Last night's dream is getting a little fuzzy but here's the crazy I remember from it.
I had traveled to the past for some reason that is now unclear. I had a guide, a man, who traveld back with me. I don't remember any detials about him except that before we began our "mission", he wanted to stop at a diner. Somehow he had traveled with a set of car keys, and was able to get to the car of the past with these keys so we could drive around.
We drove to the diner, and it turns out my guide's brother, dead in our natural time, had worked there. Since my guide was just a boy when this diner existed, his older brother would not recognize him as a patron. My guide just wanted to look upon his brother again, and ordered a cup of coffee for the both of us when he waited on our table. It was the end of his brother's shift, and my guide waited until his brother had left the diner to leave himself.
As we walked out of the diner into the parking lot, we saw the brother get into the car we'd driven there. The dream logic falls apart a little here but the brother had the "wrong" car. The keys my guide had brought were the keys to his dead brother's old car. But, in dream-logic, the borther had driven HIS version of the car to the diner and parked it on the other side of the lot. THe brother didn't realize he'd gotten into the car we were driving, which had our things in the back. If the brother found these things, it could mess up the timeline, so my guide now had to fix this issue of swapping cars back, and needed to leave me to my mission alone.
Since a new guide couldn't be assigned to me, I found I had a device not unlike a cellphone that could communicate through time, and on the other end of the line was "Grandma" someone. I can't remember her name. I don't think she was actually my grandma, but she may have been. (She was not unlike Mrs Fredricks from Warehouse 13). She spoke with meon this device and told me that I needed to contact my self as a child and go to my old house.
My old house was what I remember my actual Grandmother's home to be. (In fact, in this dream I recalled a few details about the real house that I had forgotten, which was interesting.) At one point I needed to interact with my mother, but I either posed as a babysitter, or realized that I was some how invisible as an adult and could pass as myself as a child in front of my mother, so long as my actual child self wasn't around. Also, it should be noted, that my "mother" was a large black woman with short curly dark hair, wearing a long dress. The exact opposite of everything my mother is in real life.
So I was able to talk to my past-self and tell myself what I was there to do. Because I'm me, I took it well and believed it and help myself find the thing the "Grandma" guide was telling me to find. I don't know if I achieved my actual purpose for being in the Past, but according to my Guide, I was to travel to a certain place in Europe where there was a portal through which I could return to my correct time. In order to travel, I needed a passport. So, I was instructed to ask my child self to help me find a certain little drawing/art kit. The kit was called "The Count Dracula Magic Travel Art Kit" and it had a cartoon Dracula theme, all tucked into a neat little folio with crayons, pencils and water colors.
My child self told me that I had never used this kit, because I had a better drawing set that I preferred because the crayons weren't so waxy, and the pencils stayed shaper longer. I gave the kit to myself once we'd rummaged through a bunch of art supplies. In the pile of papers, I happened to find a check written out to my Father from a scrap metal company where he'd scrapped some steel or something. I think I showed my Past Mother and she said it was never cashed because it for less than one cent (.689 cents I think it said). But, for some reason I thought it might be more than that and decided to hang on to it and bring it with me to the future so my father could cash it and get some money. How nice of me.
Back on the communicator device with my guide, she tod me to open the kit and make a passport with it. I thought she was joking, yeah right who's going to accept a passport made with crayons? She told me to just do it and so I took a piece of paper and drew a complete passport per her instructions. When I was finished, the drawing was an actual passport. The "Magic Travel Kit" was actually ACTUALLY magic. I had the thought of great disappointment that as a child, who had believed firmly in magic and hoped and hoped and hoped for so long to find evidence of magic, had it right under my nose and didn't even know it. How I wished I had used that kit as a child!
But, I also began to realize that if I HAD used it, I wouldn't be able to use it now to make a passport to get me home to my time. I don't remember what happened after that, if I got back to my time or not, because right as I was speaking on the communication device to the "grandma" guide, holding a crisp new passport in my hands, my cell phone rang and woke me up.
