vogelein

Dream of: 14 January 2014 (3) "Childhood Games Abandoned"

I'm at a house where a bunch of people whom I've known throughout life are meeting for a banquet. Three square tables - similar to card tables - are set up in a room. One table is in the middle of the room and the other two are in opposite corners - like three x's in a diagonal line on a tic-tac-toe board. People are sitting at all three tables. Members of my family are sitting at the table in one corner while I'm sitting with five or six people at the table in the middle.

As we are eating a meal, I notice that no one talks across the separate tables. I wish that we could all talk to each other, but something seems to be preventing our doing so. I turn around to the table in one corner (not the table with my family members) and I holler, "Hey!"

Everyone at that table seems half asleep and they suddenly jump when they hear my voice. I tell everyone that we all need to sit at the table in the middle of the room. The people in the corner table stand up to come to the table in the middle, but my family sitting in the other corner table doesn't move - they say that we'll have to come to their table. I don't want to argue so I say, ok. The problem is that part of the family table is sitting against a couch which would have to be moved. It looks as if the people at the family table might give in and move to the middle.

I have the idea that once we're all in the middle of the room, we'll all form a circle, hold hands, and somehow bring God into the picture.

Someone has a list of the people who are present. I notice that the list contains the names of people from all over the world. Someone suggests playing a game which I recognize as a childhood game. I realize, however, that the game is not going to work. This is a new situation and not appropriate for old games which we used to play when we were children.

Dream Commentary

This dream portrays the web sites which I use: the Dream Journal, Dream Views, Facebook, and my own Dream Epics web site. The table in the corner with my family is Facebook, the table in the opposite corner where the people are half asleep is the Dream Journal web site, and the table in the middle is Dream Views. My Dream Epics web site is represented by the potential circle of all the people holding hands in a circle and injecting God into the formula.

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Dream of: 14 January 2014 (2) "Chosen Of God"

I'm living in the middle latitudes of Africa and I'm looking at a map of all of Africa. The bottom half of African looks more like the isthmus of Central America with a string of four or five small countries which stretch from coast to coast. I'm thinking of traveling to Tanzania, which is the second or third country from the bottom of the map. It turns out that the Jews are now not only in Israel, but that they have taken over much of Tanzania. It seems strange to me that the Jews have established a new center of power in Tanzania.

I start looking at a piece of paper which describes a place where I can visit in Tanzania. The paper contains a program of events which will happen at this place. The first event of the day will be a long reading of a passage from the book of Genesis. After the lengthy reading, people in the program will have the opportunity to actually construct something. On a table in front of me I can see what appears to be a construction kit of the thing to be constructed. Many pieces look like steel girders. Apparently the end product will be some kind of Jewish monument.

I reflect that I've never really understood why people who are born Jewish continued to remain Jewish once they were old enough to understand their religion. It seems to me that when someone was old enough to understand the Jewish religion, he would give it up, because the religion really didn't make much sense. Now, however, I'm beginning to comprehend the religion a little better. I see that the Jews actually do feel as if they are the "chosen of God" and as if they were born Jewish because they have a special role in the world. Contrary to my previous assumption that the Jewish religion was fading away, I now perceive a new resurgence in the Jewish religion and I think I would like to learn more about it.

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Dream of: 14 January 2014 "Liaison"

I've just stepped outside onto a sidewalk which seems to be in a city in France when I notice a thin blonde-haired woman walking along the sidewalk. I can't tell at first how old she is, but when I move closer, I see that she's not young and that she's probably in her late 30s. She's still attractive - not beautiful - and she's dressed provocatively. She looks a bit worn with wrinkles around the corners of the eyes.

I begin walking along fairly close to her, and when I realize that she's a prostitute, I ask her to come up to my room with me. I'm living on the third or fourth floor of an older building which seems like a rooming house. I have my own room in which I've been living for a while. She agrees to accompany me and we continue talking in French as we head for my room.

As we talk about our arrangement, she mentions the word "baiser". I think she is asking if I want oral sex. I respond, "Tout," meaning that I want everything. I think to myself that I don't want anal sex, but I would like to have regular sex and have her perform oral sex. I want to get that straight before we reach my room.

The subject of cost arises and she responds with what sounds like the Spanish word, "Seis."

I think I need to clarify that. I think she means "60", but I need to make she that she doesn't later say that she meant "600". I say in Spanish, "Sesenta?"

She doesn't say anything, but I can see that she's calculating in her head. She says something about interest, and I tell her that if she will simply put the money in the bank for a while, she will end up being rich.

As we walk toward my building, we pass a park where a family is sitting at a picnic table. The woman says something to the family. I can tell by the frown of the woman sitting at the table with her children that she doesn't appreciate this woman approaching her family in that fashion.

Just before we reach my building, I start thinking that I have a condom somewhere in my room. I think the woman might have one of her own, but I'm uncertain whether she supplies those. We reach the building and head up the stairs.

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Dream of: 13 January 2014 "Nature Preserve"



put yourself in the animal's place

I'm standing in front of the Farmhouse (on my father's Gallia County Farm) and looking down toward Symmes Creek at the bottom of the hill. I'm trying to see if any fish are in the water, but something seems to be clouding the water. I think the creek might have been fished out, but then I see quite a few small bluegills only about three centimeters long which are swimming along.

