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.