.  While I was in the light, I saw the demon, one of the bad guys.  I stepped back into the shadow so he wouldn’t see me, but it was too late.  He tried to detain me.

I pleaded with him and tried to convince him to let me go, but he had not received the orders of the roly-poly green X-man.  The demon was twice my height and thrice my weight, at least, and his skin was red.  He may have been horned, and he had a long tongue.  My pleading did prompt the demon to contact the X-man through a thick, gold-colored monitor he held in his hand.  I saw letters in a strange language, demon-speak, passing across the monitor.  I pointed at the words trying to get the demon to pay attention, but he refused to comply.  He thought he knew better.  Then we were suddenly joined.  Not really sex, but just a static conjunction of our bodies at the loins.  His eyes widened, and I knew he had never done this before, and he really, really liked it.  My attitude was something like, well, that’s great so maybe he’ll let me go now. 

We began moving through the building-scape again, and I thought we might be moving toward an exit.  All the while we are joined together.  The other bad guys were looking at the demon like his personality had completely changed.  He was ignoring them, all his focus and amazement on this new sensation of pleasure.  At one point, he lay down on his back and goo began sliding from his mouth and tongue as it lolled out.  A wolf wandered around us, licking up the demon’s goo.  [I can’t make this stuff up!!!]  Then my own tongue grew very long and thick.  It hung out, and when I tried to roll it back into my mouth, it was big and uncomfortable.  [When I woke up, my tongue was dry and felt swollen so that probably influenced that part of my dream.]  My uncomfortable tongue is what woke me.   I think the demon had felt more kindly toward me at the end and might have let me go if he could have.

Imaginary People


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I haven’t been dreaming real dreams for weeks.  My mind is swamped and overstimulated by the books I’ve been reading.  Last evening, I tried listening to theta waves for a few hours, and I think that might have helped break my mind free.  I dreamed.

I was in a grandstand with a man as my companion.  I did not know if he was boyfriend or husband, but I thought of him as my lover.  I had a spiral notebook in which I was taking notes on the attendance and appearance of people I saw.  I was almost at the bottom of the page when I saw one last person, a woman with snow white hair and dark skin.  She wore glasses with thick black rims.  She was not very tall, shorter than the man with whom she walked.  They were walking outside the grandstand, and I saw her from afar and noted her in my notebook simply as WTHR, short for white hair.  I didn’t want anyone to know that I did this or why because it often happened that I would see someone or hear something that no one else did.  The notebook was for me to go back and verify that what I had seen or heard was real.  Sometimes I doubted the notebook as well, so all my days I never knew if I was imagining something or if it really happened.

There was a young woman on the bench beside us on the grandstand.  Her makeup was slightly goth, but she also wore silver, pierced rings on her face.  Despite my effort to hide what was in my notebook, she stole a glance, and she said to me, “Your body is sick.”  I was shaking because I was found out.  What I understood this to mean was that my body and mind were not in phase with each other.  She knew from my note, WTHR, that my mind was sick, but her diagnosis, your body is sick, was more accurate because I was not in phase.

I was frightened, and I asked my lover if he saw her, too, because I trusted him when he told me if things were real or not.  The crowd began to funnel out of the grandstand, and he had not told me whether I had imagined the girl or not.  He was taller and broader than me, but that’s not so unusual, a man being taller and broader than a woman.  He had dark hair.  He walked behind me in such a way that he was in contact against my back all the while, and it was comforting.  I felt secure against the sickness I had, that even if I imagined people that were not there, it did not matter.  I could let go and trust.  It was a marvelous dream-feeling.

Instead of taking me to my work, which is where I thought we would go, we went to the office of my psychiatrist.  Because we came here, I suspected that the goth girl had not been real, that my lover had realized I had seen her only in my imagination, but he had not wanted to scare me because I became agitated when that happened.  The psychiatrist was a woman and very kind.  It was a special session, and I was not required to go into her office but allowed to come to a table she had set up beside her desk in a hallway.  This allowed me to come voluntarily to the appointment and think of it simply as a social event with food and drinks.  We sat around the round table and my psychiatrist served as hostess.  My lover ate with us, too.

While we ate, a man in a brown suit walked up behind my lover.  The brown-suited man talked a lot in the manner of a car salesman.  He leaned forward, placed his hands on my lover’s shoulders and ran his palms down his arms to his hands.  I was terrified.  The salesman talked all the while.  As long as I could stand it, I said nothing, because maybe the man was not real.  But I was shuddering, and I leaped from my seat, and I cringed away from the man, and I screamed, “Stop him!  He’ll slay him!”  I was nearly as scared that I was imagining the whole thing as I was scared he would really kill my lover, but I could not take the chance that the brown-suited man might really kill him so I had to scream.  I hated that, not knowing whether I was crazy or that the man was a murderer.

