Tag Archives: dreams

I Finally Did It!

lion lambThere is an old saying about March coming in like a lion (and going out like a lamb). The reverse is also imagined: if it comes in like a lamb, it will go out like a lion. Weather mythology aside, March does have some significant dates for me.

One is “Vern’s Equal Ox” — a day of rejoicing for Lovers of the Light. Our days will now be longer than our nights. That’s less than two weeks away. The coming Saturday is a doubly special date (especially this year), but more about that another day. Lastly, March contains the birthday of one of the four people I consider life-long best friends.

Trumping it all right now: last night I had my first fully lucid dream!

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Strange Dreams

Had a pair of interesting dreams I want to record. They were odd enough to stay with me once I awoke, and interesting enough (to me) that I want to record them. They seem possibly related to my current job situation.

(NOTE: This post is intended more for myself—a true web log—than for any putative readership, so you may not find it very interesting. This is your one and only warning! Continued reading may lead to a why am I reading this syndrome!)

Get on the bus?

The main substance of one vanished quickly, as the vapor of dreams do, but one thing stands out. It involved a bus that was leaving (for Florida) on some expedition or mission. The bus was one of those ultra-luxury tour buses, rather than, say, a city transportation or school bus. There was a sense of a corporate, or at least organizational, operation, more than of a vacation or fun trip. People I knew were on the bus, and they were leaving with a purpose.

I had declined to join the mission, and as the doors, front and back (midway back, actually, on the side of the bus), were closing, I walked forwards to the front door thinking I had one last chance to knock on the door, get the driver’s attention and join the mission. I was uncertain whether I really wanted to do that. There was both an element of “should I” but also an element of “could I.” That is, I was uncertain if I wanted to join them, but also uncertain if they would allow me to join them at this point.

As I approached the front door of the bus, it pulled out and left. Watching it leave, I wasn’t disappointed or upset. That dream ends there.

One interesting side detail: there was a second bus with a smaller group. This bus was one of those VW Transporter “micro-buses,” and the people on this bus were all hippies. The usual sort, dressed the usual hippie way, and the bus was decorated how you might expect. I seemed to know these people at some level, but had no mind to join them.

There was another aspect which is either a separate dream or related to this one. It involved being outside what might have been some sort of downtown office building. There was a carnival atmosphere and street artists of the sort you might find in Mallory Square, in Key West, at sunset. There was no actual carnival; no rides or attractions. Just a sense of expectation and festivity.

I’m wondering if the reference to Mallory Square signifies sunset imagery. In the dream there was no such reference; no water, no sunset (it was day). It only occurs now as I write this about an hour after waking. Given that I’ve experienced many other contexts with a similar carnival atmosphere and street artists, perhaps there is a sub-conscious connection. Also: bus was leaving for Florida, which is where Mallory Square is.

In any event, the only bit I remember with any clarity at all is being one of the few willing to walk past this one act—one of those that force audience participation to any who come close. This act somehow involved huge masses of Silly String. I walked away fully coated, a bit like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family.

Call me weird, if you will, but as a child I had quite the crush on Morticia Addams). Still do.

What is that thing?

The second, unrelated (?), dream involves a critter in my house. At first it looked like a combination of a very large slug (about potato-sized) and a tuber or large root. It had a dozen or so long eye-stalks on one end. It had no legs, yet I was chasing it around the house. At some point I was pounding on it with, I believe, a book. It wouldn’t die! One of the little eye-stalks was looking up at me as I pounded on it. It made me wonder if it was intelligent and trying to communicate.

I have no idea why I was so determined to kill it. I wasn’t afraid or angry. It just had no place in my place, and it needed to be killed. It was as simple as that. I share my abode with spiders; I respect their tiny predatory natures (and they kill other bugs). We have a deal, my spider friends and I. So long as they don’t attract attention to themselves, they may live their lives in peace. It’s when I see one crawling across my wall, or the middle of my floor, that they earn the tissue treatment. (No, I don’t carefully take them outside. I am, in fact, applying evolutionary pressure to teach them to avoid large open spaces. Just doing my part for Mother Nature!)

Anyway, my tuber critter had the odd characteristic of seeming very attached to the floor. No legs, so how was it able to cling so well? When it finally died, I used a stick to lift and examine it (actually more of a very long, narrow, shallow box with no lid, almost a skinny tray, like a huge, flat incense holder/ash catcher). Here’s where it gets weird (as if it wasn’t already).

Suddenly it was like I was looking at an octopus from the bottom. Either the eye-stalks had morphed into large tentacles (complete with suckers), or somehow large tentacles had been concealed beneath it. I was examining it in curiosity when this segment ended.

Some Analysis

Two images may link to things I’ve looked at recently, and it may be that my mind was just using the imagery. The critter in my house seems aligned with this blog post about an iguana in the house. The blog author and I exchanged some interesting comments yesterday (I’m interested in seeing where he takes his blog). In any event, it was fresh in my mind last night.

I suspect the “strange critter” in my house (mind?) represents something else though. The casual requirement of killing it is interesting, and why the octopus tentacles? It was, the only word that springs to mind is, grotesque. Does it represent something grotesque within myself that I’m trying (or should be trying) to kill? In the dream, I did kill it. Is that a plan, or a memory?

