Bad Dream 113 -- Morning of 2/29/20

This dream was unusual(?) in that it had two definite "scenes" with a common story:

In my dream, I am in a small room with someone remindful of Teacher Brian Fahey, a woman who is a Holocaust survivor, and several unrecognizables.  We are planning a trap.  

The woman, who is small and frail, feels that there is a student in a class being taught nearby who took part in perpetrating the Holocaust -- and needs to be called out.  She is ready to take part in springing the trap and, somewhere between Brian and myself, we're supposed to set up the trap.  

The trap consists of starting a conversation about WWII and then bringing the subject around to the Holocaust, concentration camps and related issues.  If we create and execute the trap correctly, the student will identify himself as having been a participant.  (It's not clear to me what happens after that.  Will the culprit be arrested?)

So the details of the trap are not clear to me, but I have faith in the woman and Brian that they understand what's going on and that they will lay and then spring the trap.  So it's not clear at this point in the dream exactly what it is they expect me to do -- to play my part. 

The scene now shifts to the classroom where the action is supposed to take place.  The students -- there are somewhere between 15 and 30 of them -- are in their seats.  Somehow, I know the target of the trap.  He's larger than the other students -- and looks like he's physically powerful.  His clothes are a bit rough and he could use a haircut.  (His hair is black and wavy-to-curly.)  He's wearing a flannel shirt (I think) with the sleeves rolled up.  He's also wearing a look of casual disdain.  

I am standing in front of the class and the woman is seated up front with her chair looking out at the students.  She looks implacable.  

Brian is nowhere to be seen.  

Everyone is expecting me to conduct the class -- maybe just until Brian shows up, I don't know.  I was fully expecting Brian to take the lead in setting up this trap and I'm struggling to figure out how to begin.  Whatever I say or do may initiate the plan or screw it up entirely.  I understand we only have one chance to make this work.  

I pause for a few moments, hoping Brian is planning on making a dramatic entrance -- and taking over the presentation and the trap.  No such luck...

The students -- including our target -- are staring at me rather impassively, as if to say, "We're okay with not doing anything if you're simply planning on not doing anything."  Time is moving along and the success of our planned trap seems to be in jeopardy.  (Did I miss something in our earlier discussions?  Will Brian make any kind of appearance at all?  Will the Holocaust survivor say or do anything?  Is she just waiting for me to start the plan?)

I start to ask the class something like, "What are your recollections of WWII?" but stop when I remember that students this age weren't even alive back then.  So I change the sentence to something like, "What do you remember being told about WWII?"  No response from the students.  

I look at our target.  He doesn't give any impression of being aware of our plan.  So if we/I can figure out how to start, we still might have a successful outcome to our planned trap.

I look off to the sides to see if there's any sign of Brian.

There isn't. 

Bad Dream 112 -- Morning of 1/22/20

This dream came to me several mornings ago, so it's a little short on details:

In my dream, I am in a teaching position -- not well defined.  And I'm standing in an open area -- also not well defined.  

I have two people standing near me, who seem to be students of mine, but that too is not well defined.  One of these two people is Ricky Coburn and the other is an Unidentifiable.

In any case, I am teaching something as a conduit from some other source.  The material is not mine but I seem to be pretty comfortable teaching what I've been told -- somehow -- to teach.  

The two students seem to be paying close attention to what I've been saying, and it is time to change the subject.  I tell them that the next thing I want them to do is to cut open a finger and slice it almost all the way through.  

The cut I'm imagining would be on the left index finger and take place on the first joint with the cut running parallel to the bone.  The objective is to cut through the skin and muscle without cutting through the skin on the other side.  This would show the skill of the person doing the cutting, as he/she knew exactly how deep to cut.  

My students didn't respond negatively to this suggestion.  It's just something else the "teacher" is recommending that they do.  

I guess that I was returning to conscious life around this time, because I began to doubt seriously the wisdom of doing this.  That, even if the incision were performed extremely well, the recovery time would be quite lengthy -- and if the incision were not well done, it could result in permanent damage to the finger.  I recall being surprised -- at this point in the dream -- that my two students didn't recoil quickly from the idea.  I wondered why...

(NOTE:  Ricky Coburn and his family lived quite close to us when I was growing up on Wilson Point.  [Interesting also that this dream took place not far in time to the dream about the young boy crushed by the weird elevator.  That dream also had a reference to Wilson Point.]  We were the same age and were usually in the same class through high school.  We were never friends.  He was pretty smart but not, I think, as smart as I was.  I celebrated the cerebral in life while he wanted to be an important part of our High School's social scene.  Ricky had an older brother [Rusty] who was the same age as my older brother [Richard].  I recall that their relationship was downright antagonistic.)

Bad Dream 111 -- Morning of 1/5/20

In my dream, I'm sitting in a car with my brother Richard.  We're at a stoplight or a stop sign or just pulled off onto the side of the road.  Can't tell which.  But the point is that the car is not moving and I don't think the engine is running.  I am on the left side of the car, which I guess means that I was driving.  We're just sitting here chilling...