I keep looking at the water until I see a small black furry animal which appears to be swimming under the surface and occasionally sticking its head up above the water. Then I see a second similar animal and I think there might even be more. I think the animal might be a beaver, but it has a different form than a beaver and its coat looks sleeker than a beaver's coat. I know that beaver are in the creek, but this animal appears to be something different. When one of the animals breaks completely above the surface, I conclude that its an otter. I'm excited because I don't remember having ever seen otters here on the Farm. I'm happy to see them.

I see something else which I've never noticed before: a huge boulder sitting on the edge of the creek. The boulder has an irregularly shaped circular top which is perhaps thirty meters in diameter. The boulder has a rough flat surface on which is sitting some kind of furry animal. I keep looking at the animal and trying to figure out what it is, when I finally conclude that it is a gray monkey. I've never seen a monkey here on the Farm, so this is also interesting. I conclude that more and more animals must be inhabiting the Farm than previously. I have the feeling that various animals have become accustomed to sitting on this boulder and in a way it almost seems like a miniature nature preserve.

A female forest ranger is walking around in front of the Farmhouse when a man and woman show up. I listen to the conversation as the man and woman talk with the ranger and I become cognizant that they're talking about a government program in which a person can become a "supervisor" of a section of land. Apparently the boulder on the creek bank in front of the Farmhouse belongs to the government, and the man and woman are talking about becoming supervisors of this boulder.

As soon as I have the opportunity, I begin talking in private with the forest ranger and I ask her about this program. She says that an auction would take place to obtain the supervisory position over the boulder. She says that the lowest bid would be $5. I immediately decide that I want to take part in the auction. The man and the woman hear me talking with the ranger and I can tell that they're upset because they're the ones who came up with the idea, and now I'm taking over. It turns out that they live only a few kilometers away from the Farm. I point out that I live in this Farmhouse right in front of this boulder. I therefore have a greater claim on obtaining the permit than they.

Meanwhile, the ranger has been checking on the price. She now says that the lowest bid will be $250. I think to myself that even if I have to bid up to $1,000, I would still want the permit. I want to be the one who is responsible for this boulder.

Dream Commentary

It is striking how people who write dreams on the Dream Journal web site practically never advocate for anything in their dreams. Religious, political and social issues rarely arise, at least as far as I have seen. By way of illustration, when I do a title-search for the word "Republican" on the Dream Journal web site, I come up with 5 results, and a search of the word "Democrat", I come up with 4 results. The word "movie", on the other hand, gives me 555 results. Those results reinforce my observation.

I think the word I'm looking for is "compassion". I rarely see it in the dreams I read. What I do see is an extreme amount of self-absorption. I am particularly aware of this in the relations of dream-writers to animals. Rather than protecting animals, many dream-writers are far more concentrated on how good the animals taste. For them, as they stuff themselves with meat, an advocate of animal rights is simply a target of their compassionless mockery.

Just as I did not want the encroaching man and woman in this dream sitting in my front yard, so do I feel about self-absorbed dream-writers who have no compassion for animals. This is the message I receive from fish and otters and beavers and monkeys in my dreams, and I hope they will continue to talk to me with the compassion I need to free me from my own self-absorption.

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Dream of: 11 January 2014 "Making Up Stories"



surrounded by lies, preach the truth

My father is giving a party at the Gay Street House (a stately Victorian house in Portsmouth, Ohio in which my father lived from 1964 to 1997). About twenty people are present in the large living room (the floor plan is somewhat different from normal). One bottle of liquor is sitting on a table, but no one seems to be drinking. That seems strange because I think most people would have come to the party because liquor would be abundant. Its almost six o'clock and I have the feeling that at six o'clock the liquor bottles will be brought out. I'm thinking that many more people will show up because they know that they'll be able to drink as much as they want. This seems like the kind of party that my old friend Mark Tindal (1952-2013) would attend.

I recall that I used to go to parties like this when I was younger. I would go to several parties in the same night, one after the other. Now, however, most people who come to this party will simply stay here all evening and eat and drink as much as they want. This should be a good party.

My father (around 50 years old) is standing over in one corner. He has short black hair and I can hear him talking about his life when he was in the Marines. I recall that someone had told me that my father had been telling people that he had served in the Marines. His story-telling chatter seems quite odd because I know that he was never in the Marines. I wonder if he has wanted to be in the military all his life and if he is now simply making up stories as a way of fulfilling that desire.

The room finally starts filling up with people until probably a hundred people are present. It looks as if its time for the party to start. I notice that my sister (around 30 years old) has arrived. I walk over to her to speak with her. I know that she also is aware that my father was never in the Marines. She says that she has heard the story and that she was the one who in fact told me that my father had been propagating this story.

I'm just simply astounded that he is claiming to have been in the Marines. I catch his eye a couple times as he's telling the story, but he quickly glances away.

A few minutes before six o'clock, my father puts on a long black robe which falls to his ankles. The robe resembles ones he used to wear as a preacher when he was a young man. Apparently he's going to give a little sermon at six o'clock. This reminds me of how he was when he used to be a preacher.

Everyone is sitting around the perimeter of the room on what look like bleachers. One man who is apparently a singer stands up and someone asks him to start out a song. Walking around the middle of the room, he begins pointing at different people and sings out, "Praise father! Praise mother!"

I think of other phrases which might be sung, such as, "Praise the womb!"

