small dreams, big thoughrs

late November 2014

this shirt.

Was looking out window toward end of street/road/lane. Cars were gathering at bus stop, and one of them was Rex. I told whomever was with me, "Look, Rex is at the bus stop."
They would say "How do you know it's him? You can't see his face."
Which was true. He was looking down, or away, from any direct look. He was always one for the averted face; the sidelong look.
"I know it's him. The way he holds his head, the line of head and neck, the way he moves. Besides, he's wearing his cream and beige (or white and brown, depending on who I was talking to) fuzzy shirt."
"But," I wondered, "what is he doing at the bus stop?"
And, always, the other person would say (in different tones) "Well, I don't see him."



I don't know where this bus stop was, or where and how I was looking toward it. Parts of it were like Hailey's bus stop, yet it wasn't at the trailer park. Although we could have been in a trailer.

I dreamed this little snippet several times. Each time the person with me was someone else. Tracy, Mary, Tammy, and a couple others who I am not sure of -- internet friends, I think.

Also, the colors I used to describe the shirt were tailored to the other person as well. Beige and cream, brown and white, grey and beige, or grey and white. Always the fuzzy shirt. In the dream had quite an argument with Tracy because she kept saying she didn't know what shirt I was talking about, and I kept saying the fuzzy shirt.

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Dec 3/4, 2014

The night before my procedure, at Rita's house.I don't remember any specific details (no storyline)

Rex, laughing and teasing and somehow vibrant. Sunshine, blue skies, summertime.

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Dec 9/10 2014

I couldn't find the cat. She was running and hiding from me. Eventually someone (I think my mother) said "Here's the cat" But it was the wrong cat. Thr one found was a really really dark grey tabby striped cat. She also had two weak and wobbly kittens. They, in fact, were how we found the dark cat, who was hiding in a pike of laundry or clothes basket. 

I said "That's not my Precious. That's Beautiful. She's not here."

Eventually I found my cat when she brought me her healthy kittens.

My cat's name is Rainbow. And unless she's been partying while I'm at work, there are no kittens in the offing (at this time.)

I read a lot of waiting and looking in these dreams. Not much else.

Take the Test; Miss the CIass

I was in college, a big and old old old building.
I was talking to a fellow student and something was mentioned about the test in a class, and I realized that, although I was going to take the test, but I didn't know where to go. I had never been to that class, because I had never been able to find the classroom.

I realized I would have to find the teacher and explain why I hadn't been in class, and I really hoped he would let me take the test. I wasn't worried about the test, more about the classroom work I had never done, and very anxious about being allowed to take the test. I really didn't get a sense of if I would be able to take the test or not.



This was for either a history or science course,and I'm really thinking it was a history thing.(Genealogy?) The teacher was a tall older overly formal man. He was known to be a by the rules professor, but it was also known that no one had ever suffered unduly from his interpretation of the rules. 

Rex and the Lawyer and the Parachutists

Rex made me go see his lawyer, Eric Allen. Not sure why, but first he asked if I was still on their community panel and I said I thought so. So we were driving around city. At one point I said "Isn't this close to Christ hospital?" and he said yeah, maybe, then he looked around and said yes I was right. I said, "because there's the road we come down when we leave.

Went to lawyer's office. Busy busy place. Finally got someone's attention and they sent Eric to us, and he took us into a conference room with a woman (knew her name in dream but don't remember it now) who said she knew she was going to need a lot of envelopes. She sat down at a drafting table with a lot of sharpened pencils.
Eric touched, delicately, upon the subject of fees and Rex brought up the community panel thing, and it turns out they had disbanded that a couple years ago.
Rex is discussing finances with lawyer and saying things that are making me angry and then I remember that Rex is dead and this can't be real. Or that he forgot he wasn't going to let anyone know he wasn't dead (previous dream http://dreamsbigandsmall.blogspot.com/2014/06/hes-alive.html )
Anyway, Rex was dead and I couldn't pretend he wasn't, not even for the lawyer visit and I went out and walked to Burke Park looking for Mary, because I knew she would understand and just walk with me, probably to the cemetery.
There were lots of families in the park, most of them some kin to Mary, but she wasn't there, so I walked on oer to her house, which was anew york styled brownstone with a big wide porch with big wide steps, with a lot of children. One of the children -- girls -- tried to make me say my birthdate in  Russian, and they all giggled at me when I made mush of the pronunciation. The sounds were there but the inflection was wrong.