20 December 2011
02 January 2010
Original Post Date: 27 July 05 Wednesday
Original Post Title: Dream #6 and Insomnia
Last night I tossed and turned all night. I dreampt that the bike I wanted finally arrived at my door step. It was light as a feather, and I slung it over my shoulder to carry it effortlessly up the stairs. It was a nice dream until i tried taking the bike out for a ride. In real life, I have to get through the basement door, a wooden gate and a metal gate to get to the street. Usually not a problem. In my dream, there were gates, upon gates, upon doors, upon gangways, upon stair cases. There were random objects in my way such as logs, railroad ties, cinder blocks, big tangled weeds (hmmm, sounds like too much PitFall). Though the bike was light the path was arduous. Any interpretations aside form the obvious? The overall feeling I had was of satisfaction. I wasn't worried about the hurdles or the doors. I was so glad to have that bike. I remember the handle bars being wrapped in very nice clean crisp white tape. It was shiny and I was so proud to have it. The man I was buying it from was waiting for me to return after the final test drive, and only when I remembered I still had to pay him, did the doors and gangways and gates become hazardous and painstakingly difficult to get through. I knew the man was waiting, I knew he was becoming agitated with my extended absence. I tried to hurry, and that only got me stuck in the door ways, or made more doorways appear. It was frustrating. As usual, I don't clearly recall the end of the dream, so I don't know if I paid the man, or if he was angry. What I do know is that today I bought a new bike. The handlebars are wrapped in clean new white tape.
Original Post Title: Dream #6 and Insomnia
Last night I tossed and turned all night. I dreampt that the bike I wanted finally arrived at my door step. It was light as a feather, and I slung it over my shoulder to carry it effortlessly up the stairs. It was a nice dream until i tried taking the bike out for a ride. In real life, I have to get through the basement door, a wooden gate and a metal gate to get to the street. Usually not a problem. In my dream, there were gates, upon gates, upon doors, upon gangways, upon stair cases. There were random objects in my way such as logs, railroad ties, cinder blocks, big tangled weeds (hmmm, sounds like too much PitFall). Though the bike was light the path was arduous. Any interpretations aside form the obvious? The overall feeling I had was of satisfaction. I wasn't worried about the hurdles or the doors. I was so glad to have that bike. I remember the handle bars being wrapped in very nice clean crisp white tape. It was shiny and I was so proud to have it. The man I was buying it from was waiting for me to return after the final test drive, and only when I remembered I still had to pay him, did the doors and gangways and gates become hazardous and painstakingly difficult to get through. I knew the man was waiting, I knew he was becoming agitated with my extended absence. I tried to hurry, and that only got me stuck in the door ways, or made more doorways appear. It was frustrating. As usual, I don't clearly recall the end of the dream, so I don't know if I paid the man, or if he was angry. What I do know is that today I bought a new bike. The handlebars are wrapped in clean new white tape.
Archival Retrieval 6 - 14 June 05 Tuesday
Original Post Date: 14 Jun 05 Tuesday
Original Post Title: Dream #5
I slept over my friend Joe's house. I guess in my sleep I was sobbing, and he came over and hugged me and stroked my head. I didn't wake from this dream until later. I was at my grandmother's house. A house I haven't been to in almost 12 years. It was during the time she died. Somewhere in between the wake and the funeral. Or after it. Or before it. I don't know. I just know that she was dead, and newly dead at that. She wasn't actually in the dream. It was her absence that I was acutely aware of. I was looking through some clothes, in the tiny room at the top of the stairs, my uncle Pat's old room. I found something pretty and lacy, and old fashioned. A nightdress I think. I wanted to try it on. I slipped it over my head and went across the hall to gaze at myself in my grandmother's clothes using the big mirror that attached to her long. low bureau (which is now my long low bureau with the big mirror). The room was dim, and I fumbled for a light switch. There was a switch on the inside of the door, and the outside of the door. No matter what combination of switches on and off, I couldn't get the lights to stay on. Almost as if there were something in there I wasn't allowed to see. Or wasn't allowing myself to see. I finally just went in and tried to use the little light that came in from around the curtained window to peer at my foggy reflection. I turned around, and in my grandmother's room, her large four poster bed, which for those few years was our fourposter bed because I slept in her bed with her when she was so sick (She died of cancer) was dismantled and leaning against the walls. Taken apart. Because she was no longer there to sleep in it. I stared at those bed pieces, (which are also now my bed, along with the bureau) and slowly realized, she would never sleep there again. She would never lie next to me, muttering Hail Mary's in a soft voice as I fell asleep, never tease me with ice cold toes under the covers, never push play in the little tape recorder by the bed to drift off to whale song or Holy Choirs singing, which she fondly called her "angels singing" tape. Her rosary was gone, her pill box still full of meds never to be swallowed. Her smell was diminishing from the room. Her essence, her energy. She wasn't there. I backed up out of the room, suddenly overcome and terrified by realization. I fell backwards over more things stacked up in the hall way, ready to be thrown away or donated because she no longer needed them. My brother saw me fall and looked at me from the end of the hall, but did nothing. He watched my cry, and I cried so hard. lying on the floor facing her dark empty chasm of a bedroom. My chest was hurting. i was bursting at the seams with grief. It was so difficult to breathe. I felt that my brother couldn't relate. He didn't love her like I did. He didnt know what she meant to me. The only person I trusted. The first person I gave my whole heart to. Gone. Forever. It hurt just as bad upon waking and finding the dream remnant tears in my eyes as it had 12 years ago, the day I called her house and my mother answered her phone. I had tried to call the hospital earlier that day, as I had called every day to tell Gramma I love her, and I'd see her soon. But that day a nurse had answered the phone, and told me to call the front desk. The front desk told me to call the family. I didn't understand what that meant. I called her house, thinking she'd gone home. How right i was. Hi mom. Why are you there? i thought you went shopping? Is Gramma home? where is she? I don;t remember the phone falling out of my hands. I hardly remember my friend Sarah helping my instantly numb body off the floor and to the couch. I had been eating something. Oscar Mayer bologna. it sat on the arm of the couch, cold, limp. somehow emulating me. Someone came to get me. I don't know where Sarah went. The rest feels like I dreampt it. But it was real. I have to keep telling myself that. Part of me still doesn't believe it.