As the man walks around the room, other people begin singing along with him. The party is starting to kick off.

Dream Commentary

Publishing dreams on the internet is an event which may radically affect one's own dreams.

Paradoxically, the dream-writers whose dreams I read on the Dream Journal web site seem disinclined to acknowledge this truth. I see little inclination of other dream-writers (slogging through their personal histories) to look for the effects of dream-publishing in the dreams, although when I read these published dreams - especially of regular dream-writers - I see what appears to me to be clear evidence of the internet-dream-publishing seeping into their dreams.

For myself, I look at all groups of people in my current dreams as potential metaphors for the group of dream-writers whom I've encountered on the internet. The idea that we're all at a party has occurred several times. I can imagine many other metaphors: a choir of singers, a team on a space ship, passengers on a cruise ship, students in a class, lodgers at a hotel, a masquerade ball, a banquet, a séance, etc. One of the best dreams I saw on the Dream Journal featured a group of kids who had telekinetic powers which enabled them to hack certain types of computer technology and who entered a group dream together in order to perform their hacking. Yet I'm not sure that that particular dream-writer had any concept that her dream might have been influenced by her dream-publishing.

I look at the people at the party in this dream as other dream-writers and dream-readers. I guess I just want to party.

On the flip side of seeing dream-writers in my dreams, another sort of party game which I play is putting myself in other people's dreams when I read them. If I think this person has been reading my dreams, and if someone in the dream reminds me of myself, I imagine that I am that person in the dream. If people are reading my dreams, I suspect that they are dreaming about me, whether they can see it or not.

And guess what - its usually fascinating and fun to imagine yourself in other people's dreams.

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Dream of: 10 January 2014 "New Clothes"



unravel the twisted threads of pride

I'm in Portsmouth and am getting ready to go to school. I remember that something special is going to be happening today at school so I decide to dress better than normal. I'm wearing a couple tee-shirts, but instead of wearing blue jeans and a tee-shirt, I decide to put on a pair of beige pants and a long-sleeved white shirt.

When I arrive at school, I'm met outside by a woman (around 60 years old) whom I know. She's well dressed and she compliments me on my attire today. I'm satisfied until she and I walk inside the classroom of 30-40 where everyone (all probably in their early 20s) seems to be dressed in brand new clothes. I'm surprised and intimidated by how well everyone else looks and I feel self-conscious about my clothing which isn't new. At least I'm glad that I didn't simply wear blue jeans and a tee-shirt.

The room actually seems more like a restaurant than a classroom and seems to be located in downtown Portsmouth. I sit down at a table with a couple fellows sitting across from me. I continue to feel self-conscious about my attire, especially when I notice that many fellows in the room are dressed in new suits. The two fellows across from me are wearing identical new bluish-gray sweaters. I wonder if they planned to dress that way or if they simply coincidentally bought the same sweaters. Then I notice that yet a third fellow wearing the identical sweater is sitting across from me.

One of the fellows is Babcock (whom I first met in 1967 when we attended 10th grade together in Portsmouth). I look intently at Babcock's face. I recall that I had become slightly acquainted with Babcock when we first met in high school, but we never hung around. I remember that he seemed to be in the upper echelon of Portsmouth society. I could have gotten to know him better and moved more into the upper society, but I hardly ever spoke to him through high school. I know his father was an optometrist and that he himself latter became an optometrist. He and the other two fellows all look snazzy sitting there in their new sweaters.

I wonder if anyone else in the room didn't dress up today, or if I'm the only one. I reflect that I wasn't even told that I was supposed to dress up today, so I wonder how everyone else knew. I feel shabby and I simply stay to myself without talking to anyone.

Everyone finally stands up and walks outside so we can head down the street to another location where something is supposed to happen. We walk on the crowded sidewalk in downtown Portsmouth. It seems as if everyone is dressed up in new clothes, a phenomenon very unusual for Portsmouth. Many females are walking along in their brand new clothes. It seems so strange for Portsmouth. Finally I do see one fellow wearing typical Portsmouth blue jeans. He's carrying a baby and seems to have his girlfriend or wife with him.

We arrive at a building which seems to be the old Columbia movie theater. We all walk in and stand in a line. My father shows up, stands right beside me, and looks me over. He seems to think I'm dressed acceptably, but he doesn't seem proud of the way I'm dressed. I wish I would have at least worn a tie. As I walk past a mirror, I notice that I'm still wearing those two old tee-shirts which can be seen around my neck under my white shirt. Now I really feel self-conscious. I think I might anyway slip into a restroom and take off the two tee-shirts. They really look shabby.

My father mentions something about some kind of pin which I'm apparently wearing on my shirt. I just wish this whole affair would end, but I'm stuck here now.

Dream Commentary

Although Dream Views specifically prohibits a profile-link to Facebook, numerous people on the Dream Journal web site link their profiles to Facebook. I do not know, however, of any of my fellow dream-writers who link their Facebook page to a dream journal. Surely there must be some other dream-writer on this planet who has thought of linking their Facebook account to a dream journal. Or is this a completely unchartered frontier?

These thoughts are brought to mind by the appearance of Babcock in this dream, someone whom I have not see in 43 years. A link to my dream journal from my currently shabby and dormant Facebook account would open up my dreams to the hundreds of people whom I have known through the years, many of whom would be surprised - dare I say startled - to see that they are still a part of my life. I can see how that would make me more self-conscious of what I write. Yet without pioneers, unchartered frontiers remain ... unchartered.

