a boy shoots at us

          I was standing behind a woman – I was her, and yet I was watching her – outside a store. There was a young black boy standing nearby, holding a dark square bag and a large, flat, wide blade of some sort. He came to the woman, opened the bag and started taking out parts of human limbs. Some of them were rather old and rotten, some were fresher. He started to gnaw on one of them, laughing and singing. There was something about him swinging the blade on a horizontal plane toward us.

          The woman was absolutely horrified and appalled. She went into the phone booth and started to dial 911. The boy took out a gun and fired it perhaps at the woman in the booth, perhaps not, since she was close enough for him to not miss. She/we listened on the phone while it first was busy, then rang and rang. Just as we gave up and began to hang up the phone it was answered, and at that moment we also realized that it would be wise to duck. So we ducked, and then the boy aimed the gun behind us at someone else. The other person had a gun as well, and ordered the boy to put his weapon down. The boy shot, but his gun misfired and he killed himself. We gathered around him to look at the green bullet lodged in his head.

         

That boy is Peter and his aggression. The revulsion I had toward that is similar to what I feel about those Congolese warrior boys who cut off people’s body parts. No one ever recognized what he did to me, much less did they protect me; thus the unanswered 911 call. I wish I knew who my protector from behind was, so I could thank him. I don’t think I have a wish to kill Peter, just to kill the influence that part of my life has on this. Green is the color of the heart, and thus my resentment and pain is what is being killed with love.

double lucid dreaming

          I was driving to Billings in my old black diesel pick up. I was having a really difficult time steering and controlling the vehicle. I had to pay very strict attention to each function and task – as one does when driving drunk. I realized that I was not drunk, but dreaming. As soon as I realized that, I encountered a lot of obstacles in the road like road that required my attention, like construction and difficult decisions about which way to turn. I was aware that I didn’t really have a reason for going all the way to Billings, and didn’t even know what I’d do when I got there. I felt uncertain, a little empty and a little guilty (I guess because it was a useless trip) I pictured in my mind very clearly the layout (as well as I remember it, which is not that well), and how to get to the Albertsons on Grand drive.

          At one point I was driving not my truck but a motorbike. Bob was on the back of it. We got to a construction zone which seemed positively impassable. There was huge water-filled holes and large boulders obstructing the way. The detour route was clearly delineated at first, and then petered out. At one point I asked a construction worker if it was worthwhile navigating through this, or should we turn around and find another route, and he said we should probably turn around. I began to get off the bike to try to maneuver it out of the quagmire, and then a bunch of men showed up and picked up the bike and guided it back out of the mess. I was really tickled by this, and said to them, gee, I’m not used to having help like this!

          Later I had gotten to Albertsons and was trying to think about what sorts of things I needed to buy, and again I realized that I was dreaming. I was really surprised at how “life-like”  I felt; how un-dream-like.  I tried to remember the things one does to determine if one is dreaming, and I settled on pinching myself (which I felt) and saying “antidisestablishmentarianism” (which came out fine). I wondered how long this was going to go on.

          Then I woke up in a bed in a house that was a sort of duplex next to Jackie B.’s. There was a secret staircase between the two. This house belonged to friends of mine. I went out into the street, which was filled with fiesta-goers or people on parade, and there was one young girl who was somehow disabled, and drooled. I went back in the house and something happened. There were more events. At one point a phone rang, and I went to answer it, but someone else did first, but the speaker phone was on, and I heard the call, which was to 911, but when the dispatcher answered and asked what the emergency was, the caller said it was Joe calling to wish him a happy anniversary.

          Jackie came through the house, crying desperately. I trailed along behind her, concerned and wondering what was wrong. I tried to hug her but she eluded me. I felt a tickle on the side of my right thumb and looked down at it, being aware that I had felt this before. I scratched it.  She said that I’d better bolt the door because “the Wednesday guy” was out to get me. I was aware that she was unaware that this was a dream. I knew that the guy couldn’t hurt me because this was just a dream. She walked down the secret stairs between the houses toward her own, and I followed for a while, listening to her. I tried desperately to remember who the “Wednesday guy” was, and I knew I should know, but maybe that information was a part of another dream or another phase of consciousness. I gathered that the Wednesday guy was out to get me because the drooling girl took offense from me looking at her. She thought I was being rude and cruel, staring or somehow judging her.

