It's been several days since I had this dream -- but just didn't find the time to write it up. "Travis" is a member of the Turks Head Jugglers group and, I think, has aspirations of leading the group if and when I relinquish that role.
In my dream, we (not sure who "we" are...) are just finishing up a presentation on science. (I think we were just audience members, but my notes aren't clear on that subject.)
We have to "check out" from this presentation -- much like one has to do at a hotel. The area we're in is remindful of the ground floor of a large department store, and there are displays of items (for sale?) around us. But they're spaced pretty far apart; so that the atmosphere doesn't resonate well with the idea of it actually being a department store. And it has the feeling of being used only occasionally. There are very few other people in the area, and we're unlikely to interact with any of them.
Travis feels that we need to "clean up" the area before we leave. I'm puzzled by this. I mean, we just came for this presentation and now it's time to leave. You don't clean up a movie theater after the show or the lobby of a hotel, so why should we bother cleaning up here? No answer. But Travis is insistent, and the rest of us know that life will be easier if we just went along with his request/demand.
My part of the clean-up effort is to vacuum the carpet. The vacuum cleaner is rather light and not very efficient. When I started working, it looked to me as if the carpet were a mid-tone gray. But as I go over an area (which takes a number of passes because the vacuum is so ineffective), I see that the color actually comes from a very heavy coating of dust. The actual carpet is a different color, but my notes don't mention what that other color is.
So it takes me considerable effort to clean up a very small area of carpet. And now you have that situation like cleaning a spot off a painted wall and the clean surface makes the rest of the wall look bad. So you may wind up just repainting the entire wall. And I look up from my task and realize that the gray surface extends in all directions as a nice easy coat -- with the exception of the spot that I've just cleaned.
I realize that it would take a very long time to clean the entire carpet of this gray dust -- especially because of the poor performance of the vacuum cleaner. So I begin to question whether I should continue to work or just walk away from the project. After all, I wasn't convinced we should have to do anything after the presentation except leave! But I'm sure I am not going to reapply my efforts at vacuuming this huge expanse of carpet!
A shift of scene brings me into contact with The Manager -- a tall slender man in a very formal-looking suit. (I think they called store employees dressed like this "floorwalkers" back in the day.) He's miffed. Very miffed. And he's miffed at me -- or at least taking it out on me. He's waving his arms wildly -- looking as if he's trying to take off and fly. I don't think it has anything to do with the vacuum or the carpet, but I can't be sure about that. My notes say that The Manager was being very foul-mouthed.
All I know is that the carpet and whatever has The Manager so upset are just Not Our Problem.
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Bad Dream 104 -- Morning of 11/22/19
In my dream, I am back at college and headed for a class lecture. As I get to the door to the appropriate room (which is a classroom rather than a lecture hall), I realize that the lecture has already started and I'm late.
I then realize that I don't have a pad of paper on which to take notes -- and I don't have a pen either. As the lecture continues, I look around the room to see if there are writing implements available on a shelf somewhere or if there's a familiar face among the students from whom I might borrow such.
Such things are nowhere in evidence. I realize that I will have to leave the building, purchase pen and paper, and then return to the lecture room. I think I know the stores likely to have such things for sale, but I have to cross some major highways -- much like the traffic circle at the Philadelphia Art Museum -- to get there.
When I get to the first store, I see that pens and paper are sold in different stores. So I would be able to purchase a pen there, but would have to go to a different store to get my paper.
The pen I select has famous quotations inscribed on the barrel. The quotes are thoughtful and erudite. And they are most appropriate for being on a writing instrument. The quotes might, in fact, inspire the user of the pen to think a little harder, probe a little deeper, and so forth. I'm amazed that that the barrel of a ballpoint pen could hold so many quotes. As I rotate the pen, I see more and more quotes and all of them are inspiring.
The "scene" moves to my being in the store where I can purchase paper -- and it is my intent to buy a simple pad of 8-1/2 by 11 lined paper. Much to my dismay, the store doesn't have such things. I settle on getting a pad of smaller-size lined paper. I feel the necessity to get back to the lecture as quickly as possible.
I'm standing in the store with my pad in hand ready to check out. but see that the store manager is having an in-depth discussion with a customer. The discussion is animated but not hostile. It feels as if this discussion has gone on for some time and is likely to continue for some considerable time to come. This being the case, I give serious consideration to simply walking out with the pad of paper without paying for it. I feel justified in doing so.