The 1948 painting above is by Frank Hunter and shows the exact area in Portsmouth, Ohio where I was walking in this dream. The Columbia theater marquee is on the left of the painting with the black letters on the white background.

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Dream of: 07 January 2014 "Guilt Trip"



honesty is its own reward

I'm in a big dirt-floored arena in what appears to be an amusement park. Hanging from the ceiling are long ropes which people can grab and swing on. High ledges (around five meters off the ground) around the perimeter of the arena can be reached by swinging up to them with a rope. I grab one of the ropes, start swinging around, and soon become quite adept. I swing up to one ledge and sit here for a while. Just as I'm ready to swing off the ledge, I notice that a dark-blue billfold is lying on the ledge. I furtively pick up the billfold, uncertain whether anyone standing down below in the arena sees me. I quickly glance inside the billfold and see that it is filled with bills. I see some tens and twenties, then a couple hundreds, and finally a thousand dollar bill. It looks as if there are even more big bills, although I don't look any further.I quickly stick the billfold in my back left pocket.

While I've been concentrated on the billfold, I've let my rope drop to the ground about five meters below the ledge. I'll either have to have someone throw the rope back up to me or hang-drop to the ground. I decide to hang-drop. I grab hold of the ledge with my hands and drop to the ground.

As soon as I'm on the ground, a thin healthy-looking grey-haired man (perhaps 60 years old) walks up to me and says,"Steve."

Uncertain how this man knows my name, I hear him moan, "I lost my billfold."

Feigning ignorance, I respond, "Oh no!"

He says that everything he had was in the billfold. I wonder if he's telling the truth and I wonder why he was so stupid to carry so much money in the billfold.I ask him if he knows where he lost it. He says no, but he says that he was looking through his billfold when he was up on one of the ledges - implying that he might have left the billfold up there. I suggest that he go back up to the ledge. I have the feeling that he suspects me and I want to get away from him. Then I ask him if he gave the people at the counter his name and information about how to contact him if anyone were to find the billfold. He answers, "No."

When he turns to walk over to the counter, I quickly slip out of the arena and mix in with the huge amusement-park crowd of hundreds of people outside the arena. I remember that I came here with some other people and now I don't know how I will be able to find them in this crowd. I might have to wait until the amusement park is closing and only a few people are left.

I want to look through the billfold to see exactly how much is in it.I start looking for a restroom where I can look through the billfold in private. I'm already feeling guilty for not returning the billfold to the man, but I think I at least deserve a reward for finding the billfold and if I had simply given the billfold back to the man, I probably wouldn't have received anything. I'm thinking I might just take the thousand dollar bill and give back the rest. Or I might just take all the money. I know that I will return the actual billfold and all the other identification and credit cards. I recall how I once lost a billfold and no one returned it. I had always thought that if I found a billfold, I would at least return the identification and anything else which I couldn't use.

I could understand why someone might keep the money, but not everything else.Certainly someone who found a billfold like this wouldn't be able to use the credit cards at an ATM machine because of the cameras. I reflect, however, that someone could put on a mask and use a credit card. If I were to wear a mask at an ATM machine, I would have to be careful about fingerprints since I figure that I'm already a suspect. I doubt, however, that my fingerprints could be traced.

Still, I mostly feel bad now about keeping the billfold. It would have been so simple to have simply given the billfold back to the man when he first approached me. Now I'm on a guilt trip. I don't even know how to contact the man. I could go back to the arena and check to see what telephone number he left there. Or I could simply use the identification inside the billfold to track down the man. I dread returning the billfold to the man face to face because then he will know that I had the billfold when he first approached me and that I was dishonest about not having the billfold.

When I think back on the man when he approached me, I seem to recall that he was smoking a cigarette - all the more reason why I should keep the money because he would just waste it on cigarettes. But then I realize that no one was allowed to smoke inside the arena, so I must be mistaken about that rationalization.

Finally I see a men's restroom which has the word "Soldiers" written in bold letters on the door. I think the restroom must be maintained by the military. As I head for the door, I wonder what word is used for the women's restroom if "soldiers" is used for the men's. I plan to find a stall inside and look through the billfold. I hope the old man hasn't followed me and tries to look over the wall of the stall, but I don't think he's following.

Dream Commentary

Publishing dreams on the internet is a bit like performing before an audience on a high trapeze. I think that the height that one can reach and the complexity of the performance is to some degree a function of honesty. Indeed, truthful dream-publishing is to a large extent a spectacle of the power of honesty.
I can only marvel at the thought of two trapeze artists holding each others hands as they fly through the air.

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Dream of: 04 January 2014 "Carniwhore"



use the power of words against evil

As I'm reading an article, I come across a word which is spelled "carni**ore". I can't figure out what this asterisked word means at first, then I finally realize that the dissembled word is "carniwhore". I conclude that someone has been disparaging carnivores by calling them "carniwhores". I like the concept and I think that in the future when I'm using the word "carnivore", I'll say "carniwhore" instead, as a way of expressing my contempt for carnivores.