Both the psychiatrist and my lover rushed to pull me up off the floor and reassure me, so then I was truly not sure if the brown-suited man was real or not.  I left to go with the man, but we came back later to take the leftover food from the table once the psychiatrist had gone for the evening.  While we were packing it up, the psychiatrist returned and caught us.  I tried to smooth it over by acting as if we had just arrived.  Then I asked the psychiatrist if she would verify something for me, something I needed to tell her apart from my lover.    I needed to tell her privately because his presence might influence what I had to say.  We went into a long room with a long table down the middle.  It was dark except for fluorescent lighting over the table like a plant light.  I tried to show her what the brown-suited man had been doing, but she was not in the correct position to demonstrate.  I asked her to move, tried again, then finally had her sit on the floor, so I could lean over her back and show her.

She asked me to follow her then to a room where she raised her hands above her head and clapped sharply.  Dozens of toddlers, each with their own instructor, were playing, a kind of physical therapy that was to cure their mental illnesses.  It was a project of the doctor’s, and I got the impression that she was involved in her work every day at all hours.  I also thought that she was trying to divert my attention from the brown-suited man because maybe he had not been real.

We went back into the hallway outside the long room with the plant light, and my lover was making his way down the hallway through a crowd.  He was carrying a gun and was intense, hurrying forward.  A guard or police officer stopped him just before the door to the room.  I was where I could see in the room, and I saw a man with white hair waiting for my lover.  Though I could never be sure a person was real or not, still I screamed a warning to my lover about the man who I thought was a criminal.  And the man with white hair turned and shot at me, but I was holding a camera in my hand, and the bullet hit the camera and careened off it, shooting the man’s partner in crimes who was further down the hall.

I never knew if those two men were real or not, but then I saw the house where my lover and I ended up living.  It was brick and very plain.  I heard the man’s voice like a narrator say that I had always wanted a house just like this.  I got the impression that I was being comforted again and kept safe from my own mental illness.



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I was in a large room with people wandering the perimeters busy at different tasks.  One was coiling Yule tree lights.  One person was choosing a wedding dress, I believe.  Something disturbed me, and I wanted to leave, but I had to go through a door with a guard or attendant in a kiosk.  I wanted to take a little boy out with me, my brother.  I couldn’t go back for him because I would lose my chance to escape the room.  I was talking to the kiosk attendant, and I asked for directions to some place.  While I talked, I lit up a cigarette [I don’t smoke.  Never have.].  The attendant sounded an alarm because of the cigarette so I fled.  I ran into the street, drawing very hard and fast on the cigarette, making it turn to ash and burn out rapidly.  There was a winter field beside the sidewalk.  The grass was yellow and covered with patchy snow.  I tossed the burnt out cigarette away and scooped up some snow to wash my mouth and to drink.  I had pursuers, a cruel obstinate girl that I couldn’t shake, and others joined until there was a crowd on my tail.  I think I was running toward a prison, and the pursuers were angry because they didn’t have enough rabbits.



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I dreamed there were lots of snakes coiled up on the floor of my kitchen.  I saw one large snake eat another one headfirst.  My tiny dog (Otis, no more with me) was very brave trying to drive out the snakes by barking and snapping his teeth at them, but the snakes were much larger than my dog, and I was afraid for him.  I yelled at him to come away.  I lifted my chest and tilted my face up and howled just as loud as I could to try to overcome the quiet-voice of dream.  I was terrified my little dog would be swallowed up.

I saw my dad in a wheelchair, which was a terrible feeling.  I do not like to remember my dad as frail.  I warned him about the snakes in the kitchen.  I was afraid for him, too.

Editing Adventure, and the Colored Stones


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I’m deep in another book, this time by Robin Hobb, and my dream had that feel of an adventure on horseback like in the book.

I’m on a horse with a mission to complete.  As I run across the wooded hills, I also see a page of text like a novel.  These two images are like having two windows open on my computer, side by side.  As I run, I am rearranging the text to describe the scene and action.  I see the sentences shifted as though I’m editing with word processor software.  I run past some kennels on my horse, and the words shift again.  All the while, I am looking for the most economical words and ways to communicate.

In another dream, a woman in a hajib has received a scholarship to attend a university.  Another woman, similarly dressed, scoffs at the scholarship, saying that it was only offered because she (the first woman) is a woman.  The first woman denies it.  The second woman then says it was only offered because of her faith.  The first woman still denies it.  The second woman continues to demean the value of the scholarship, eventually causing the first woman to doubt her own abilities.  In this dream, I’ve done a favor for the first woman.  She gave me two netted bags of polished stones.  One bag had yellow stones.  The other held orange.  I arranged these artfully in a terrarium with water.  I piled them up and made pillars.  On top of the pillars, I set little crabs of dark orange.    The second woman sneered at my composition.  She said it was “too weighty with words,” referring to the crabs of dark orange as the words.


The Bear, and The Children


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I’m in a car with another woman.  She is driving, and I’m in the passenger sear.  There are some cars parked on the side of the road.  We stop, too, and see why they have stopped.  In the distance is a grizzly bear.  I fumble for my camera so I can take a picture.  I then see the same bear or another one in the ditch very close to the car.  This is an enormous black bear.  My hands are shaking so that I can’t get the cover off the camera, and I miss the picture.

