Bad Dream 144 -- Morning of 4/24/21

In my dream, I have just shown up at a camp of some sort.  In the woods -- a pleasant place to be -- with the aroma of the evergreen trees permeating most everything.  It is evening.  

I walk into a fairly large room -- maybe 30 feet on a side -- which has been set up as a "bunk house" for maybe eight or ten people.  And there are at least five or six people in the room at the moment.  All men.  Different sizes and ages and faces.  They seem to know each other by the chitchat they're sharing, and I guess I am known to them and they to me, because no introductions seem to be necessary.  And no one comes over to me to welcome me.  I know that I'm the last one to show up for whatever it is that we've come here for. 

It seems that everyone in the room is setting aside the day's activities and is at the starting point to getting ready for bed.  But everyone is still dressed in their street clothes.  Everyone has chosen their bed, and there are a variety of beds scattered across the room.  Some look quite sumptuous and others almost austere.  Understandably, being the last one to arrive, my bed is the least desirable: a very simple Army-variety of cot.  Single mattress maybe 4 inches thick on a metal network suspended on the edges with coiled springs.  

The chatter around me continues and little if any attention is paid to me.  It's all quite chummy.  They assume I understand what's going on and can take care of myself.  And maybe there's nothing really they could do to help me anyway.  

I can resign myself to the bed -- I've slept on these things before -- but I'm concerned about who's going to snore, which would certainly keep me awake.  And I don't like the position of my bed, which is towards the middle of the room.  I see space in the far corner, which would have the advantages of keeping me out of traffic, maybe a little less noise, and putting me closer to the windows.  The windows are on both walls near my corner, and there's a wonderfully cool and fragrant breeze travelling between them.  With all these grown-up men's bodies in this one room, a cool and fragrant breeze will be a blessing.  Yup, I'm fortunate to have this space for me!  So I pick up my cot (fortunately, being so simple, it's also lightweight) and carry it over to my corner.

The pleasant chatter continues and no one seems to be making arrangements to get to sleep.  I begin to wonder if anyone will get to sleep at all... 

I begin to consider how I will settle down for sleep myself, even if no one else in the room is going to do that.  I notice that there is a simple wall lamp attached to one of the walls that should shine a light directly over the place where I intend to lay my head.  Yay!  A reading lamp that shouldn't bother anyone else in the room!  

I reach up to turn the light on -- really just to test that the light works -- and it falls off the wall.  It had been held in place with two screws into the drywall without anchors.  So the screws simply pulled cones of drywall out with them when the lamp fell.  Meaning that the remaining holes are much larger in diameter than the screws, making the screws useless.  And there are no tools around to be had.  

I start to search for some other method of supporting the lamp.  I had felt so fortunate in having the lamp, I'm reluctant to give it up.  

Bad Dream 143 -- Morning of 4/23/21

I think context is important to understand what this dream was all about.  The dream happened on a Friday morning.  The previous Tuesday, I had a "Fusion MRI Prostate Biopsy" checking on the possibility of prostate cancer.  It was full, but relatively light anesthesia, and I felt pretty good immediately afterwards.  Deb drove me home, as it was required that I would not drive a car for 24 hours after the procedure.  But I felt that, if I had to drive, I could do so in safety.

On the way home, I became increasingly uncomfortable -- feeling a bit woozy and experiencing pain in my buttocks.  It got worse.  I asked Deb to stop at the Wawa we were approaching, and she said "Fine.  It give me a chance to pick up some milk."  I just wanted to get out in the fresh air and straighten my back.  She got out of the car to start walking in, and I got out of the car just because I felt so uncomfortable being in it.  I leaned up against the car, as I felt uncomfortable just being on my feet without support.  I felt a series of "intgernal subroutines" failing, just giving up, and thought to myself "I wonder if this is how it feels to die?"  The next thing I knew, I was on the ground and maneuvering my hands on the pavement to get back on my feet. So I didn't die, but I certainly did black out for a few moments.  

After getting fully erect, I felt better, got back into the car, and we drove home without further incident.  (BTW, Deb didn't get the milk.  Thought looking after me was more important.)   But that question about "Is this how people die?" has stayed with me.  This series of internal shut-downs over which I had no control...