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Dream of: 02 January 2014 "Pieces Of The Puzzle"



you need a map to find your home

I'm walking around an unfamiliar area of a town, almost as if I'm lost and homeless. I pass by a construction sight where men are building houses, and then I come upon a small cottage which appears to be abandoned. I go inside and spend the night in the cottage. The cottage is furnished and seems comfortable, although I'm a bit concerned about staying here without permission. The next day, however, I talk with one of the construction workers who tells me that the cottage has been abandoned for a couple years and that no one comes around. Now I feel better about staying here and less afraid that someone will unexpectedly show up and claim ownership. I've heard that many houses have been abandoned around the country - like this one - and taken over by banks which don't take care of them.

After I've been in the house for about a month, Lee Seeley (one of my father's former employees whom I've known since the 1970s) shows up and invites me for a ride in a large recreation vehicle which he discovers sitting behind the house. I get on board and he drives and drives. I'm a little worried that the RV is stolen. If so, some police have probably seen a picture of it and are on the lookout for it. It looks as if we might also cross over a state line and I wonder if crossing over the line will constitute an even worse crime.

While Lee drives, I'm standing in the room in the back of the RV, beside a table on which is lying an unfinished puzzle on which I'm working. The puzzle pieces appear to be made of wood and most of the color is a soothing sandy color. I think the puzzle is actually a map of the Middle East from the Mediterranean to Afghanistan. I find a chunk of several pieces which are already interlocked and I lay them in the part of the puzzle which has already been worked. This chunk mostly shows Iran and the surrounding area. I'm happy to see the chunk matches up with other pieces in several different places as I fit it into place. It seems as if a young woman may be watching me as I proudly fit the chunk into place.

Lee asks me to drive for a while and I begin driving the hard-to-handle RV until we end up in Denver. I'm lost. I just keep driving down one highway after another. I ask Lee - who has a map - for directions, but he can't seem to tell me where to go. He's no help at all. I pass numbered road signs one after the other. I turn onto some roads where the mountains seem to hover around the perimeter.

Suddenly I see a sign with the number "11". I know that highway 11 is the main north-south artery through Denver. The road I'm on suddenly has seven or eight lanes of open highway on my left, and I believe those lanes are part of Highway 11. I ease over into the nearest lane, then suddenly realize that all the traffic is speeding toward me. Fortunately there is no traffic in my lane, but I must swerve back onto the highway I just left. Unfortunately, the two highways are splitting off from each other right in front of me and I don't think I'll have time to swerve back onto the highway I had been travelling. This is definitely not a good situation.

Dream Commentary

People work best together if they have a common goal.

Some of the out-of-body believers seem to be of the opinion that dreamers can actually meet and communicate in some ethereal place in their dreams. That kind of "actual" communication is not my goal. I'm focused on a different type of communication which can take place between dreamers through dreams. That communication is to be found in the dreams themselves. My goal in regard to the dream-writers whose dreams I read is fairly simple: I would simply like to dream about other dream-writers and send messages to them inside my written dreams. I would like to concentrate on dream-writers who are also dreaming about other dream-writers.

This dream is a reflection of the chaotic road I'm taking on reaching this goal. Partly because I'm not focused on any particular dream-writer, my dreams continue to be loaded down with my own personal history (I once spent almost eight months in an Iranian prison) and I feel as if I'm traveling against the traffic.

Although the Dream Journal is the best dream-writing site on the web, I see practically no dreams there of dream-writers who are overtly dreaming about other dream-writers. I'm not very familiar yet with the Dream Views web site, but I do see some dream-writers dreaming about each other there. I'm very impressed with their common goal of the Task of the Month and the Task of the Year on that site. The Task of the Year has just begun and it is excellent. I feel certain that dedicating some time to those tasks would help toward the goal of dreaming about other dream-writers.

I felt like the construction workers who were building houses in this dream could be interpreted as dream-writers on the Dream Journal. Busy, busy, busy. Building a better tomorrow.

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Dream of: 31 December 2013 (2) "Union Pacifico"

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strive for peaceful union

I'm in a movie theater with a fellow (probably in his early 40s) who is a friend of mine. As we're watching the movie, I notice that Mexican lobby cards are posted on the backs of many of the seats and on the walls. I like Mexican lobby cards and I think I could pull one off one of the seats if I wanted, but they seem to be glued on tight. Nevertheless, my friend attempts to pull one off the seat in front of him. Its a yellow lobby card for the movie Union Pacifico. I know that I have one just like it at home, only mine is green. He manages to pull it off the seat, but its still attached to a board. He tries to remove it from the board and rips some pieces of the lobby card off of the board, basically destroying the lobby card. I think that is such a shame. I tell him that he didn't have to tear it like that, that there was a way to remove the card from the board. He wants me to show him, so I take what's left of the lobby card in my hand. I look in my pockets for my silver pocket knife, but I don't have it. Instead, I pick up a sharp table knife, lift up one corner of the lobby card from the board and start prying the lobby card with the knife. In short order, the rest of the lobby card pops off the board. I leave it lying on the table which we're now sitting at in the movie theater.

I don't want anyone to see that the lobby card has been taken off the seat and ripped up. Thus I'm anxious when the tall theater owner walks down the aisle past us. We've set some glasses and plates around the torn lobby card in an attempt to hide it. I'm utterly dismayed when my friend calls to the owner who steps up to our table. Even though the movie is playing, my friend begins asking the owner how he can rearrange the seats so that he can have a little get-together with some of his friends. The owner tells him that he can arrange some seats in a little square.