          I went back out into the street, which was still full of people. A tiny girl in a purple dress told me I’d better get back in the house to avoid the wednesday guy, and since she spoke the language I did, I held her by the arm and leaned down to speak with her. I told her to tell the girl that I was sorry, that I never meant her any harm, and in fact, I had hardly noticed her. The girl listened for a while, and then eluded my grasp. I looked around and found her again, and tried to talk to her some more, but she had turned into a different little girl in purple.

          I went back into the house and bolted the door. I lay down and went to sleep. I woke up in a bed with an elderly couple. I was lying between them and they were both asleep. I was cautious, careful not to waken them. It became early morning and both the man and the woman became suddenly restless. The woman turned violently in the bed, hauling the covers with her, which pulled the man over onto my legs. Neither of them woke up. I carefully extracted my legs from under him and moved to get out of the bed. As my feet hit the floor I opened my eyes and found myself in another bed and saw my bedclothes, and realized that I was dreaming because the bedclothes looked different, and it was light out, whereas I knew that it was dark. I had (actually) woken up a little earlier and saw that it was around 2 a.m. I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them again I was driving back home from Billings.

          This time Bob and I were in a big, fancy, modern pick up and I was driving. I was also talking on a speaker phone to a customer service outfit about a phone card or computer access card that I had purchased in Billings but didn’t work. I had to do all this while driving and it concerned me a little. The customer service guy had me put one card in and try it, then another one, then he had me read off the numbers on the card. He said the card was no good. I started to ask him how to trade it in, and Bob interrupted me, jumping to some conclusion, answering a question that I wasn’t asking. This happened a couple times and I got angry at him, saying ‘would you please just let me finish asking my question and getting the answer?’ He shut up. I then asked the guy on the phone where it showed that I had purchased the card, and he said (maybe) Maryland some weeks ago. I said no, he was looking at the wrong card, and read the numbers out to him again. Then he pulled up the right record, and said ‘oh, it shows that you bought this at Hazen’s in Billings Montana today.’ I felt vindicated.

 Goodness. Such complexity. I had woken at around 2 a.m. and though I was completely awake, and not having success in going back to sleep, I told myself I really, really wanted to have an interesting dream, since I had just enough time. I think this accounts for the repeated time of two a.m. and the various opening of eyes in various beds. The threads of driving to Billings that sandwich the other parts is my life journey at this time. The sandwich filling is my life as a young girl (the disabled, drooling girl, the murderous boy, and me between my oblivious yet tumultuous parents) as well as my recent re-evaluation of that period of my life. Bob, the black truck, the motorbike and the trip to Billings (I recently took one) all serve as time-markers to a phase in my life. I don’t know why am going to Billings and wonder and plan for what to do when I get there, feeling uncertain and a little guilty because this is me in the present; I’m not sure where I’m going now. Are we ever? I saw Bob yesterday and am concerned about him because he is facing a difficult problem right now and there doesn’t seem to be light at the end of his tunnel. On the other hand, I have recently found friends who are very helpful to me and kind, which has been exceptionally pleasing to me. 

Jackie is also a time marker to my current life, and the secret staircase is the connection between the person I am now and the one I was as a little girl – the drooling girl. The Wednesday guy might be Peter, and his aggression toward me. Wednesdays have been important to me in waking life for various reasons, but there is some other connection I’m not making out right now to that guy, as evidenced by my trying to make the connection in my dream. Understanding that he is no threat to me refers to my recent de-coupling of the influences on me from childhood from the person I am now. Pretty powerful stuff.