Anyway, to the dream.  This is only a fragment of a dream, but I think it of value to document:

In what I remember of my dream, I am outside of a house.  It is a very pleasant evening with a moderate temperature and light breeze.  I can see a few streetlights as well as houselights in this quiet suburban neighborhood.  I think there was some kind of family/friends gathering inside the house that was just breaking up, and that I had been in that gathering.  And I'm fairly sure that Martha was also part of that gathering. 

I am walking towards the street where there is at least one car parked -- and I would need a ride to get home.  It's my brother David's first car -- the one that Dad gave him -- a Chevy Nova (I think) which was too small for most stuff and barely running.  It was only David's energy and insight as to what the car needed to keep going that kept it running.  And David was proud of his accomplishment, and justifiably so.  

I got into the car, which was a bit tricky, as the car was so small.  But once I got in, it was fine.  And David was nearby and I expected him to get in and drive me home.  All would be well.

I was then called to by other people, including Martha, that their car was also available to take me home.  But I decided to stay with David in his car.  

And what concerns me about this dream is that David died a number of years ago from prostate cancer. And the energy and insight that he applied to his car he also applied to himself as treatment after treatment almost worked...  So what, if anything, does it mean that I decided to stay in David's car?? 

Bad Dream 142 -- Morning of 3/30/21

In my dream, I'm standing in a supermarket, getting ready to check out.  (My dream does not include any reference as to what I'm buying -- and maybe that means something...)  As I approach the check-out line, I realize I know the cashier -- somewhat informally, but enough that we can call each other by our first names.

I hand her money in payment.  It's some number of dollars (don't recall how many) and seven cents.  As I would normally do in a situatiion like this, I hand her strictly paper cash, expecting change.  She looks at me apologetically and tells me it has to be the exact change.  Puzzled but undaundted, I take back some of the paper money and hand her the only coin I have in my pocket, which is a dime.  In doing this, I tell her she can keep the extra three cents, but it seems that's unacceptable as well.  "Exact" means exact.  

(There's a scene change in the dream.  It's not part of the dream to elaborate on how this dilemma was resolved.)

I am now outside the supermarket and discover, much to my amazement that I have a pocketful of loose change, and could come up with the seven cents amount many different ways and do it again and again with the change I have. I go back inside the supermarket to "settle up" (a phrase from my notes) the above-mentioned issue about payment.   

Inside, I see that folks are building some "gateways" that look like toll booths for pedestrians.  The're light brown (as in imiatation wood) and have one or more (not sure) lights overhead that might be red and green for getting through the gate, as in "Go" and "Stop."  There are other bits of construction work going on in the midst of it being a supermarket with aisles of food and so forth.  I'm not informed as to what this other construction stuff -- or the "gateways" either -- are all about, but it doesn't feel like a good thing is unfolding.  Somebody seems to be looking to take heavy handed control of the people in the store.  

I hear a voice which I believe must be one of the people guiding this building process.  The voice says: "(something) (something) to take care of Randy if he comes back."  Clearly, it's time for me to get out and the concern about seven cents dwindles in importance.

I'm now outside the building looking in through the large front windows at the activity inside, trying to figure out what was going on.  Doing so, I see the face of someone I knew back in either elementary school or junior high or maybe both.  It's a girl's/woman's face which is unmistakeable from what I remember.  I don't recall her name and now, being awake and writing this report, I'm surpised and puzzled that I recall her face as clearly as I did.  

She was somebody who shared a number of classes with me and someone I would have liked to know better.  It was a kind face and much a more interesting face than simply being pretty.   Among other things, her compexion suggested that some of her ancestry was not typical "white," but slightly darker, but not African-American. The me that I am now would certainly want to chat her up and see how she was doing and what she remembered of our shared school experiences etc., etc.  But the me from back then was essentially terrified of female persons of any age, so chatting her up back then was way beyond possibility.  She's looking out the window and might well be looking at me.  I can't tell...  

It was quite a shock to see her.  I think I recall that "Wow, it's nice to have her here in my dream, but she really doesn't seem to fit.  Or maybe she does and I just don't understand how or why just yet."  So not only was her face a surprise but the momentary elevation out of the dream was also a surprise.  I think I recall making the decision to drop back into the dream story.  Pick it up where it left off.  