My friend wants the owner to show him how the seats can be arranged and he stands up. When he does so, the owner notices the lobby card and says something about one of his lobby cards being torn up. The fellow doesn't say anything. I think he should at least make up a story about how he found the lobby card there in that condition and deny any responsibility, but he remains silent. I'm very unhappy with this fellow and now I want to distance myself from him.

The owner proceeds to move the seats into a little square to show what the arrangement would look like if the fellow decides to have his party there.

I'm quite upset with this fellow. I stand up and walk to the theater lobby. As I'm standing in the lobby, an elderly woman walks by and asks me if I'm renting or buying the two-story house on Eighth Street (in Portsmouth). I don't know who she is and I don't know what she's talking about, but I tell her that I own a one-story house on Eighth Street. She walks away.

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Dream of: 31 December 2013 "How To Survive A Nuclear Blast"



survival of the fittest is still the rule

While I'm on a gigantic ship filled with people, a nuclear war breaks out. I can see that a nuclear bomb has been dropped in the ocean off in the distance. The size of the explosion is absolutely phenomenal. I've never seen anything like it in my life. I can see the nuclear wave slowly traveling toward us.

Everyone has been assigned a particular place on the ship and everyone is supposed to be going to his or her place. I'm not sure I want to go to my assigned place since I think I might be able to find a better place. I know that when the nuclear wave hits the ship, the impact will be so forceful, survival will depend upon a person's place in the ship. I think the center of the ship would be the safest place, but at the moment I'm just desperately trying to get to the other side of the ship - the opposite side from where the wave is going to hit. I see some elderly people who don't even seem to know what's going on. I assume that they will be quickly killed by the impact when the bomb hits.

Before I go to my place, I walk into a room which resembles a large library. On the shelves are books, each of which pertains to a certain person. I ask a woman for a book which pertains to my family. She gives me an old book which apparently contains the history of my family and I walk out of the room. When I see the amount of commotion outside and when I realize that no one is now in the library-room, I decide that I would like to have another book and I walk back inside the room.

From a window in the library-room, I can see the nuclear wave approaching and I know that its going to hit at any second. I lie down on my side on the floor and curl up in a fetal position, even though I know that lying on the floor like this isn't allowed. A man dressed as a northern Civil War soldier stops as he's walking through the room and he tells me that I'm going to have to leave. I think that he's going to arrest me - and technically he does so - but he allows me to leave the room anyway. Still carrying my book, I head toward the door. I hadn't managed to procure a second book.

Just as I'm leaving, the woman who earlier gave me the book walks back into the room. I don't know whether she saw me leave, but I overhear the soldier telling her about me and finally saying something to her about a "prisoner."

I walk on out of the room.

Dream Commentary

Of all the many metaphors I'm experiencing of the people whose dreams I read on the internet, I think the one I would like best is along the lines of a crew on a space ship, such as Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, or Firefly. Maybe I'll have such a dream some day. Meanwhile, in this dream its fairly easy for me to imagine the people I encounter on this threatened ship as part of the chaotic ship full of the dream-writers which I currently read. The doomed old people who don't know what's going on, the Civil War soldier and the woman who gives me the book. I would like to think of the Civil War soldier as representing those dream-writers who believe in reincarnation. The fact that he finds me lying on the floor in a fetal position and then regards me as a prisoner seems to bear on my uncertainty about that subject. The overriding theme of the dream, as with all my nuclear bomb dreams, is the annihilation of the soul by sin. Only the woman in charge of the books seems up to this challenge. I would like to think of the books in that library as compilations of the dreams of internet dream-writers. I'm especially interested in reading the books of those determined to survive this life.

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Dream of: 29 December 2013 "I Wanna Sue Somebody"