Mary was busy with Becky, who was a young child in this dream, but willing to go with me as soon as...

Then we were outside, and there were paratroopers landing in the same spot over and over, even though the one who landed there just before him was injured landing there. Don't know how many times that happened, but I was in despair."Why do they keep landing in the same spot when they know they will be hurt?"

Then I realized that they didn't know, jumping out of the plane one after another, that their landing spot would have a problem, and that there really wasn't anything they could do to change it after leaving the plane.

Egyptian Dreams, Conclusion

April 14, 2001


I do not know why this sacrifice needed to be made. 
I do not know why, once again, there is a nothing. I had defeated the nothing, 
many times ago. 

It is a riddle and a conundrum, but the fact is that 
there is no nothing.

There are only empty places where something once was.
Some empty places remain so, even when they are crowded into smaller 
and smaller holes, they are still holes. They still exist, even if 
unseen and outshouted and beyond the grasp of words.

 
I go on, hoping that what was will be again. 

I gave in once to the desolation, and I myself became NOT. 

For a time. 

t is my hope that this, too, is such a time, and that one day, that which was will be 

again, and the empty spaces occupied anew. 

Again, I wait.

Egyptian Dreams Part 2

April  14, 2001

Time passes, but it is of no importance now. I have achieved it.
Time is but part of the Unity, the Wholeness. It is a concept, an
expression. It has no existence of itself.
I have achieved what I set out to do. I have found my way into the
Oneness, my way to you. Never again will we be separated for long.
When we are apart, I can meld myself into your place of being. We
are One part of a One, and as such are aware of one another.
I did it, myself, with your example but without your help.

We are together now, many whens and many wheres. Fleeting memories I
have; dark woods in dark dresses, with baying dogs and muskets,
golden moonlight and white sand beaches, looking down on billowing
clouds, looking into the heart of a fire, looking out from the heart
of the fire.
Sometimes we are together, physically, clothed in flesh and bone,
experiencing the joyful unity that dissolves our earthbound bonds.
Sometimes our minds and hearts touch on some ephemeral plane, in non
touching ways.
Sometimes we oppose one another, sometimes we agree, sometimes both,
sometimes neither.
But we share it all; me with you; you with me.
The dissolution, as we fade into our surroundings, is no longer
frightening. We know, I know, that it is the end of nothing. That
there is no end, and no nothing. It is only waiting.

Time is peculiar here in the Unity. There is no past, no future.
Every moment is "now". Our adventures take us everywhen, and in no
particular order. Sometimes we live in the "Modern Era". Sometimes
we are in the "Stone Age". We go from flivvers to feet to flight.
Where we are is when we are. There is no when; there is only where,
and that where is our lives touch.

We have been together in many places, in many `times', in many
bodies. We have lived, you and I.
We have LIVED.

We have lived, and now we will go beyond that. We are to have a
child. Not a child of our bodies – we've done that before and
before – but a child of our spirit, our oneness. Something, someone
(in Unity, thing and one ARE one thing) created uniquely from our
coming together.
It is a boy child, and he is definitely of our spirit. He learns, or
is born knowing, how to dissolve into Oneness. While he is such a
young soul, I must stay with him as best I can. It is not always
easy, this staying. Sometimes your needs must separate us as my
needs are for him, but this you know, and understand, perhaps better
than I do. His time will come.