Seeing her the age I am now and recalling her fondly, I had a strong temptation to re-enter the supermarket and tell her about my fear that something bad was going to happen in there some time soon.  But I also felt that might put me back in danger, remembering that it seemed someone was making plans to do someting to or about me "if I came back."  

So, do I go back and warn her -- risking myself in the process -- or do I just keep going and hope that things are okay for her?  As the dream ends, I am allowing my momentum to carry me away from the supermarket, but feel I might change my mind at any moment.  But I also understand that, if I decided to do that, the sooner the better, as whatever bad thing might be in the works might begin at any moment.

I wake up.

Bad Dream 141 -- Morning of 10/5/19 (Out of Chronology)

I found this dream on a thumb drive.  I'm not sure why I didn't enter it directly into Blogspot, but I'm glad to have re-discovered it.  I remembered I had a dream about a bee... and this is it:

In my dream, I am in a large room with a great many other people in it.  They’re all grownups. 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. 

 

 

Bad Dream 140 -- Morning of 3/2/21

In my dream, I am driving along a road (westbound) that looks very similar to West Chester Pike in the "undeveloped" stretch.  I pull off to the side of the road -- on the right, of course -- adjacent to an "undeveloped" field with tall brown grass (maybe knee or thigh high) that has a small open area, making it easy to get my car completely off the highway.  

I'm familiar with this spot, having driven past it many times and often thinking "One of these days, I will pull my car off the road and take a look around here."  And today is the day I'm actually doing this.  

There is a pair of orange road cones somewhat blocking the pull-off area, but I decide that, whatever the reason for the cones being here, it shouldn't affect my intention of a brief investigation.  The pull-off area looks as if people have done this "get out of your car" visit occasionally, so I feel okay in doing what I'm doing.  

I plan on walking through the grass, and it looks like others have done the same, as the grass has been stepped on and laid flat up ahead.  Shortly before I start to walk into the grassy area, I see a pole stuck in the ground.  It's maybe 5 or 6 inches in diameter and it's hollow.  I think there's some decoration on at least part of the pole -- a spiral red line like a barber's pole.  

I put my hands around the pole and lift it.  I find that it lifts easily and I can pull it completely free of the ground.  When I do so, I see that the hole into which the pole had been placed is lined by a metal tube, which holds back the soil and allows the pole to be moved into and out of the ground.  I lay the pole on its side for a moment, then decide to replace it into the hole.  I don't know what it's for, but if someone else wants it there and upright, I should comply with that desire.   

I find that there is something of a path through the tall grass, leading in the general direction of a patch of woods, maybe 150 yards or so past the tall grass section.  The ground and therefore the path dip down a bit as I walk along, so that looking back towards my car, I can only see the top portion of my car and the occasional other cars driving past my location.   

As I approach the wooded area, I see that there is a fantastic elevated enclosed walkway surrounding a bare patch in the woods.  I couldn't see it earlier because there is maybe 75 or 100 feet of treed area between the grassy stretch and the open area.  The walkway is pure white and seems immaculate from where I'm standing.  The walls and roof form something of a octagonal shape in cross section rather than simply rectangular.  Very space-age looking!  There are windows in the walls, but they look dark, suggesting they're shaded or the interior of the walkway is unlit.  

My thought is that being in the walkway would be a perfect place to stand or sit and watch the wildlife in the bare patch.  It winds around the open bare patch for maybe a quarter of the circumference, with windows looking out onto the bare patch.  But the bare patch might be half an acre or a bit more in size, so that the likelihood of seeing interesting wildlife would seem unlikely -- and certainly not deserving the elaborate walkway.  

I think this would be an interesting place to understand -- and that I would need to do some serious investigation to get that understanding.    

As I turn to check out my car, I notice that another car is pulling into the pulloff area behind my car.  I don't think it's a police car, but feel I'd better get back to my car just in case. 

I wake up.   

Bad Dream 139 -- Morning of 2/17/21

This dream had two distinct scenarios, but they felt connected by the personnel in them:

In the first part of my dream, I find myself in New York City with a well informed Resident of the city plus an Unidentifiable.  We are in an elevator in the Empire State Building headed for the top.  The Resident is saying something about the city and life therein, but I'm not paying much attention to what he's saying.  (It's definitely a "he.")