I see a small motorcycle pull up beside us.  The design of the bike and its paint job is similar, but it's clearly a smaller displacement engine.  The driver is obviously having considerable difficulties handling the bike.  It comes wobbling to a stop.  The rider is a young man -- and he's clearly frustrated with his efforts to drive the bike smoothly and safely.  

The immediate concern here is that the crossroad at this intersection is quite busy with fairly high-speed traffic.  It's perfectly safe if you have your vehicle under control, which is clearly not the case for the young man.

He looks at the traffic crossing in front of us -- and recognizes the danger of trying to cross the road riding the bike.  He looks at us and says "Help me!"

Richard looks at me as if to say "Okay, you're up!"  

I find myself sitting on the bike looking over the controls.  Now, there is (I'm fairly sure) a standard arrangement of controls: right hand--throttle and front brake + left hand--clutch + left foot--gear shift + right foot--rear brake.  I start to manipulate these controls for familiarity's sake, and the young man tells me I'm doing it all wrong.  That the controls on this bike are located in different places.  He suggests he should just take the bike back from me, but I stare him down and make the appropriate changes in my thinking about which control is located where.  The young man settles down.

The scene shifts to a totally different place.  It feels like the porch to some building or other, but I'm still sitting on the motorcycle, which is pointed towards the open area in front of the porch.  Which is a grassy field.

There is an Unidentifiable sitting on a bike next to me, and the young man is somewhere nearby.  I hear myself saying "Want to see a wheelie?" -- which wouldn't be a good thing to do with the young man standing nearby.  Doing a wheelie is the worst thing I could do, as I want him to learn how to ride a motorcycle safely.  

But I disregard that concern and take off.  I'm not totally certain I know how to handle a wheelstand on this particular machine, but it turns out I have good control of the bike as it scoots along on its rear wheel.  I'm enjoying myself immensely and don't care at the moment for the bad lesson I'm teaching him.  

The dream ends with me riding along on the kid's bike.  On its rear wheel.  

Bad Dream 110 -- Morning of 1/1/20

In my dream, I am in a room of indiscernible size with several other people.  Unidentifiables but male, I'm pretty sure.  We have been working together on a project (no information available here) and it's coming along pretty well.   We seem to be breaking up from a meeting and going our separate ways.  

As people are leaving, a woman stops over to chat with me.  I am sitting down but she is standing.  As we talk, she moves around -- left and right, closer and a little farther away.  She is saying supportive things about the project and the work I've been doing on it.  It occurs to me that she is likely flirting with me.  

As she's talking, the subject gently changes from the project to me.  Given the social ineptitude I've carried with me since I was a child, I'm not really sure how to respond.  But I realize that she is a handsome woman with an attractive figure.  And I'm flattered that she would be paying attention to me.  If, in fact, that's what she's doing.  

As she brings the conversation to a close (as in "Well, I must be going"), she sweeps past me and drops a small piece of paper on the desk/table in front of me.  She may or may not give me an over-the-shoulder backward glance as she heads for the door.  Not sure about this.

The paper is torn from a larger sheet and is somewhat wrinkled.  It has her name on it and what I initially thought would be her phone number.  Now I'm definitely flattered.  And pleased.  

But rather than a phone number, it's a cryptic collection of numbers and/or letters (I forget which) that would require considerable time and concentration to decode.  

I wake up -- fully understanding that I've just had a one-on-one conversation with my Anima.  And it was fun.

Bad Dream 109 -- Morning of 12/21/19

I'm recording this mainly because several elements of my awake life have drifted into this.  I find that interesting, even if the dream doesn't hold the meaning that I normally hope to find in my dreams:

In my dream, I am in a room in what might be an older college dorm.  Things are spartan but durable and neat.  I know I have a reason for being there, but that knowledge is not part of the dream.  If that makes sense to you...

Either before or after -- or maybe during -- experiencing being in that room, I am also outside standing next to a rather rough playing field, where there's a football game going on.  There's no spectator seating and no one is standing on the side of the field other than myself.  The play is currently at a considerable distance from where I'm standing.  I realize that this would be an excellent opportunity to try out an old camera that I have -- a film camera -- for some action shots of the players.  I then realize that I have such a camera plus fresh batteries plus a fresh roll of film in my possession, so I move to retrieve same.  

(The reason for my recording is based in this last sentence, because it's actually true in my waking life!)

I think I'm now back inside and unzipping the green canvas carrying case to remove said camera.  It's always just a bit of work to pull out the camera -- you have to wiggle it back and forth a bit.  I can feel the canvas and the teeth of the zipper.  It's very reassuring.  

I look at the back of the camera, which reminds me that one of the reasons that digital photography has made such remarkable technical advances is that, once you no longer have to pop open the camera back to change out a roll of film, all that real estate on the camera back becomes available for viewing and control elements.  

My brother Warren shows up in the dream and is impressed with the camera.  He sees something on the front and says "Wow! It's got png!" or something equivalent.  I know it was a so-so camera when it was new, and that it hasn't improved with age.  It's not like it's a 30-year-old Hasselblad or anything...  I decline to say anything to him about this.  He's pleased and so be it.  I look at the front of the camera and can't see any designation for the term he used.  It's a pretty plain camera!