A knowing comes to us. Where it comes from, I do not know, but it is
there. We know, you and I, that there must be a sacrifice. A giving
up, a turning away, a giving back. Why, we do not know, nor what
purpose it will serve, but it must be done. We must make a sacrifice
of value.
In a modern era, I take the child on an elevator. You are with me,
but the sacrifice is mine. In a high place, you leave us, and I take
the child to privacy. It is a stark room, white and silver, with
graceful curves and crisp angles, and I place the child on a shelf.
The shelf itself is of bright silver metal, and covered in puffs of
white.
He coos with delight, this child of ours, and I watch as he begins
the melting process. I watch him as I once watched you, with horror
and grief and fear. His flesh melts into the sheets, his bones
meld into the building itself, and he is gone from us, from me.
This time, this terrible time, there will be no coming back.
And he is no longer. He does not exist. My heart can't find him, my
soul can't feel him. There is nothing where there was once a child.
Our child.
The sacrifice has been made.

Egyptian Dreams

April 14, 2001. This dream came in sections, with dream 'commercials' in between, and also a dream domestic argument over how to spend $28,000.00.

I lay back, replete. Our lovemaking has been complete. It 
was more then a joining of two bodies into one, more than a union of 
two spirits together. When we made love, we became one with the 
universe, a part of everything. There was no us, no them, no 
anything. The merging was complete and all-inclusive.
I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at you. My long 
brown hair trails across your shining chest. Did you feel it, too?
You smile at me.
"Don't be alarmed," you say, and I laugh the laugh of lovers. What 
is there to be alarmed about?
As I look at you, you begin to blur. Sweat in my eyes, or maybe 
tears. Perfection will do that to a person.
"It's okay," you say.
As you begin to fade away. The flesh of your arms sinks into, blends 
in with the pale bed sheets. Melting. You are melting away from me. 
The heat of our passion is causing you to dissolve. As we were one 
with the universe, you are becoming one with the bed, the room, the 
building, the world.
The bed absorbs you, your flesh, your muscle, your bone. You are 
leaving me.
No, I cry, within myself. This cannot be happening. It's too bizarre.
You continue to dissolve before my eyes.
You are gone.

Yet you are there. You do not leave me comfortless. "It's always 
been this way for us," your spirit whispers to my soul. 
And I remember.
I remember bleak winters from the days before fire, when we fit 
ourselves ever closer for warmth, away from the damp rocks that 
sheltered us. I remember places green and hot and torrid, but we 
could not stay apart. I remember straw on the floor of smelly inns, 
and a hammock high in a tree, and a string of gray and grimy motels. 
I remember, with a splash of red skirts and headbands, the many 
shades of tan and the warmth of the Egyptian sun and sand, and 
sitting with you as the people babble past.
Yes, I remember.
It has always been this way for us.
We love, and then you go on.
You go on, and I come after.

But I don't know the way anymore. I don't know how to follow you, to 
become a part of the places the way you do. I can no longer follow 
you.
I can no longer hear you.
I cannot feel you.
You are gone.
I am alone.

I am alone and wandering, and there are many things in this modern 
world, but none of them is you. I cannot find you anywhere. I cannot 
feel you anywhere. You are not in the noise or the silence. You 
speak neither in the gale nor the breeze. The pollution robs me of 
the scent of your lovingness. There is no hint of your caress, in 
the pool or in the deluge. You are gone.
You are gone, and I am left to wander this life – these many 
lifetimes – alone.


It is too much for me. Without you, I have no will, no desire. I 
want only to go where you have gone, to call upon the long 
unremembered skills that once allowed me to follow you.
I wander through a cemetery. Here is a place for people who have 
gone. Here is a place where people go to become one again with the 
earth that made them. It is a good place, a quiet place, and I sit 
to rest and wait.

The wind blows. Green leaves turn gold, then brown, and pile at my 
feet. I am glad for their warmth. their cover. Grass grows and dies, 
and the chaff joins the leaves, mixed in with the leaves, and there 
are little rocks, too. Bits of sand, perhaps, or skin peeling off as 
I am becoming. Crystal tears are carried by the blizzard wind, and 
still I sit. All is harmony here, and, for me, where there is 
harmony, where there is unity, there is you.
A child passes by, holding his mothers hand. "That's a big rock, 
Mommy," he says. "I want to sit in its lap."
"It's a monument," says Mommy, "and that would be rude."
Time passes.