The day after I had this dream I heard a program on the radio about thumbs and it made me think of the thumb reference here.  I’d say that the overheard 911 call that turned out to be a non-emergency is the recognition that all that childhood stuff is NOT an emergency, though I’d been living as though it was for many years. The return trip from Billings is about current dealings I have with Bob, and the fact that I had to sort of put my foot down to him yesterday. Simply re-hashing daily events.

oct 07 lots of animals

 I was going to Berkeley, and came to a fork in the road, so I asked some men in a house if the road to the right was the one I wanted. They said it was. I was riding a bike up this two-lane, paved road and I encountered a mountain lion. It was a dark grey cat, whose head came up as tall as my handlebars. It roamed around, not really paying any attention to me, and I tried to just continue on my way, but then it somehow got its head stuck between the handle and the brake lever. I rode on for a way like that, sort of swiping at the cat to get it unstuck, in a desultory sort of way.

 

I was invited to a baby shower for Beth at the house of someone I didn’t know well. Two women whom I knew only vaguely had come to the office and acted as though they were particularly anxious for me to come. I went at two o’clock. There were a lot of people there whom I didn’t know. I was uncomfortable. The table originally stacked with presents was diminished, and I noticed that lots of the packages were for people other than Beth. I thought maybe it was also a Christmas gift exchange. One present was addressed to a Japanese woman. Her name began with an O. In the other room there was a boisterous crowd, composed of all the popular people. In my room it was misfits. I saw a woman leaving, who also seemed to not know many people. As she left she was in that awkward position of not really having anyone to say goodbye to.

 

I milled around, but couldn’t find any group to join or anyone to talk to. Eventually, it was five thirty and I decided I could leave. I went to get my computer out of the cabinet, and wondered if I should quickly check my email before I left, or if I should be listening to a certain program which comes on at 5:30, but then decided to leave. I got my pruning shears, a half a six pack of beer and a spray bottle with yellow liquid in it from the cabinet and went to leave. My path was then obstructed by some furniture, and a young woman was walking along next to me, and she silently took a panel off this cupboard so that I could climb up on it easier. I tried, but it was too difficult with all those things in my hands, so I said I couldn’t do it one-handed, that I’d go around. I did, but then I had to climb up on the kitchen sink to get out the window. The sink was full of water, but I had tall rubber boots on. The water came up just to the top of the boots. I struggled to climb out of the sink but it was hard to move because of the water. I tried to ask the girl to drain the water from the sink, but she didn’t hear me or I didn’t manage to speak, so I struggled to pull my cuff up, and then reached under me to pull the stopper. The water drained and it was much easier to move, so I got my feet under me and reached for the faucet to pull myself up on.

 

Outside it was a farm, and there were all sorts of animals. All of them were dark brown or black. There were calves and cows, pigs and lions. Three calves were attacking a small lion, and a woman sort of half-heartedly tried to get them to stop. A big, bristly pig half-covered in dried mud came to where I was sitting up against a fence and pushed me out of the way, then ostentatiously settled into my spot. I was surprised and amused and said ‘look at that!?’ An undetermined small, furry animal was agitated and the woman said she knew it was disturbed by the humming of the fence. It finally managed to wriggle through the fence and get out. The woman went out and picked it up, then took it to the open side of the fence and tossed it back in. She thought she was doing something compassionate for the animal.

 I was dozing and knew I had to get up at 5:30. I’m struck by the fact that in my struggle to leave the party I encounter all these obstacles, but I manage to circumvent them. Usually these sorts of dreams are endless cluster-fucks. When the water drains from the sink I’m able to get up. I can walk around the counter. The girl is there to help, or I manage on my own. But I manage. I suppose the misfit part is just that: being a misfit.  The animals are all dark, but they aren’t menacing; not even the lions. They are in a fenced area, but one side is open so they can leave freely, though the one wriggles through the fence. Surprisingly, none of the animals were composites, as they usually are.

oct 07 a baby at the cottage

          I was climbing the hill behind the cottage to the outhouse and paying attention to the rocks on the trail. I recognized them all, and thought that I had changed my mind, and now wanted to inherit this place. I got there, and could smell the shit, but was distracted by the sound of a chainsaw. Behind the outhouse, just over the hill, there was a man cutting down trees. I wasn’t sure if that was our land. He cut down a few trees and then said something about how he didn’t care if he needed a permit to do it; he was tired of all that business of permits and interference by government. He said something about his toddler, who was around the other side of the outhouse.

