Dream journal entry #5 03/25/2014 03:03 p.m.
I had vivid dreams last night but, for the most part, had trouble recalling anything more than fragments. During the night, I awoke numerous times, saying to myself, remember the cave and the children, remember the fires burning, remember the gifts (or something like that). Usually this is enough to begin recalling the rest of a dream, particularly if I try to write it down later. Not this time. But the last dream of the morning stands out quite a bit better:
I'm much younger than I am now, maybe just a few years removed from highschool, and sitting at a table with four friends whom I know very well in the dream but don't know at all in real life. We're talking. The table where we sit is located at the far end of a large public place, similar to a bowling alley. In the area where bowling lanes should be, down a few steps from where we sit, there are large court-like areas, maybe five of them, surrounded by crowds of highschool students. In the upper area where we're sitting, there are even thicker crowds of people whom I presume to be older. Everyone is milling about up here, aimlessly, or so it seems. I don't remember what my friends and I are talking about but I feel as if I should. A voice comes over the loud speaker announcing that we're up next for a match. I think it's soccer, or someting like that. This surprises us. We know we're too old to qualify as a team but think, what the hell, stand up, and begin working our way through the crowd of older people, trying to reach the court at the far end of the building. Getting near to our destination, with me trailing behind the others a bit, I become worried about my shoes; they're not athletic shoes, but rather shoes with hard leather soles. And I'm even less qualified than my friends to play in this tournament; I'm way too old. In fact, I don't even play this sport, never have, at least not at a competitive level. The others ignore my trepidation and, when we reach the opposite end of the building, proceed down to the court. Still trailing behind, I take a head count; there's only five of us, don't we need more than five? And then I'm on the court also, where I notice now that I'm not wearing any shoes at all, only a pair of slippery black socks. What happened to my shoes? They must be back at the table, so I quickly head to the opposite side of the court (where the pins would be if this really were a bowling alley) and decide to sneak through from this side to retrieve my shoes. But there's a crowd of people lining the courts at this end as well, watching the other matches and cheering. Behind the onlookers and against the wall are the highschool cheerleaders and dancelines. Between the cheerleaders and the spectators I can see just enough room to get through if I'm careful (it's almost like a narrow corridor, or a well-defined path between groups of people). As my friends get ready to play, I quickly dash into this crowd and begin working my way back to the table, being very careful not to brush up against the cheerleaders (some of whom I seem to know) as I work my way through. About halfway to my destination, however, I look down at my feet and notice that I am wearing shoes again. So I stop, feeling very puzzled. Then I wake up, saying to myself, remember the cave and the children, remember the fires burning, remember the gifts ...
Dream journal entry #4 03/24/2014 03:11 p.m.
This dream, or series of interrelated dreams, was very complex and involved. Each time I awoke, I'd struggle to remember the details then drift off and find myself back in the same millieu of characters, places, and tensions.
Central to the dream was a Somali man who was working with me and my wife Nancy on a community newspaper. He was frequently angry and disagreeable, or rather grew that way as the dream progressed. Besides the newspaper work, the three of us were also involved in some kind of intelligence work involving espionage, though I can't say for sure if this was work on behalf of an espionage effort (against unjust forces?) or if we were working to oppose someone else's. Either way, it was shadowy spy-type stuff that we couldn't really speak about, even to each other. Primarily, though, we had to write and publish our newspaper. This involved quite a bit of travel around town but the details are hazy and confused. (Trying to reconstruct them, I catch myself mixing in vivid images from dreams I've had in the past, like steep hills, long tangled streets, and a tree-lined waterfront. All of which were indeed part of this dream but extremely similar to the locales of past dreams, and far hazier, so the details become confused, with the sharper memories of past dreams--and their specific contexts--rising to the fore. As such, I'll avoid describing these parts).
Anyway, there was also a recurring woman who kept showing up at the oddest times. She was very interested in the smallest details of my life but never said a word; she was just there (except when she wasn't, which was often). But her eyes were always on me. For example, the last image of the dream, before I awoke, was of this woman watching me while I shaved. Earlier than that, I'd been driving in a car, accompanied by both Nancy and the quiet woman. I thought it was remarkable the way Nancy restrained her disdain for the woman's presence, and equally remarkable how utterly oblivious the woman was to Nancy's presence. It was unsettling and awkward but I enjoyed the woman's attention and appreciated Nancy's restraint.