The elevator stops at the top end of its range and we get out.  We're on the roof, which is flat with a hip- or chest-high wall around it so that people don't accidentally fall off or are blown off or pushed off.  I walk to the wall and look over and down.  And get that feeling in my innards -- including my groin -- that this is not a good place to be nor a good thing to look at.  But I do it anyway.  When I've had enough, I walk back away from the wall.

I know that the weather is nice.  It's warm but not hot, partially sunny with a light breeze.  If we were to stay on the roof for some significant time -- the three of us -- that would be fine, but the Resident (I think) is gently urging us to get back in the elevator.  

As we descend, I see that the elevator has a glass wall that allows us to watch the city as we slowly descend.  

In the second part of my dream, the three of us are outside, standing on a grassy plot.  I look down and see a small turtle.  It's quite round with an unusually flat shell.  It is crawling out from the grass.  I pick it up and decide it is likely a child's pet that got separated from its owner.  I take a quick look around to try and locate anyone who might be the turtle's owner, but there's no one that looks likely.  

I hold the turtle in one hand and cup the other hand over top.  The turtle is not thrilled with this maneuver, but isn't objecting too strenuously.

It occurs to me that the turtle might be perfectly happy to spend its days in Central Park, and ask the Resident what would be the best way to get there.  But the Resident explains that it would be difficult and the best way might be to walk but it's a very long walk and it's getting dark and you would not want to be out on the streets at this time of the evening.  We are standing on a sidewalk(?) near a busy piece of road, and it is rather dark.  Store signs lit up and people walking by rather quickly and not paying attention.  Cars passing as well.  Clearly to put this tiny turtle down on the pavement of street or sidewalk would be the end of the turtle in quick order.  

Looking down at what is rapidly becoming my turtle, I see there's slight chip in the shell.  Nothing that would interfere with the turtle having a long and happy life -- assuming we could find a way to get him/her to a proper marsh/swamp area where she/he would be comfortable.  

I start considering what arrangements I am going to have to make to take care of this turtle until I can get it to such a place.  Occasionally the turtle extends its head and legs, letting me know that it's ready to start marching somewhere.  

I wake up.

We interrupt this Program -- 02/14/21

Something happened yesterday that I felt I needed to document.  To "tell" it to "someone."  To write a Journal entry even if I don't keep a journal.  So here goes:

Pat Grauer hosts a bi-weekly Zoom session of the folks from the School of the Spirit's 11th class.  I attend from time to time, but its start time of 6:00 on Saturday evening is inconvenient -- and, especially because I'm not a regular attender, I'm not going to ask anyone to change the timing.  

In setting up yesterday's Zoom, Pat suggested that we have pen and paper nearby and think of an introductory phrase -- not a sentence! -- from which everyone can write up what occurs to them that starts with that phrase.  And, since it was the day before Valentine's Day, it should have something to do with love.  She allotted 5 minutes for each entry.  

She started the ball rolling with her phrase, which was "My first kiss was..." And we were all supposed to use that in our response.  I thinking about what I would write, Ifelt that revisiting this time and place and event(s) were touching on something very tender.  That's "tender" in its unpleasant sense.  Your-skin-after-it-gets-burned kind of tender.  And it wasn't at all clear why that happened.

There were six people in the Zoom session, and -- after the 5-minute writing allocation -- four of them read theirs out loud.  And they tended to be sweet and silly as you might suppose.  As they read their stories, my discomfort only went deeper.  It felt like something was lurking in my "time and space and event(s)" that I couldn't share, among other reasons (i.e., it promised to be embarrassing), I really didn't understand what it was that troubled me so.  I couldn't put it in words and I didn't know why not.  

Okay, I can tell you about "My first kiss," and see if that opens anything:

I hadn't dated or even had any kind of friendship with a girl until I was a Senior in High School.  Then I met Gail, who was -- I think -- a Junior at the time.  I think we met because we both came out for the school's tennis team.  Which means it was not only Senior year, but springtime as well.  In other words, late in the school calendar.