discover more than one meaning

I'm in a room with 15-20 people (mostly in their 40s) who are clustered together at desks. Most are women. Everyone in the room is a lawyer. We've all started working here in this one spot and I still don't know how much they know about the law. While everyone is sitting quietly and reading, I start asking a few questions to some of the women sitting close to me. I propose a certain legal scenario and I ask them what they would do in that situation. They all seem to possess the sound knowledge of how to handle a federal law suit, but I'm unsure how they would fare if I were to ask them questions about the law of discovery. To test them, I ask them how they would go about introducing at trial evidence of an internet-chat conversation. One of them says that "the rule is ...." and she gives an explanation which obviously is not the correct rule. Another of them seems to know the proper federal rule of evidence, but she's not able to explain it clearly. None of them seem to clearly understand how to introduce an internet-chat conversation into evidence in a trial. I think to myself that I need to find out the answer to that question because I'm not even sure myself.
I notice an adjoining room where perhaps a dozen little cat-sized animals are running around. I'm unsure what they are - they might be ferrets or they might be little monkeys. They are all different colors. When I walk over to the door, one of the little animals runs up to me and I'm somewhat afraid that it might attack me. It follows me into my room and runs around the room. I'm unsure what these other people will think about my bringing these animals into the room, but I like the animals and no one seems to complain much.
I walk back over to my desk and I start talking to a black-haired woman (in her 40s). We start talking about something which I earlier overheard someone say. The subject of the conversation could be interpreted two different ways. I've noticed this dual-interpretation phenomenon several times since I've been in this room. When this woman says something, I try to think of the correct term to describe what she's saying, and I say that its a "pun". She agrees with me. I talk to her longer than I talk with anyone else. I tell her that we can talk at several different times and that we could do several different things together. She asks if one of the things could be sex. I hesitate. I'm not sure. I tell her that that's a possibility. It almost seems as if she might want to have sex right now, but I'm not prepared for that. I would have to think about it first. She seems to want to know how long it would take. I'm not sure to what she is referring. I wonder if she is alluding to my taking a pill - such as Viagra - and needing perhaps a half hour before I would be ready to have sex. I think to myself, "I don't have any pills." I think if I want to have sex with her, I might need to procure some pills. I think she might even have a pill which she could give me. I might have to order some pills. I've hesitated to do that in the past, but I think I might have to.
A man (50-60 years old) who seems like a professor is now sitting at the front of the room and talking about legal cases. I'm unsure, but he might be a judge, even though this room has more the feel of a classroom than a courtroom. I listen intently to what he has to say and when he reaches the end of his speech, he gives the legal citation for a couple cases. I didn't hear the cites clearly and I ask him to repeat them. I want to write them down. Some other people groan because they don't seem interested in hearing the man repeat the cites, but I want to know what the cites are because I'm very interested in this subject of legal discovery about which he's talking. He repeats the numbers of the cases and I write them down.
After the class ends and the professor leaves, I notice a fellow in the back of the room reading a book which has one of the cites - which we were just given - written in large letters on the front of the book. Obviously the fellow is already looking up those cases - I knew they were important.
As I continue sitting at my table, I reflect that these are not law students, but actual lawyers in this room. I'm thinking that I would like to start practicing law again. I might go to Columbus and set up a law office. Abruptly I'm cognizant that I don't have an Ohio law license. I would have to return to Texas where I'm still licensed to practice law. I'm almost tempted to do that. Then again, perhaps I could simply work for another lawyer here in Ohio.
I start talking to a lawyer sitting across the table from me. He's involved in a case and the subject of my working for him comes up. I say, "I work cheap." I would simply like to start working in a law office, even if I didn't make much. I'm thinking around $17,000 a year is as low as I can go. That would be the very cheapest that I could work and still be able to survive. I'd be willing to do that simply to get in and start working on this stuff.
I blurt out, "I wanna sue somebody." I want to jump right into the fray of a lawsuit as quickly as possible. I know that I've been trained in litigation at Baylor Law School, which specialized in litigation, and I suddenly feel the pressing need to once again be involved in litigation. I'm willing to work cheap to start out. If I work hard, I know it won't take long before I would be making big money. Money, however, isn't my primary motive. I simply want to be involved in the legal arena.

Dream Commentary

Because I've started publishing my dreams on Dream Views as well as the Dream Journal web site, in my commentary I'm going to start looking for Dream Views in my dreams as well as Dream Journal. Both sites jumped out at me in this dream. In one room are the people from the Dream Journal: the lawyers. In the other room are the people from Dream Views: the animals. Yes, those people in Dream Views seem like wild animals. In fact one of the lucid tasks of the month last month was turning into an wolf. I'm not sure what the people on the Dream Journal will think about my bringing these animals into the Dream Journal commentary, but just as in my dream, I trust that no one will "complain much".
Comparing the dream-writers on the Dream Journal to lawyers is new. I'm not entirely sure what "sue" in this context means. It seems to point to a dynamic purpose for writing dreams. In other words, I don't simply want to learn about the law (dreams), but I want to use the law (dreams) in the courtroom (of published dreams).
Yes, I can definitely see the black-haired woman as someone I've met on the Dream Journal. I would go a little farther, than that, however, and maybe look at her as a conglomerate of all women whose dreams I read. She definitely raises the question of sexless intimacy in my mind. Is that even possible?

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Dream of: 28 December 2013 "Planting Flowers"



some dreams are more than effervescence

Although its the middle of the winter, I've taken out the lawnmower to cut the grass at my 17th Street House in Portsmouth, Ohio. I first start cutting the grass in the vacant lot next door. I even start cutting the grass in the back yard of my neighbor Bill's house. I had never cut his grass like that before. Since I have my lawnmower sitting low, its obvious that I cut his grass. I realize I shouldn't have done that because Bill probably didn't want me to cut his grass.
While I'm outside the fence behind the House, I use a little white circular machine which looks like one of the little robotic sweepers which are used inside houses. Instead of using it for sweeping an inside floor, however, I set this machine to moving out in the alley. After the machine picks up quite a few things, I bring it back into my backyard and look at it. Among the items picked up by the machine can be seen a little cup which looks as if its brand new. The cup looks designed to hold milk for a baby. I think I'll keep it. It would be usable if it were simply washed. I also see what looks like a small piece of gold about a half centimeter square.
As I'm sifting through this stuff, I look through the door in the back fence and out into the alley. Lying on the little patch of green yard between the fence and the alley are lying four large orange clay planters. Two are round and two are square, while all are about 2/3 of a meter tall. They all look in good shape. I pick up one and carry it into the House. I think its good that I've found the planters because I have many packages of flower seeds which I've possessed for years. Now maybe I'll be able to plant some of the seeds in these planters.
When I walk back out to fetch the other three planters, they've all disappeared. Someone has stolen them! I'm chagrined. When I continue looking, however, I find two of the planters, so only one was stolen. Nevertheless, its terrible that I can't even go into the House for one minute without someone stealing something out by the alley.
I carry the remaining two planters into the House and prepare to do my planting.