The most detailed part of the dream (that I can clearly remember) was toward the end. The Somali man was feeling increasingly estranged from Nancy and me. He had also volunteered to be incarcerated in a walk-in freezer (like the kind you'd see in the back warehouse area of a grocery store) located in a large, many-floored institution filled with row upon row of similar cells. He shared this space with three or four white, preppy-looking college students, though the cell was quite small. On one of our visits, to check on our friend's welfare, Nancy and I could barely squeeze in, it was such a tight space. The walls were a dark, grayish brown that seemed to absorb most of the light provided from a rather bright ceiling fixture. The college students were amiable but the Somali man was angry. His role in the spy-like part of the dream was extremely important--his talents were immense--but he was also a vital part of our newspaper team. The voluntary incarceration seemed to be a part of all this, integral to his work, but it was also frustrating for him, a major source of his anger. Besides that, he was frustrated with Nancy and me, though we didn't understand why and he wouldn't tell us.
During his incarceration, we took care of his pet monkey, which became a joyous part of our lives. The monkey went everywhere with us as we made our various travels throughout the city. At one point it went swimming with me down at the waterfront and was very playful. But we knew the Somali man needed to have the monkey back with him in his cell at the institution; it was important both to his work and to his happiness. So we brought the monkey with us on our next visit. The college guys were
delighted and the Somali man seemed terribly relieved to have his monkey back. As we were leaving the institution, though, we overheard one of the uniformed guards (a large and burly woman from central Africa) say that she was hungry and wanted to eat a monkey. Then she set off to find one. Naturally, we were alarmed and began to follow her through the crowded hallway to the stairwell at the far end. Entering it, we were careful to stay a flight or so behind her as she climbed the stairs.
When we got to the floor where our Somali friend was incarcerated, we raced ahead to find him. He seemed to know we were coming and stood at the solid iron door of his cell holding the monkey, which he handed to me. The college guys were sad to see the monkey go, but no one wanted it to be eaten. There was sorrow on the Somali man's face as we walked away. We then managed to safely leave the institution with the monkey clinging to my shoulder, looking back for its owner. When we returned home, however, the monkey jumped out of my arms and ran away; I had to chase it through the snow in my front yard before finally tackling it in a deep snowdrift half way down the hill. I was relieved that it hadn't gotten away after all, and so, apparently, was the monkey.
Then, very abruptly, I found myself looking into a mirror, lathering up for a shave while the quiet woman looked on. At which point, I awoke.
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Dream journal entry #3 03/23/2014 05:39 p.m.
There was a lot of wandering going on in this dream, through city streets. Sometimes I was accompanied, particularly late in the dream, and sometimes I was not. But I was looking for something, or someplace. When I reached my destination, the buildings were huge and ornate; the largest of them had many square windows and an intricate pattern of cream colored stones mimicking and complicating the square shape of the windows. The building stretched nearly as high as the sky and as wide as I could see without any break in the geometric patterns. I was very attracted to its geometry, which was vivid and brightly lit, and found myself mesmerized. In front of the building, the major streets met diagonally, creating a triangular block just to south (I had a strong sense of direction throughout this entire dream). This too was built up with tallish city buildings, in triangular shapes that fit the block. They were also built and decorated with different shades of cream-colored stone. I knew there were shops and restaurants inside and soon found myself wandering amidst the crowds within. The interior light was an emerald green, or maybe that was just the color of the walls. Apparently, this was Chicago. Or at least that's what I told myself.
But now we had to find our way back home. My wife Nancy was with me, along with a number of indistinct children. We walked and walked, heading south toward the heart of downtown Minneapolis. To the north, from where we'd come, was Chicago and its large, crowded buildings. We were in a residential area; somehow we'd strayed off the main road, or the road had strayed from us. I saw a street sign that said Hayes (a street I used to live on). I knew we'd find Central Ave. again if we went to our right. Nancy said, no, Central is to the left. This made no sense, but we went to the left, crossed some railroad tracks, and just as the trees began to thin, we found Central Ave. When we got there, we could see the Minneapolis skyline many miles to the south. I turned and looked north; Chicago was still there and I could easily make out the buildings where I'd been wandering earlier.
We hadn't walked very far when we came to a tangle of small buildings situated on low ground where all the streets seemed to end. I heard a bird singing. We entered one of the central buildings and went downstairs to the gymnasium where we found some bleachers to sit on. Up above, against the far wall and hanging from the ceiling, was a carousel with seats facing out from its circle. Among the people up there was my brother John. He told me I should swing as high as I could (I was now sitting on a swing) and try to reach him. So I did, though I had to go back and forth a number of times in order to gain altitude. As I swung higher, almost reaching my brother, he stretched out his hand and grabbed the heel of my right foot. This didn't seem right, in fact it seemed very wrong, but then I awoke.
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Dream journal entry #2 03/21/2014 07:16 p.m.