My first kiss took place at a birthday party that summer -- I think for one of Gail's friends -- that took place someone's basement.  Maybe14 or so teenage kids, most of whom were, as I recall, paired up.  Gail and I found ourselves a corner at some distance from the rest of the partygoers and she had her back to the wall when I got close and kissed her.  I think the energy that caused this to happen was basically hers, not mine.  I felt the world open up.  Walking home the several miles to my parents' home, I felt like Gene Kelly in that movie.      

I guess I fell really hard for her.  Among other things, my older brother, who seldom said anything guy-to-guy to me, told me to lighten up.  Don't take it too seriously.  There are a lot of girls in the world.  But, as will happen in situations like this, I "knew" that Richard simply didn't understand.  I knew deep in my heart that this was The Real Thing.  

Through the summer, Gail and I were pretty much inseparable.  And, when the opportunity allowed, did some intimate touching without having sex.  She taught me how to do French kissing.  

When I went off to Drexel in Philadelphia, Gail and I made all sorts of promises to each other about writing and occasionally phoning (this was decades before the cellphone!), and my visits back to Baltimore were, as I recall, basically dropping off some laundry for Mom to wash and borrowing the family car to take Gail out bowling or somesuch.  

As I started getting the "feel" of college life and meeting so many other people, I began to realize how many really smart and aware people there were in the world.  And that marrying Gail would likely mean a humdrum middle-class existence in suburban Baltimore.  And that I was capable of living a much larger existence.  Academic things that meant a lot to me seemed to be totally lost on Gail.  And I knew that she couldn't change.  And that I couldn't change.  

And I met another girl who was mysterious and wonderful and smart and was someone who would tolerate me.  Her name was Mary.  

So there was a considerable laundry list of reasons why I had to terminate the relationship with Gail.  She was young (of course!) and pretty and had a fun spirit.  She shouldn't have much of a problem finding someone else.  And the sooner we parted, the sooner she could move on.  

And I "had" Mary.  (Spoiler alert: I think she always liked me, and, if I could have managed it, we could have stayed friends to this very day.  But that's not what I wanted.  Not what I felt I needed.  I think about her from time to time and hope that things worked out well for her.  Back in the late 1960's, she wanted to get into Real Estate.  I'd love to spend an hour or so with her -- to let her know I'm fine and I still think you're wonderful.)

So Gail and I split.  Things were complicated by this time, because my sister was dating Gail's brother.  But I'll just leave that fact on the table and walk away from it, except to say that neither Martha nor me married into that family...

So my other relationships at Drexel were, as the poet says, "a dog's breakfast."  Careening from one passion to another, never really understanding what had happened, what was happening, and was bound to happen sometime soon.  

Several years later, Gail got in touch with me.  She was still living in Baltimore and I was living in a co-op in West Philadelphia.  She said she just wanted to get together and talk.  I really didn't want to have that happen, but it seemed to be really important to her, so I said "Okay, you can come up to visit."  She took the train up and I met her at 30th Street Station.  

We had a pretty good time, as I showed her around what my Philadelphia was like.  I think we ate pizza at a small but really good Italian restaurant that I knew.  And we went back to my co-op and slept together and had sex.  And, if it hadn't occurred to me before this, it certainly occurred to me at the time: she's trying to "win me back."  I'm sure she had "chalked up" the fact that she and I would be married and was in the process of trying to re-start that idea.  

Looking back on it, it might have been a much better idea if I declined the sex.  But I was in my early 20's and "free love" was all the rage.  

After, I think, two days, I took Gail back to the train station and got her on the train back to Baltimore.  She sat in a window seat so she and I could wave good-bye to each other.  And I think it hit home for her that her "plan" of starting up our relationship was simply not going to work.  She started to cry just as the train started to move. 

My sister told me -- sometime back then -- that Gail was still having difficulties adjusting to this most unwelcome reality.  She had always been full of positive energy and fun.  And the idea that I may have crushed this -- even for a week or two -- is something for which I can't forgive myself.  Still.

I may come back to this entry and...

Thanks for listening.

Wait a minute.  This is starting to feel like "story." As in a narrative that you hold as an explanation of who you are and why you do what you do.