Original Post Title: Dream #5
I slept over my friend Joe's house. I guess in my sleep I was sobbing, and he came over and hugged me and stroked my head. I didn't wake from this dream until later. I was at my grandmother's house. A house I haven't been to in almost 12 years. It was during the time she died. Somewhere in between the wake and the funeral. Or after it. Or before it. I don't know. I just know that she was dead, and newly dead at that. She wasn't actually in the dream. It was her absence that I was acutely aware of. I was looking through some clothes, in the tiny room at the top of the stairs, my uncle Pat's old room. I found something pretty and lacy, and old fashioned. A nightdress I think. I wanted to try it on. I slipped it over my head and went across the hall to gaze at myself in my grandmother's clothes using the big mirror that attached to her long. low bureau (which is now my long low bureau with the big mirror). The room was dim, and I fumbled for a light switch. There was a switch on the inside of the door, and the outside of the door. No matter what combination of switches on and off, I couldn't get the lights to stay on. Almost as if there were something in there I wasn't allowed to see. Or wasn't allowing myself to see. I finally just went in and tried to use the little light that came in from around the curtained window to peer at my foggy reflection. I turned around, and in my grandmother's room, her large four poster bed, which for those few years was our fourposter bed because I slept in her bed with her when she was so sick (She died of cancer) was dismantled and leaning against the walls. Taken apart. Because she was no longer there to sleep in it. I stared at those bed pieces, (which are also now my bed, along with the bureau) and slowly realized, she would never sleep there again. She would never lie next to me, muttering Hail Mary's in a soft voice as I fell asleep, never tease me with ice cold toes under the covers, never push play in the little tape recorder by the bed to drift off to whale song or Holy Choirs singing, which she fondly called her "angels singing" tape. Her rosary was gone, her pill box still full of meds never to be swallowed. Her smell was diminishing from the room. Her essence, her energy. She wasn't there. I backed up out of the room, suddenly overcome and terrified by realization. I fell backwards over more things stacked up in the hall way, ready to be thrown away or donated because she no longer needed them. My brother saw me fall and looked at me from the end of the hall, but did nothing. He watched my cry, and I cried so hard. lying on the floor facing her dark empty chasm of a bedroom. My chest was hurting. i was bursting at the seams with grief. It was so difficult to breathe. I felt that my brother couldn't relate. He didn't love her like I did. He didnt know what she meant to me. The only person I trusted. The first person I gave my whole heart to. Gone. Forever. It hurt just as bad upon waking and finding the dream remnant tears in my eyes as it had 12 years ago, the day I called her house and my mother answered her phone. I had tried to call the hospital earlier that day, as I had called every day to tell Gramma I love her, and I'd see her soon. But that day a nurse had answered the phone, and told me to call the front desk. The front desk told me to call the family. I didn't understand what that meant. I called her house, thinking she'd gone home. How right i was. Hi mom. Why are you there? i thought you went shopping? Is Gramma home? where is she? I don;t remember the phone falling out of my hands. I hardly remember my friend Sarah helping my instantly numb body off the floor and to the couch. I had been eating something. Oscar Mayer bologna. it sat on the arm of the couch, cold, limp. somehow emulating me. Someone came to get me. I don't know where Sarah went. The rest feels like I dreampt it. But it was real. I have to keep telling myself that. Part of me still doesn't believe it.
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