These dreams were all jumbled together:
My wife Nancy hollered at me to stop the cat, so I raised my pitchfork and prepared to do battle. The cat seemed impressed as I slammed the pitchfork into the dirt right in front of her ...
I was in the library with Oscar, my son. The building was beautiful and huge, made from shiny brass pillars and massive sheets of glass. It was day time and light streamed through the giant windows. We were in the central corridor, its ceiling open to every floor (just like the central library in downtown Minneapolis). We needed to go upstairs to find "the book." Oscar was sure we'd be successful--he knew just what to do. But I knew it would be dangerous. We set out for the stairwell ...
We were outside on the loading dock, but I'm not sure who "we" entailed. The sky was blue and it was a beautiful day. There was some shade from the trees out back. We knew we had to stand our ground, but there was a question as to whether we were capable. Then the action started. And I woke up, not remembering what the action was all about, except there was a bunch of men and they were storming the loading dock.
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Dream Journal 03/17/2014 08:58 p.m.
I used to keep a dream journal but didn't have a hard copy and lost the software version due to a computer issue (long story). After that, I didn't have the heart to start a new one until today. So anyway, the dream I recorded was very involved and, for no particular reason, I thought I'd share it here:
I was in my childhood home, which had somehow come into my possesion by inheritance or something. It was darker than I remembered, and as the dream progressed it began to grow vaguely shabby. I don't remember how this dream started but early on I went down to the basement where there was now a swimming pool. Though it looked to be of regulation length, when I dove in and subsequently surfaced, I was already approaching the opposite wall. I then took one breath, made a flip turn, pushed off, and when I surfaced again, I was already approaching the previous side. I thought to myself, how strange that I only need to take one breath in order to swim a length of this pool. When I pulled myself out of the pool, my mother was there. She told me in a very dry and matter of fact voice that the only reason they'd put in a diving pool and diving board was because it was required by law, otherwise they would have skipped it. At which point I turned and looked at the deeper diving pool, situated at a right angle to the shallower swimming pool. I hadn't remembered any of this, or that the basement had been so huge, but I was pleased to find it so.
Going upstairs again, an acquaintance told me we were late for the bowling tournament. This part of the dream is hazy and confused, but we found the bowling alley in Sioux Falls and apparently did quite well in the tournament. I remember thinking how wonderful it was that I could still bowl so well, like I did when I was younger. (In reality, I only bowled for one year and just barely got my average up to 130 before I quit due to arthritis). Then we returned to the house. I seemed to be accompanied by a number of people, though I didn't know who any of them were. Faceless acquaintances, I guess.
Entering the house, we went directly to its dining area. As before, the ambient light continued to grow dimmer and the house was becoming shabbier by the minute. The walls seemed to be made of flimsy plywood that was beginning to pull away from the studs. Everything was gray and shadowy (the actual house of my childhood was painted gray but spacious and full of windows). I noticed that the room we were in was too small, that an alcove had been sloppily cut off by a warped plywood barrier pretending to be an actual wall. I thought to myself, how odd that I hadn't noticed this earlier. Then I pictured in my head what this room looked like without the barrier. And I became curious, so I looked through a space in the barrier where the plywood was particularly warped. What I saw was was a beautiful deli counter, situated in a very clean and modern, upscale mall-like setting. All the surfaces gleamed, though the lighting here was dim as well, though in this case it was as if it were past closing time and only a few coningency lights were left burning through the nighttime hours. The deli counter was situated directly opposite the plywood barrier I was peering through; it appeared to exist in the midst of a much larger space, but to my left there was nothing but darkness. To my right, however, there was light.
Without actually removing the barrier, I found myself standing on the other side. Looking to the right, I saw a restaurant situated toward the end of a very wide corridor. Though dimly lit, it seemed to be open for business. To the left of that was a high class bar, with expensive looking tables that spilled out into the corridor. The decor throughout this entire space was extremely tasteful and elegant. At this point, I noticed that the deli was now lit up and open for business, though untended. Even so, it was not lit brightly, just sort of elegantly. In this setting, the increasing dimness, that had begun to feel dingy and almost oppressive in my house, had a luxurious glow to it, exuding a sense of dignified wealth that I found very attractive.
At this point, an Italian chef from the restaurant approached me, motioned to the bar with his hand and suggested that I take a seat. He had a gleam in his eye and seemed to be passionate about eveything he did, though he projected this through a calm and confidant manner. I thought to myself, how wonderful to find this magnificent space in my house. Why hadn't I seen it before, and why had it been walled off? But I must have spoken this aloud because on hearing what I said, the man's eyes lit up and he smiled enigmatically. At which point I awoke.
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Christian Bale Ale 01/15/2014 12:53 a.m.