This is a very old dream, from the late 70s or early 80s. One I wrote into story form because it was so vivid.

The Hall of the Dead
A dream



He told me to come here, I know it, but I know not how I came by this knowledge. 

I know only that He, my love, my soul-mate (in the terms of those earth-bound and limited to words) wanted me to come here, and I came, seeking him out, in my party dress of azure blue
(or is it aquamarine?) and my tiny dress shoes.

But He is not here, and I must make my way through this
crowded room of somberly clad people.
I must cross this room, and then, only then, will I be able
to find Him.
He is waiting for me, just beyond my vision. He is smiling, because He knows that I have come to seek Him out.

Does He know how truly I seek for Him, or is this yet another ordeal I must pass through to find myself merely a bit closer to Him?
Only the thought that it will at least make me closer makes it bearable for me.

They look at me, these people in browns and blacks, with their loved ones tucked protectively against their bodies. Thus will He hold me, once I reach him, and even now his arm curves in anticipation

He raises a hand to her in encouragement, and smiles, but his eyes are troubled. Yes, this is but another ordeal for her, for the girl, but he knows she will pass it, if she perseveres; if she does not lose sight of her goal, however long it takes her

I step forward, faltering, unwelcome here, but somehow not unexpected. Some of These, They are Watchers. I, too, was once a Watcher, but He came to me and said, "Come, I will show you; I wilTeach you, All of Be-ing. Come."
So it is that I left the safe and somber life of Watching,
 I put on my blue party dress, and came to Seek Him Out. 

But He is not here.
They look, and somewhere someone speaks - a jest - and the listeners laugh, and there is movement, for the Dance is about to begin.

I can see them now, these solemn dancers. They form in rings, and the circles are complete, each alone, but also interlocking. They can change circles in the dance; they can change partners; the partners can take other partners and become Protectors.
The Watchers are in the center; trapped, helpless. They must move where the Dance goes, or they will be LEFT OUT. 

When the music starts, they move with the Dance, because they are of it. Wheels in
wheels, gears in cogs, lock-step, lock-step. The Dance goes on.

I move forward again, winding between the circles, not yet caught up in the Dance. I bump into a dancer, a man whose face I do not know, but whose Self I do. He wears a vest of brown, and a long-sleeved black shirt, and She-Who-He-Protects wears a vivid red, and glows with Life. 

I touch his arm, gently, and apologize, but he averts his face and hurries Her away, where I will not See.

But it is too late; I have known him. He is the father of my best friend, dead many years before I knew her, and She is the one he protects.

I press on, now outside the Dance, searching for my One, taking care not to be caught up in this Dance of the Dead.

Or is it the Dance of Those Left Behind?

Is it, simply, the Dance?

Victim or Victor?

Wasn't going to put this dream here -- it disturbed me deeply. But, as I am still disturbed by it, and pondering over it, I think I'll share. Perhaps you will have some insight to help me understand it.

I was being punished, tortured, raped, beaten, twisted, physicked, -- pretty much anything and everything imaginable. And some things I had never read about or heard of, even in my reading about medieval torture and the Spanish Inquisition. Torquemada should have had advice from my distorted contorted mind!

Much of this -- especially the unimaginable things my dream-mind imagined -- was probably a reaction to various body pains that have been plaguing me. I have never had so much of me hurt so much all at the same time!

I was also isolated, shoved into dark places(punishment), squeezed into tight places (me, trying to hide from my Punisher), total darkness, or, occasionally, way too bright glaring angry burning light.

Eventually, my sister Mary Ann showed up to rescue me, and she also became a victim of the Punisher.
(I have no sister named Mary Ann.)

She took my punishments for me.

She was also punished for her own sins, crimes, tresspasses, inadequacies.

As she protected me, I tried to protect her.

HE learned that the cruelest thing for either of us was to punish the other one.

