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I had a .9mm, silvery metallic and heavy, with which I planned to shoot a plump game bird although I had feelings of guilt about doing it.  I hunted in a field  and found a nest of two birds in a row of trees.  They seemed like easy pickings, but I then saw a raptor, a hawk, preying on the birds.  Both types of birds were distinct and detailed in the dream, but I have forgotten the specific type of game bird, a large one like a pheasant.  The raptor was white-breasted with many dark streaks and a gray/brown back.  Like the game bird, it seemed plump and substantial.  The hawk attacked one of the birds to kill it, and that made me feel less guilt about shooting the birds as if I knew they would die anyway.  I also felt selfish/competitive toward the hawk as if he was stealing my birds.

I took a shot at one of the game birds in the taloned grip of the hawk.  I shot toward a hill and then noticed there was a house behind it.  I was concerned that I might have shot toward people, and then I heard angry voices from behind the hill, and realized my worry was true, that the bullet had gone among people.

I knew I should never shoot without knowing all possible targets, that is, what I was shooting, and I felt terrible about a bullet going astray–so I ran.  The people chased me across the field.  I had to jump wire cattle fences, stretched taught, which I forced myself over in semi-lucid dream desperation.

I ran to a town and into a cafe/waystation, where I knew people, and they helped hide me while I tried to change my clothes and appear as someone else.  But one of the people chasing me, a woman, was angry about being locked out, and she peered through the wide glass windows, and knocked on the glass, and demanded to be let in.  She picked up a rock and threw it at the window.  The glass cracked, and the shape of the rock was imprinted on the window, but it didn’t break.

I was put on trial next, and I was interrogated about my friendship with a man/boy in his teens.  I said that I hardly knew his kids, but then many instances of my meetings with the man’s children were brought up, and I had to admit to each of them.  The meetings were brief, and the kids had never been together, and I had barely talked to them, only saw them tagging along, so I didn’t remember the kids and still felt I didn’t know them.  Yet, the meetings were proof that I knew the children, and I reluctantly agreed it was true.

I explained the man/boy and I were going to live together–although this had nothing to do with the kids, it was part of the trial–and I had proof of that, rings the man had given me or I had given him.  Two silver rings with polished green stones.  But the man was only a boy, and he might have been a runaway/addict because he had a guardian, another man upon whom he depended, and so didn’t have a house where we could live.  I rebuked the guardian for not having a job, therefore not providing a house for the man/boy with whom I wanted to live.  Possibly with his children?

Tyr Rune


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In my dream, there’s a tribe or clan of men, bearded men dressed in furs and leathers, and one them is sick or injured or under attack.  All I know is that he needs help.  I see myself in the midst of them, and I have a flat bit of stick in my hand, and I keep tracing the Tyr rune, Tiwaz, with the stick.

It is the man’s name but not as Tyr or weapon, but as a tree, like a pine tree.  That’s his name, The Tree, and Tiwaz, as I am drawing it over and over with the angled bit like a roof and then the shaft like a tree trunk, looks like I’m drawing the top of a pine.  Except I don’t think of the rune as Tiwaz in the dream.  I think of it as the Tyr rune.  Then I ascend a slope to the top of a hill (maybe a mountain).

The hairy man is lying beside a tree stump on his back, and he’s under attack, but the attacker is not to be seen.  It’s more like a curse, and he’s sick or in pain.  I know this because he is writhing and dwindling.   I keep drawing Tyr because it’s the only thing that is keeping the man alive.

Now I see up in the sky an eagle and the torso of a dark-dressed man with long dark hair and beard.  The eagle is over the man’s head, and the bird’s wings are spread like the American eagle, and the bird is screaming.  The screams produce the curse upon the hairy man on the ground.  I am now at the stump of the tree on the top of the hill, and I use the flat stick in my hand like a burning iron, and I trace Tyr over and over, melting the stump as I do.  The runes superimpose on each other because I’m trying to keep up with the curse.

Then the stump is gone, and I’ve run out of places to draw Tyr to keep the curse at bay.  Suddenly, the man is a little dragon about the size of a large dog.  And he’s mine like a pet, a dangerous pet.  I pick him up to hold in my arms, and he turns into a little boy, and the men of the rest of the clan are all holding swine.  This was all very sudden, the transition from the loss of the stump.  The eagle disappears, too, and I open my eyes as if I’ve just awoken but find that I’m in another place altogether.

I’m underground with the men and swine and the dragon.  It’s a large room and well-lit, and it’s lined on both walls with coffins, sarcophagi.  The little boy of about five is  naked, and he needs some clothes.  I go into a room adjoining the coffin room, where there’s a table piled with clothes like at a yard sale, and I dig through the pile until I find a pair of jockeys for the little boy, and I help him put them on.

There are some hazy scenes with a woman in a cabinet, then I end up trying to pull hoses through my garden, all this with the boy in my arms.  He’s a charming boy, and when he speaks, everyone loves him.  The last I remember I’m wandering around my garden, have given up on the hoses, and am idly tending things I see needing attention as I walk.



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.



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