I experience the feeling of holding the camera and moving the telephoto ring -- listening and feeling the unmistakable feeling and sound of plastic-on-plastic.  I immediately recall the joy of doing the same motion with my Canon cameras and L lenses.  No plastic here!  

I take the lens cap off.  It's attached to the camera on a string.  Nobody does that any more.  I hold the camera up to my face and move the zoom ring and then the focus ring.  They both seem to work fine.  I put the lens cap back on and it snaps into place. 

So, as mentioned above, I find it intriguing and rather fun to have my real life "stuff" showing up in my dream -- with color and tactile sense.  

Bad Dream 108 -- Morning of 12/11/19

In my dream, I am in a classroom -- sitting in one of those student chairs.  There are other people around me, also confined to those chairs.  The teacher is talking about something -- I don't think it's anything crucial to the course we're taking.  

He moves from the center front of the room to the side, then starts walking slowly down the side aisle.  He's still talking, but it still doesn't feel like it's world shaking information.

I find myself standing up and walking to the front of the room.  I'm not sure why.  Some of the other students are surprised but not concerned.  I look at the teacher, and his face tells me that what I'm doing is okay.

I start into my "packaged" description of Foucault's Pendulum.  I love to share the story of this wonderful device.  So I can tell the story fully and with energy.  I guess this must be a lucent dream, because I am following the story carefully as I tell it -- and double-check that I'm telling it correctly.  

I wind up the story -- and wake up moments later.

Bad Dream 107 -- Morning of 12/10/19

In my dream, I am in a hotel room with two other guys.  We are there to close a big business deal.  I think it has to do with that corner of the intersection of Wilson Point Road and Eastern Avenue.  Ages ago, it was a baseball "stadium" for the Martins Aircraft company team and a set of four seldom-used tennis courts .  Since the stadium was torn down and the courts removed, to the best of my recall, it has simply stayed as an open field.  Grass that was well mown, but otherwise empty.  So it represented quite a reasonable investment for commercial development.  

We're pretty excited about the deal, and Jack McMichael -- one of the two other people -- seems to be in the lead.  The third person is an Unidentifiable.  

Jack is disappointed in the room.  It's small and it feels as if the three of us are supposed to share it.  There's only enough room for a single bed.  In particular, there is -- what I think was -- a light switch that should have been a 3-way or other advanced function, but is only an on/off switch and not a very solid one at that. 

Jack feels he should apologize to myself and that 3rd person.  We kind of feel the same, but we feel bad for Jack as well.  Somehow, the idea of changing accommodations is not feasible.  

(I have the feeling that I'd stayed at this facility back when I was doing a lot of business travel and got used to the small size etc., but I don't see any reason to mention that to the other guys.)

We find ourselves outdoors in a parking lot.  It may be the lot right behind the motel where we're staying, but that's not for certain.  It's a bright day and feels like morning.  Across the asphalt of the (empty) parking spaces, there is an "elevator," which is certainly disturbing: it is simply a platform with a blank wall at the back and another blank wall on the left side -- but the other two sides are wide open to the world.  So there isn't so much of an elevator car as it is simply a platform.  There are no guide rails on any of the four sides of this platform.  I can't see any mechanism that makes the platform go up and down, but I am sure that it does go up and down.  

I understand clearly how dangerous it would be to ride this device.  You could easily fall off the two open sides and its possible you could catch a piece of clothing in the gap between the platform and one of the two supporting walls.  If you did catch a piece of clothing and couldn't shed it, you would likely be crushed when the platform moved.  

Looking closer at the underside of the platform, I see the body of a child -- maybe 8 or 10 years old suspended underneath.  Somehow, he seems to have gotten his head/neck caught between the wall and the platform with his body hanging under the platform.  The body isn't moving -- and it seems incredibly unlikely that the child is alive at all.  He's wearing blue.  

Someone approaches the child -- not one of our party of three.  The guy is tall and thin.  He reaches up and touches the shoe of the child.  I initially assume he's doing this to confirm that the child is dead, but he turns around to face everyone else in the parking lot (there may be a dozen or so of us) and shouts "I touched him!"  I feel an immediate feeling of disgust.  The man showed no sense of the nature of this tragedy -- he simply wanted to show the people in his group how brave he was.  

No one in the larger group does or says anything.  I can't tell whether it's because they don't care or whether they are as shocked and appalled as I am.

It seems/feels as if no one really knows what to do.  The body of the child continues to hang under the elevator -- unmoving.  Suspended by his neck.

Since I first saw the child, I've been trying to figure out a way to release and recover the body.  It's horrifying to see it just hanging there.  I can't imagine, however, how to do that.  I "know" that the space between the platform and the back wall is quite small -- and depending on how thick the platform is, either the child's neck or his head has been crushed by the movement of the platform.  I feel it's sensible to wait until some first responders with better equipment and/or better ideas show up.  

I decide the reasonable/logical thing to do is to call 911.  I pat down my pockets to find my phone, but can't locate it.  I feel frustrated and annoyed at myself that I can't even do something active/constructive as calling 911.

I decide the only thing I can do would be to write a report -- just in case there was a legal proceeding that occurs after this horrible event.