His name was, I think, Vick-Tom. I know it wasn't Vicktor, because that was a subliminal thought throughout the torture. Not Victor, NOT Victor. Part of the torture was not knowing who it was or why he chose to torment me (and later Mary Ann) so.

I have no doubt that Vick Tom and not VicTor were the result of my mind playing some tortuous word game about victim and victory. I'm just not sure what the correct association is or how to reach the right conclusion.

Mary Ann is more interesting, more convoluted, and possibly (but maybe not) more significant.
Talking to my real sisters about this dream, one sis remembered the Magic Mary Magnetic paper dolls we all were given for Christmases. We each had our own Mary whoever, and one of those was Mary Ann.

We had a neighbor Mary Ann.

My best friend is named Mary.

A main character in my finished series of stories is Ann Mary.

Rex's  mother was Anna Rae (Ray?= mARY?)

My mother's name was Marian, which, despite her snobbish protests, is a form of Mary Ann.

Which association is most correct? Any of them? All of them? A bit here and a dab there?

I don't know. If I could click with the right connection, maybe I could put this dream to rest -- or at least  learn to live with the torture.

Oh well, I have to live with some torture anyway -- dreaming won't change body aches or a lonely spirit.

he's alive

probably a cliche dream in the circumstances.

Rex isn't really dead. he somehow came home between funeral and interment, but there was no point in telling anyone because he has already been declared dead by the government and it would just be a really big hassle to try to get him declared not dead, so we'll just keep him as our smug little secret.

(This part seems to have been a former dream, although I don't remember dreaming it. It was embedded as the basis of this dream, so I don't really know if I dreamed it or if it was just part of the knowing that sometimes happens in dreams.)

Some members of Rex's family (his brothers Max and Cecil) stopped by the house to check on me (which has never happened) and discovered him there. Thus the explanation and the conundrum. They couldn't disagree with our logic, but the whole thing just doesn't sit 'right' with any of us.
Lots of discussion; no conclusions. Other family members (his family) begin putting in their two cents worth, although I'm not sure how any of them knew anything.

Interspersed with this dream is something with children in an old, cold house with very long hallways. Sometimes my sibs, sometimes my kids, they are trying to get away from the cold, when there are corners of the rooms that are almost superheated.
White (snow&ice white) rooms with white sheets on white beds, and children with dark hair and eyes.

I have had dreams with "commercials" -- other dreams before, and they usually turn out to be significant. These commercials, I think, were a combination of watching the end of "The Day After Tomorrow" and my own air conditioner. Maybe the heat was hot flashes; who knows?

I think maybe the complications of Rex being alive indicate how complicated it would be if he were alive -- they said he'd have to be immobilized (basically) in  nursing home, and going back and forth to hospital for infections where the tube was permanently placed.
The dream is both accepting things as they are and wishing as they should be.
It's the whole preface feature that I find odd, although the explanation could be the same.

Skinny Missy

My friend Missy was in the hospital. Rex was taking me to see her.

When I got there, she was very very thin and kept talking about how she had to fit into some dress, and how they were keeping her "inside" and wouldn't let her go home and try on her dress. She had to get into it, for some event, and she was starving/killing herself to do so.

She asked who it was with me (Rex) only she suddenly remembered that his name was Shawn, and I had been talking about him.
He agreed that he was Shawn Patrick, and he looked at me and I remembered he was supposed to be dead and we had decided we didn't want anybody to know he wasn't.(Wishful thinking, no doubt.)
That look said he was okay to be Shawn Patrick instead of Rex Patrick. (His name is Rex Allen; no Patricks in his family that I know of. My Dad's middle name was Patrick, though. Could this be related to Father's Day upcoming?)

Anyway, Missy kept going on about her dress and the event and how they were trying to make her choose something else because the dress was making her sick, and it wasn't worth it; it just wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it.

I finally caught her face in my hands (that sounds grotesque) and looked her in the eye and asked her "What about your boys? Aren't your boys worth it?Aren't they more important than a dress?"

Her eyes filled up with tears and she admitted that only they were.

Having saved her life by making her face that truth, Shawn Patrick and I drove away discussing her anorexia.