The leaving bus theme is a lot more clear! It obviously represents my work situation. I have been faced with the option of choosing to retire or trying to find another position in the company. I just now realized: bus was going to Florida, which among other things symbolizes retirement. I had thought the bus represented work (the sense of mission), and that I was choosing to not join work. But did it really mean I was choosing to not join retirement?

Great, now I’m still as conflicted as I was to begin with!

The hippie VW bus is an element that may come from having browsed through pictures of former girl friends for my Venus & Mars post yesterday. One of those former loves owned a certain VW bus of fond memory. In fact, one of the pictures I used was taken from the passenger seat of that bus.

But I wonder if the bus symbolizes my growing disconnection from elements of my own “hippie” past. That’s a topic for the future, but it was interesting that it worked its way into a dream that seems clearly job-related. I can think of a possible connection, but I’m not going to share all my secrets with you. (In point of fact, I’m not sharing many of my secrets with you! Nor will I ever.)

Waking up this morning also featured one of the most abrupt transitions from sleep to awake I’ve experienced in a long time (in fact, I think not since the other two dreams I recorded here, although the transition that time was really funny). This time I went from black night to bright day in an instant. And I was fully aware of the transition. An instant of black, and then bright day.

It was very striking!

Olympic Dreams

So I was watching the Olympics, which is what everyone is doing these days, and we’ll get to that in a moment.

What I was watching is that one gymnastics event… you know the one, where the gymnast hangs from a pair of parallel bars and does her amazing acrobatics while suspended above several horizontal sheets of glass, each separated by about six inches.

Wait…  What?!?

In the event I watched, the gymnast made a costly error that resulted in her legs sweeping through several of those sheets of glass, shattering the glass (which I admit was visually stunning, especially in the slo-mo shot).  On the other hand, her legs, muscles and tendons were severely lacerated, ending her career.

I thought to myself, “Self, this is whack. The Olympics has sunk to new depths. I wouldn’t normally bother blogging about something as everywhere as the Olympics, but this I need to write a blog post about!”

I think you know what’s coming, so let’s all say it together (on three, 1… 2… 3…), “And then I woke up.”

Really, your first clue should have been that  I don’t watch the Olympics.  I just don’t.  But it’s a mega-buck spectacle, you say. That’s reason #2 I reply. But everyone’s watching, you say. And that’s reason #1, I reply.

At some point, early in life, I took that Frost poem completely, utterly seriously and determined to always take The Road Not Taken. Where large groups of people gather, I avoid, almost instinctively at this point. (I don’t like crowds (or, to be very honest, most people). They don’t make me anxious or nervous; I just don’t like them. They seem to spoil things.  I can’t count the concerts and movies I’ve been to where the experience has been corrupted by those who don’t know how to behave in public.)

I’m fine with the idea of the Olympics. I rather admire the idea, in fact. And I have nothing against sports or sports extravaganzas. (I could really do without the Black Eyed Peas at the Super Bowl halftime show, though. That was a huge mistake and especially egregious following the Springsteen performance the year before. (And, yes, I do watch the Super Bowl, which may seem contrary to the principles stated above, but (a) I’m paradoxical and (2) consistency is the sign of small minds, so (iii) sue me.))

What bothers me is how the Olympics takes over everything.  It fills the news, it fills conversation. I can’t even be on chat during a Twins game without someone feeling the need to post observations about the latest O-event.  And then, after a few weeks of obsession, the collective “mind” (for lack of a better word) moves on to its latest obsession.  Probably more videos of kittens.

What bothers me even more is how it becomes this “Event” wherein the original purpose and meaning is lost, and it all becomes nothing more than a way to earn money. Lots and lots and lots of money.  There’s the Frost Ethic, but even more I’m an anti-materialist; someone who deeply believes that greed—the lust for money, more money—is the root of much evil.  So as pretty as all that spectacle is, it also represents something truly ugly to me.

[As a side note, that sort of happened with the Occupy Wall Street movement. It became, in part, an “Event” like a Grateful Dead concert, and purpose and meaning were lost among the various hawkers and booths. As another famous poem tells us, “The center cannot hold.”  Pity.]

And one more thing. What’s with all the gymnast pictures such as the one on the right there?  Seriously, Go Ogle Images for [women’s gymnastics bars] and note the huge preponderance of images like that.  Granted, you’ll find some images of men in a similar pose, and, yes, it is a canonical pose for bar-based gymnastics, but given the ages of these gals… I donno.  It doesn’t offend me or turn me on… It just kinda makes me go, “Huh. Weird, that.”  Might be remnants of my old-fashioned upbringing.  Whatever.

Enjoy the Olympics, if that’s your flavor.  Ain’t mine, so I’ll see ya downstream.

A Brace of Freeway Dreams

I had a pair of weird dreams this weekend. They’re worth remembering. I’m not sure what the hell they mean, but they’re also worth considering. (For me, I mean… I’m not sure what your interest is. Consider it another webside tale.)

Now, I’ve never had a nightmare. The one time I did have a nightmare, it turned out to be reality. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical (or even metaphysical) way, as in, “My marriage turned out to be a nightmare.” I mean, what supposedly was a bad dream, wasn’t a dream at all, but a misinterpretation of reality. (Actually, we’re back to my marriage again.)

I mean dreams, literal dreams. When you sleep dreams. I’ve never had a bad one. Except for the time when I was just post infant (headed for post modern), and I had what I was told was a bad dream about a bird running across my New York City bedroom floor. Except later my rents found a mouse in the house (or something house mouse-like). So that was no bird.

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