          I was incensed by the fact that he left his toddler to wander around while he was cutting down trees. Now there was snow on the ground. I went around to the front and found the child and picked it up. I threatened the man with turning him in to the authorities for endangering a child. He mocked me, imitating my words with disdain. Then he brought a cup of soup for the child and I started to feed it. I thought it was too hot, but the baby sipped a little of it with no ill effect. Then we were inside somewhere and the baby took a piece of cloth and placed it on my face so that I couldn’t see anything. It pushed the cloth into my mouth a little bit, and laughed and laughed.

on a houseboat

          My friend Pam had purchased a houseboat and we were all on it. At dinner a man was drinking all the wine. He kept his wineglass filled to the rim, and every time he took a sip he topped it off. I wasn’t drinking wine, but I thought I might like some later, so I was a little miffed that he was hogging it all. Melanie was drinking water.

          Pam showed us some brass brackets that were mounted on the upper deck, and we all tried to figure out what they were for. I studied them closely; it was as if they would change their structure if I looked away, or as if I would have to draw them from memory later. Pam came and operated a clip on them which made them open up into larger brackets, and then it became obvious they were for supporting a bed, which would be strung between either side of the upper deck. We were all appalled at the concept, as it was so poorly designed. Anyone in the bed would be right in the middle of the living area, and precariously suspended in mid air. But it was a boat, and the quarters were cramped, and this must have been the only way to get more beds in.

          Later we were getting ready for a group of renters to come in. This is how Pam paid for the boat. The new people came on board and were settling in. I left my bedroom (soon to be someone else’s) carrying a bottle of bleach because I had been cleaning, and when the people showed up I realized we’d better clean the kitchen after our dinner. I went to the galley to ask Pam if we should do this. As I opened the door I was confronted with an obstacle hung from above and I had to duck, doing “the shimmy” to get under it. It turned out to be that bed. They had found a sling-like cradle that hung between the brackets. I went over to Pam and the others and asked for a show of hands: “how many of you would rather sleep on the floor than in that thing?” Everyone raised their hands. There was a Japanese tourist lying in it, and it was clear that he couldn’t turn onto his side or anything since it was that narrow. And it was tippy, so it looked very uncomfortable.

          I went back to my bedroom to put away the bleach and the tourists were all still settling in. Everything they owned was brand new and shiny, and all the colors were intensely super-saturated. Technicolor. I opened the door to a hallway and there was a young boy in red underpants. I was aware that now I was intruding, and said sorry. I ducked in to put away the bleach and pointedly refrained from looking at anyone, as if not looking at them would make me invisible.

          I was sitting by the water alongside one of the tourists. She was eating lunch out of a cooler. Her son was nearby. I had a cigarette, which I was just holding, knowing that I shouldn’t smoke here. I was aware that I had started smoking again, and was actually smoking too much as of late. Before I knew it I had lit the cigarette and immediately I knew that was wrong, so I ground it out, but it wouldn’t go out completely, so I got up to leave. The woman said ‘yeah, you sure better leave! You can’t smoke here!’

          I went outside and …. More happened…but I was now preparing to go to work or something and it was night. Mother was going somewhere, and I offered to walk her there. This was a significant event because I was being extraordinarily kind to her in doing this. We were both aware of this. We walked very briskly and got to her destination in three minutes. When mother pointed this out I tried calculating in my head how far we had gone, thinking that if we were walking three miles per hour we would have gone seven miles. Then I thought ‘ no, that’s not right’ and then mother interrupted me with some comment. I was aware that my computer case, which was slung on my back, had rubbed against my skirt and made it ride up, or it was the slip underneath that had ridden up, and I tugged at it. Mother noticed and said proudly that now I was wearing a slip! I was pleased. I noted that she was wearing all black, with a black shirt, a black sweater, a long black skirt and black shoes. I said “ see you later, Blackie!” and left.