Bun Cakes

Booths such as for waffle cakes (one such tent/booth has been moving around Mt Orab. At Radio Shack for a while. Then at Brown County Automotive.)

Guy named Mark (a composite of several Marks I have worked with) was selling franchises. The product was buns made like cakes. The more popular designs were the praying man (pretzel shaped) and smiley faces.

Mark; tall, curly dishwater-blond hair, burly. Briefcase and book in hand. (One of the Marks quit fast food to sell insurance)

Lisa and I decided to open a bun cake business together, selling saffron smiley face buncakes. We chose as our location a space in the Bethel shopping plaza, high on the hill at Charity&Plane Streets. (No shopping plaza in Bethel; no hill at Charity&Plane)

We put up beaded curtains and played tinkly music, and were, in general, somewhat hippie, at least for our buncake business. 

Mark wanted us to go more conventional, but we were somehow able to prove that we were building a loyal and purchasing clientele, and he backed off, because we were showing a profit.

Then Helen bought into the franchise and her store was in Peebles, behind the restaurant she was manager at. The places were all close by, but to go to her buncakes shop from her restaurant you had to go back out on the highway and back into another parking lot and go way back in. But she thought it was a great idea, and she was having fun with selling the buncakes. She used several designs.

Helen brought the franchise and Mark to the attention of a woman named Frances  that she called Frankie. (She has a friend called Frankie; she posts to her occasionally. Also, Re had an Aunt Frances; a brother-in-law Francis,; and I have a writer friend Frances.) This Frankie is/was  short, blonde, and round. Very curly hair. Round face, pouty lips. blue eyes. 

Frankie bought into the franchise and called her shop Fatso's, and added powdered sugar or cinnamon sugar to the yellow buns.

Mark was running around to all these stores, trying to keep up with all of his shop managers. Helen was driving him crazy because he never knew which store she would be at -- her work-for-hire store/job, or her bought for herself buncakes store.

We were all supposed to be meeting somewhere, and Mark was late. It was night, the venue (whatever it was) was gloomy. Frankie was slouching half off a bar stool.

Rex, Lost and Alone

Rex came to me in the night.
Upset, worried.
He said that his brother and sister were not there with him, as I had supposed they would be.
They had to go to another place, he said.
He was sad and alone.

At first I was worried about the other place he mentioned, but mostly as a curiosity. He never said they hadn't been there; just that they weren't. He wasn't happy that they had had to go away. 
I'm not sure what he expected me to do, or if it was just for my information, because I keep trying to convince myself that he is in a better way, with his sister and other family. Can't really imagine that he'd want me to be worried about his unhappiness when there is such a gap between us. 


Have to add, within a week of this dream, another (married-in) family member passed away unexpectedly. 
I wonder.

Anopther note -- this was before/as I was being diagnosed with bronchitis, and ended up being prescreibed the litany of medicines used to treat Rex's exacerbations.

Dreams and Dreaming

Dreams are important to me.
And I have a lot of Them.

This will not be a regular blog, like I try for the others to be. (I'm not very good at it, but, believe me, I do try.) This will be for those dreams and dream fragments that I just can't quite shake off.

Sometimes writing them out  fills in the details and the story (or meaning, or reason for)becomes more clear. Sometimes I can find a common thread among the shards.
Sometimes it's just a curiosity or an oddity.

Sometimes, as I write, I will see or sense meanings (flavors, textures) that I didn't realize either at waking or even during the dream itself. I will write of these things.
I will write of my speculations as to the dream's meaning, context, or intent.
I will write of things in waking life that seem pertinent.
I will write, sometimes, of things discovered or that happen later.

We all dream.
And dreams are personal to each of us.
They are also universal.
And -- sometimes an outsider can see what we cannot, being stuck fully within ourselves.

So, I offer and share these dreams for my own enlightenment -- and maybe yours.
For our mutual education.
For discussion.
For sharing and caring.

I hope that we can entertain and empathize and come to know one another better through my dreams.
I hope you will learn to like me more.
Thank you.