When I decide I'm comfortable doing this, I start to consider what excuse I should make to the teacher when I get back to the lecture.
I then realize that I don't have a pad of paper on which to take notes -- and I don't have a pen either. As the lecture continues, I look around the room to see if there are writing implements available on a shelf somewhere or if there's a familiar face among the students from whom I might borrow such.
Such things are nowhere in evidence. I realize that I will have to leave the building, purchase pen and paper, and then return to the lecture room. I think I know the stores likely to have such things for sale, but I have to cross some major highways -- much like the traffic circle at the Philadelphia Art Museum -- to get there.
When I get to the first store, I see that pens and paper are sold in different stores. So I would be able to purchase a pen there, but would have to go to a different store to get my paper.
The pen I select has famous quotations inscribed on the barrel. The quotes are thoughtful and erudite. And they are most appropriate for being on a writing instrument. The quotes might, in fact, inspire the user of the pen to think a little harder, probe a little deeper, and so forth. I'm amazed that that the barrel of a ballpoint pen could hold so many quotes. As I rotate the pen, I see more and more quotes and all of them are inspiring.
The "scene" moves to my being in the store where I can purchase paper -- and it is my intent to buy a simple pad of 8-1/2 by 11 lined paper. Much to my dismay, the store doesn't have such things. I settle on getting a pad of smaller-size lined paper. I feel the necessity to get back to the lecture as quickly as possible.
I'm standing in the store with my pad in hand ready to check out. but see that the store manager is having an in-depth discussion with a customer. The discussion is animated but not hostile. It feels as if this discussion has gone on for some time and is likely to continue for some considerable time to come. This being the case, I give serious consideration to simply walking out with the pad of paper without paying for it. I feel justified in doing so.
When I decide I'm comfortable doing this, I start to consider what excuse I should make to the teacher when I get back to the lecture.
Saturday, November 16, 2019
Bad Dream 103 -- Morning of 11/16/19
Just a quick snapshot:
In my dream, I have been changed into a spider.
At first, I panic a bit -- mainly about how to move around and be comfortable being enclosed in such a different body.
But I start getting used to having all those eyes, and find it a Good Thing to be able to see around so much.
In my dream, I have been changed into a spider.
At first, I panic a bit -- mainly about how to move around and be comfortable being enclosed in such a different body.
But I start getting used to having all those eyes, and find it a Good Thing to be able to see around so much.
Tuesday, November 12, 2019
Bad Dream 102 -- Morning of 11/8/19
I don't expect to derive any wisdom from this dream, but I think it might be important to document it in any case:
In my dream, I am in a nondescript room talking with someone whose face and voice I can't remember. Nor can I remember the topic we were discussing.
What I do remember is that the speaker gave me a (pretty vague, I think) threat that if I did that thing -- or I didn't do that thing -- (it wasn't clear what that thing was), that there would be consequences that I wouldn't like.
As I listened to him talking, I felt something hit the back of my head -- just at the base of the skull. Right at the center line.
Dreams usually include the "hearing sounds through a channel other than your waking-life ears" and "seeing something through a path other than your waking-life eyes." But this whack felt very much like something hit the back of my waking-life head.
My first thought -- in my dream -- was that an associate of the person I was talking with had sneaked up behind me and hit me. If you can imagine a baseball bat made out of a rather firm "foam rubber" material, swung with modest force, then you know what that whack felt like. The hit was not meant to hurt me, but just to get my attention immediately and completely.
While I have "seen" and "heard" so much through my dreams, I believe this is the first time that I've ever "felt" something. And, in this case, something that caused me to wake up immediately -- and remember pretty clearly what that impact felt like.
But I've got nothing else to report about the dream...
In my dream, I am in a nondescript room talking with someone whose face and voice I can't remember. Nor can I remember the topic we were discussing.
What I do remember is that the speaker gave me a (pretty vague, I think) threat that if I did that thing -- or I didn't do that thing -- (it wasn't clear what that thing was), that there would be consequences that I wouldn't like.
As I listened to him talking, I felt something hit the back of my head -- just at the base of the skull. Right at the center line.
Dreams usually include the "hearing sounds through a channel other than your waking-life ears" and "seeing something through a path other than your waking-life eyes." But this whack felt very much like something hit the back of my waking-life head.