 Yesterday I was called to the door while carrying a bottle of bleach. At a recent party with my friends everyone was drinking wine, but I was holding back because I had to drive home. At one point they all ordered drinks and I had only water. Houses are supposed to be your own psyche, and water is either spirituality or your emotions. Interesting that I don’t see the water here, nor is the houseboat swaying or bobbing. I knew it was a houseboat, but it may as well have been on dry land.  If its my psyche, and the characters who aren’t real people are my alter egos, they are all new, bright, shiny and intensely colored. There is a class of dreams which are intensely sensual – insofar as they engage the senses. I feel that the two points in which I try to concentrate – using my consciousness, my intellect – are important. Its as if I’m trying to integrate the conscious with the unconscious.  

I’m puzzled by the hanging bed. Its an obstacle, its not useful, it’s a cradle. But what is it? Perhaps emotional patterns learned in childhood which are no longer useful. Again, the surprise appearance of my mother. Pivotal times?

 

 

baboons on rocks

          There was a plastic kayak floating down a river. It was a big kayak, more like a canoe, and there were some rambunctious boys paddling it. They kept slapping at the water on one side then another, moving jerkily so that the kayak eventually capsized. The people floated toward a cluster of rocks in the river, but the rocks had baboons on them, and they wouldn’t let the people out of the water. They kicked at the boys, sending them into an under-water spin. They spun head over heels over and over. I was watching from above, and saw another group of rocks nearby, and willed them to aim for those rocks.

          Then I was on those rocks with another woman. We were stranded. We had a cantaloupe and some salad left, and one spoon and one fork. She handed me some melon, and then offered the spoon and fork. I chose the fork which was bad in the case of eating melon, but would be good for eating salad. She commented that the next time we were in town, we’d go into a store of some sort to use the bathroom, and just take some more silverware. She said we’d need one fork and one spoon each. The fork she had given me then bent as I held it. I tried to straighten it out, and it bent more, creating a weak spot in the metal, and then finally the shaft of the fork broke off entirely. The woman saw that as a grim development.

          There was another thread in which I was in a house with my mother and a bunch of young girls. We were to have breakfast, but something wasn’t working; no electricity or no stove or something. Somehow mother made muffins with elaborate tops. I asked her how she made them and she said a man had given her the secret some years ago. The girls came in for breakfast. I left and came back and realized that no one had eaten mother’s muffins. I went about the house collecting brightly decorated cupcakes. The girls were watching me, and I was aware that I should give them the pretty cupcakes but I didn’t. I kept dropping the cupcakes behind the shelf they were on, and the decorations were getting ruined.

 I used to spin in the water in the way the boys did here. Is that a time cue?  The dark, craggy rocks and dark, mean baboons in the river are all about danger. Dangerous emotions? I move from the danger by gaining a new perspective, but then I and another of my aspects are marooned, lacking food and even the fork fails. That’s about paucity. Paucity of ….? I woke up in the middle of this dream or maybe before the thread and the woman was saying she was really happy with the amount of blankets on this bed. It was just right. I lifted my head off the pillow and looked around for her. I moved my hand under the covers to find her and was sure that there was no one else in my bed. I thought she must be on the floor, and went back to sleep. I can not remember ever dreaming about mother before. I’m sure I must have, but when there’s family its usually my father or sister. I’m thinking of that dream I had recently in which I was in the familiar maze, trying to get somewhere and being thwarted, but unlike other dreams of this ilk, in the airport one, I finally got there. Hmmmn, Dr. Jung, what do you think?

Two days after dreaming this I saw an article in the paper about an artist’s colony which celebrated its 100th anniversary with variously decorated cupcakes. The photo reminded me of the cupcakes in my dream. How often to cupcakes come up in an average adult’s life?