We drive on.  The woman drives into a long driveway and then backs out of it.  As she is backing out to turn around, I recognize the place as the home where I grew up.  I have a pang of nostalgia, and I tell the woman this was my home, but she’s not interested.

Next, I’m out of the car going into my house [the dream-house with the many, many rooms and floors and people and objects that I explore over and over].  This time it has a lot of interconnecting rooms that are a great maze.  I enter a section that’s not completely finished.  It still needs drywall and fixtures, etc.  The woman in the car comes behind me.  She’s impressed by the extent of my home, which is endless, literally.  I find a bathroom that’s been finished completely.  It’s a little small, but it’s the only one on this side of the house that’s working.  It has a nice bathtub with water jets.  I invite her to let her son take a bath.

Meanwhile, I go further into the house.  My dozens of children are here in a large room playing.  They are many ages, boys and girls.  They have all  lovely shades of skin and types of hair.  I have so many children that I can’t remember all their names, but they don’t mind.  They are very patient and teach me.  One boy says his name over and over until I can repeat it back to him.  He had a nice shade of brown skin and black hair.  Some little girls with pale skin who look a lot alike with blonde hair also teach me their names, but I can’t remember them.  I can hardly tell them apart.  They were all sweet children.

Colorful Dresses, Jordan, and Botched Travel


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Dream a:

Intense color dream.  I vaguely remember the circumstances, but vividly remember the clothes and colors.  I’m choosing an outfit for school.  My mom and aunt are there.  I start out wearing a beige, knit sweater.  Boring.  I change into a wrap dress that isn’t quite high enough to be a dress, not low enough to be a skirt.  I pull it up high and put a small jacket over it.  The dress/skirt is a multi-colored floral, something tropical, mostly blues.  I have a chance to look around a clothing store, and I see a girl or a manikin wearing the dress I would really like.  It’s also a multi-colored floral, but with a lot of yellow in it.  It has a gathered bodice and a keyhole strap that wraps around the neck.  The girl holds up different earrings to find which matches the dress.  They’re huge like dinner plates, and bold, bright colors, black and yellows and red.

Dream b:

A former employer of mine that I haven’t thought of in 30 years was in this dream.  I can’t remember his whole name, but part of it, maybe his surname was Jordan.  In the dream, his mother has died, and he’s trying to get a death certificate so he can make all the arrangements.  There are questions from authorities about whether she died naturally of if she is even dead.  There are a lot of legal problems that are weighing Jordan down.  He’s grieving for his mom at the same time he has to deal with legalities and the inheritance.  His eyes are bright with tears though he doesn’t cry.  He just looks stunned with bright eyes.  I put my arm around his shoulders to comfort him.  I arrange for him to meet with a lawyer to get this all sorted out.  There are further accusations that Jordan’s mom died in a cave, then a skeleton is found in a cave by authorities doing a search.  Then Jordan and the lawyer receive a phone call from someone claiming to hold his mom hostage in exchange for a ransom.

Dream c:

I had been visiting my dad, but had no chance to sit down and talk with him because I was kept busy by my relatives.  It is my last day and last chance to talk to him.  He’s more worried about the door jamb being fixed.  That is something Dad would worry about because he liked to keep all the doors and windows in good working order.  I yell at him because he seems more worried about the door jamb than in taking time to talk with me.  I say, “To hell with the door jamb!”  It’s not nice to yell at your dad, but I was really frustrated and really wanted to have time with him.  It didn’t help.

I have to leave to catch my plane now, and I’m with my sister.  We’re rolling our suitcases down a brick street.  My sister leaves her coffee cup on a window ledge.  Apparently, she keeps leaving her coffee behind, and I have to keep picking it up and taking it to her, although my hands are full of tickets and bags and other things I need for the flight.  I take it to her and yell.   I say, “If I have to bring this coffee to you one more time….”  I pause to think of what I’ll do.  “I’m going to throw it on you!”

(I guess it was a dream for yelling at the people I love most.  Sad.)

We’re trying to sort out the times and places on the tickets in my hand.  A tall man with blonde hair looks at our tickets and sees that they have different times.  My sister gets in a shuttle for the airport, but then I see she’s on the wrong bus.  I run after her to pull her out.  It’s a mess, but I stop the driver, and we get her luggage out.  Then we realize that I was supposed to be in the shuttle that just left.  The blonde man kissed me.  (Random.)

Then I am my Warcraft character, Kt, whom I played for years, except she has red hair in the dream instead of blue.  [Which isn’t all that disconnected because another, similar troll I named after my sister above had red hair.]  Kt went into a tipi like Taurens live in, and she was shouting in her own language, which I guess is a tropical, tribal Troll language.  There were subtitles under her to translate what she was saying, but I couldn’t read them.  It was a great feeling to see her again because I miss her.  It was even greater to hear her!  Kt’s language was so authentic to her character, and she was fierce, just like I always imagined she was.  Then she shouted something in English, “Draft Vula!”   Someone heard her and picked it up like a war cry and shouted, “Drafted!”  Or it was “Drafting!”

[Drafting is a verb used in the books I recently read, The Lightbringer Series by Brent Weeks.  They do this to form matter from light.]


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