My first thought -- in my dream -- was that an associate of the person I was talking with had sneaked up behind me and hit me. If you can imagine a baseball bat made out of a rather firm "foam rubber" material, swung with modest force, then you know what that whack felt like. The hit was not meant to hurt me, but just to get my attention immediately and completely.
While I have "seen" and "heard" so much through my dreams, I believe this is the first time that I've ever "felt" something. And, in this case, something that caused me to wake up immediately -- and remember pretty clearly what that impact felt like.
But I've got nothing else to report about the dream...
Monday, November 4, 2019
Bad Dream 101 -- Morning of 10/12/19
This dream had three distinct phases and, at the end of the third phase it woke me up from the nightmarish aspects of it:
In the first phase, I am looking over a smallish grassy plot and see a “Fairy Ring” – a circle of mushrooms roughly two feet in diameter. The stems of the mushrooms are tall, but the mushrooms are “past their prime” and bending over, roughly half-way up the stem and the mushroom heads are wilting.
I call to Deb to come and see this – not so much because the mushrooms are wilting but because the circle is so perfect and so well-defined by the population of mushrooms that make up the circle.
This event is followed by another one, quite similar. Again, I call out to Deb to come and see the Fairy Ring and once again, it’s just about perfect and all the mushrooms are wilting.
I don’t believe that Deb shows up at either calling.
In the second phase of the dream, I am in a facility housing youngsters and, perhaps grown-ups as well. The deal here is that the residents in the facility can’t get out. They don’t seem to be mistreated in any way – “well cared-for” is the phrase that comes to mind – but once you walk into the place (it seems as if) you can never walk out again.
I am standing in front of a door that leads into the facility, and there is a black pushbutton on the wall next to the door. I have the feeling that I might be able to go into the facility and leave, but I might be trapped in the facility with all the other folks. I’m not sure whether I push the button or not, but I do enter the facility.
I am now standing next to a group of young adolescents who are “residents” of the facility. They are waiting for something – it’s quite possible it’s getting close to mealtime. One of the youngsters with unruly black hair is telling the others in a soft voice about his plan to do something. It might be to get himself out of the facility – I’m not sure about this.
The third phase of the dream finds me in the same facility (I think) but the people here are older – roughly my age. I think all of them – certainly some of them – are wearing pajamas and/or bathrobes. I’m in a Social Room with all of them. I’m not part of this group – and I may have been sent here to
investigate a phenomenon: men in this group have been murdering their wives without knowing why or even that they did it. They would have no recollection of the event.
I am circulating with these people a bit when I suddenly see one of the men (wearing pajamas) dragging something around a corner and possibly out of the room. The “something” is large and looks heavy. I understand that what he’s dragging is the corpse of his wife.
I confront him about this activity, and he looks surprised and bewildered. He clearly doesn’t “connect” himself with the disposal effort of his wife’s earthly remains.
I wake up.
In the first phase, I am looking over a smallish grassy plot and see a “Fairy Ring” – a circle of mushrooms roughly two feet in diameter. The stems of the mushrooms are tall, but the mushrooms are “past their prime” and bending over, roughly half-way up the stem and the mushroom heads are wilting.
I call to Deb to come and see this – not so much because the mushrooms are wilting but because the circle is so perfect and so well-defined by the population of mushrooms that make up the circle.
This event is followed by another one, quite similar. Again, I call out to Deb to come and see the Fairy Ring and once again, it’s just about perfect and all the mushrooms are wilting.
I don’t believe that Deb shows up at either calling.
In the second phase of the dream, I am in a facility housing youngsters and, perhaps grown-ups as well. The deal here is that the residents in the facility can’t get out. They don’t seem to be mistreated in any way – “well cared-for” is the phrase that comes to mind – but once you walk into the place (it seems as if) you can never walk out again.
I am standing in front of a door that leads into the facility, and there is a black pushbutton on the wall next to the door. I have the feeling that I might be able to go into the facility and leave, but I might be trapped in the facility with all the other folks. I’m not sure whether I push the button or not, but I do enter the facility.
I am now standing next to a group of young adolescents who are “residents” of the facility. They are waiting for something – it’s quite possible it’s getting close to mealtime. One of the youngsters with unruly black hair is telling the others in a soft voice about his plan to do something. It might be to get himself out of the facility – I’m not sure about this.
The third phase of the dream finds me in the same facility (I think) but the people here are older – roughly my age. I think all of them – certainly some of them – are wearing pajamas and/or bathrobes. I’m in a Social Room with all of them. I’m not part of this group – and I may have been sent here to
investigate a phenomenon: men in this group have been murdering their wives without knowing why or even that they did it. They would have no recollection of the event.
I am circulating with these people a bit when I suddenly see one of the men (wearing pajamas) dragging something around a corner and possibly out of the room. The “something” is large and looks heavy. I understand that what he’s dragging is the corpse of his wife.
I confront him about this activity, and he looks surprised and bewildered. He clearly doesn’t “connect” himself with the disposal effort of his wife’s earthly remains.
I wake up.
Bad Dream 100 -- Morning of 10/5/19
In my dream, I am in a large room with a great many other people in it.
They’re all grown-ups. And we’re all here for some kind of presentation or meeting of some kind. I wasn’t “informed” as to what the subject at hand was…
Everyone is friendly, and there is a goodly amount of chit-chat going on and the presentation should start sometime soon. It occurs to me that most everyone – or everyone – is wearing either a sweatshirt or (possibly/occasionally) a T-shirt. And there is always a name on the shirt. The only one I can recall is a shirt labeled “OHIO,” but I think there’s a considerable variety in what word is there – but they’re all either names of places or (possibly) the name of a school.
There is a large bee – a bumblebee sort of critter – flying around the room. It flies from the left side of the room, then over to the right side. If it lands at all, it’s only momentarily and then it takes off again. It flies very quickly – almost as if it’s angry. I wouldn’t want it to land on me or crash into me.
I marvel that an animal that small can have so much energy.
It would seem that the meeting/performance/presentation isn’t getting underway until the bee issue is resolved. Nothing is being said to that effect, it’s just a feeling that I have. That if someone could stop the incessant flying back and forth, someone else would announce: “Well, now we can get started!” Just a feeling on my part.
The bee occasionally lands (momentarily) fairly close to me, and on one occasion, I almost have the opportunity to trap it under a juice glass. (And from there, slide a piece of paper underneath and thereby be able to escort the bee outside – which is what I’m sure it would like to have happen. But I’m not quick enough and in any case, the glass had been used for some beverage that left a heavy residue on the inside. So if I had captured the bee, it might have gotten clogged up with the residue. Not a good thing.
I understand I have the capacity and requisite equipment to kill the bee. And no one else, it seems, is equipped to do that.
I’m torn between these two options: allow the bee to continue buzzing about and preventing the session from getting underway OR to swat the critter (with considerable regret) and assist in getting the program going.
They’re all grown-ups. And we’re all here for some kind of presentation or meeting of some kind. I wasn’t “informed” as to what the subject at hand was…
Everyone is friendly, and there is a goodly amount of chit-chat going on and the presentation should start sometime soon. It occurs to me that most everyone – or everyone – is wearing either a sweatshirt or (possibly/occasionally) a T-shirt. And there is always a name on the shirt. The only one I can recall is a shirt labeled “OHIO,” but I think there’s a considerable variety in what word is there – but they’re all either names of places or (possibly) the name of a school.
There is a large bee – a bumblebee sort of critter – flying around the room. It flies from the left side of the room, then over to the right side. If it lands at all, it’s only momentarily and then it takes off again. It flies very quickly – almost as if it’s angry. I wouldn’t want it to land on me or crash into me.
I marvel that an animal that small can have so much energy.
It would seem that the meeting/performance/presentation isn’t getting underway until the bee issue is resolved. Nothing is being said to that effect, it’s just a feeling that I have. That if someone could stop the incessant flying back and forth, someone else would announce: “Well, now we can get started!” Just a feeling on my part.
The bee occasionally lands (momentarily) fairly close to me, and on one occasion, I almost have the opportunity to trap it under a juice glass. (And from there, slide a piece of paper underneath and thereby be able to escort the bee outside – which is what I’m sure it would like to have happen. But I’m not quick enough and in any case, the glass had been used for some beverage that left a heavy residue on the inside. So if I had captured the bee, it might have gotten clogged up with the residue. Not a good thing.
I understand I have the capacity and requisite equipment to kill the bee. And no one else, it seems, is equipped to do that.
I’m torn between these two options: allow the bee to continue buzzing about and preventing the session from getting underway OR to swat the critter (with considerable regret) and assist in getting the program going.
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