Dream of: 26 December 2013 "Operatic Fantasy"



fantasy is the soul of freedom

I'm in a small country which is controlled by a stout black-haired dictator (around 50 years old). Having become acquainted with the dictator's black-haired daughter (probably in her late 20s) and her black-haired boyfriend, I'm able to circulate in the inner circle of the dictator.
One day the dictator approaches me. He wants to look at the colorful cover of an old LP record album of an opera which I have. We have a conversation and he gives me permission to show this album to his daughter.
As time passes, although I constantly carry the album around with me, I never get around to showing it to the daughter, even though she knows that I have the album.
One day many people are gathered outside at some sort of function. The dictator (who I think of as "the president") is inside a trailer. I'm sitting at a table when a man in a military uniform sits down right across from me. He somewhat intimidatingly begins asking me questions about myself and he wants to look at the opera album which is lying on the table. I immediately sense that I have a problem. I have the feeling that the man is involved with security and that he's trying to figure out exactly who I am. He discovers that both records which should be in the album are missing. I recall that the album was recently scrutinized by another security team, and I conclude that the other team took out the records and failed to replace them. I hadn't even realized that the records were no longer in the album. At first he's polite, but slowly turns sour, and begins an extensive interrogation.
He opens the gatefold album and looks at the liner notes, which are written in either German or French, and he wants to know what the liner notes say. Even though I haven't even read the liner notes myself, I try to explain the subject of the opera to him. I know the basic story, which takes place in Europe. I think its a fantasy, maybe something on the lines of Wagner.
I finally ask the man if he's a security agent. He gives me his name, which sounds like "Fred Thompson". I'm surprised when he tells me that he's head of security. Now I know that I'm under scrutiny. I tell him that the president himself gave me permission to use this opera. The fellow doesn't seem impressed and he doesn't appear to even believe me.
I reflect that I haven't been close to the president lately and I realize that I no longer have ready access to him. I'm going to have to deal by myself with this head of security. I notice that the album is now inside a big plastic baggie. The head of security asks me where the baggie came from and I tell him that the last security team put the album in the baggie. He seems to suggest that the baggie is an indication that I shouldn't even have the album. I continue to assert that the president himself gave me permission to have this album.
Everyone else at the table has become timorously silent. I realize that I must deal with this problem myself and that I can't ask for anyone else's assistance. I have to face this situation alone.
The boyfriend of the dictator's daughter walks up to the table and sits down right next to me. He seems like a friendly chap. I have the feeling that he thinks I'm now seeing what living in this country is really like and what the people here have to endure. I like this fellow and I say, "I've been thinking about you a lot. We should get together some day."

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Dream of: 24 December 2013 "Floating Through Life"


dreams are capsules of life

I'm visiting the Logan Street House (where my mother lived in Portsmouth, Ohio from 1971 to 1977). My mother and sister live in the House, although neither of them is home at the moment. Connie (a Portsmouth resident whom I first met around 1975) and another fellow (both probably in their early 20s) show up at the front door. Since they know my sister, I let them in and they go back to my sister's room. I leave them alone for a while, but finally I go to my sister's room and find that Connie and the other fellow have set up a table in front of the window. All kinds of drugs are stacked on the table. Hundreds of pills and even some white sugar cubes are on the table. I wonder if the sugar cubes contain LSD - I'm not sure. I'm very disappointed to see the drugs. I hadn't intended to allow Connie and the fellow into the House so they could pile up drugs in here. I pick up one little green pill and ask her how much its worth. She says, "Twenty cents."
When another fellow walks into the room, obtains some drugs, then leaves, I realize that Connie is dealing drugs out of the House. I'm unsure my sister would have let Connie and the fellow in the House if she had been here, and I'm not sure what my sister would think if she came home and found them here. I tell Connie and the fellow that I don't want them here doing this. When I half-heartedly tell them that they're going to have to leave, Connie protests that she doesn't want to leave. Fearing that the cops will show up, I decide I'm going to have to throw Connie and the other fellow out. I tell them they are simply going to have to leave. I do think, however, that I myself would like to take some acid, and I ask Connie if she knows where I could find some. She says she knows someone, but she'll have to contact the person. She picks up the phone to make the call, when suddenly the cops show up.
The next thing I know, we're all on trial in a courtroom. My mother is brought in to take the witness stand. The prosecutor is trying to make her forfeit her House. I'm first able to ask her about her signature on the deed to the House. The prosecutor then stands up and begins interrogating her, but since she has Alzheimer's, she's unable to answer. He's frustrated. He asks her about her signature on the deed and she gives a completely non-responsive answer. Meanwhile, preferring to remain unseen, I'm now lying under a cover on a bed and listening to the interrogation. I don't feel like dealing with this right now. Finally the prosecutor throws up his hands in exasperation and says that the charges are all dismissed and that we can all leave. I stand up and watch everyone file out of the courtroom. I feel a bit ashamed that I've ended up here in court. As I walk past the prosecutor he threatens me that there will be serious repercussions if this kind of thing ever happens again. I quickly leave. I'm not in the mood to listen to this bombastic prosecutor.
Returning to the House, I walk back into my sister's bedroom. Apparently the police were not particularly careful when they raided the place, because I notice a little green pill lying on the floor. It looks like one of the little pills which Connie told me was worth twenty cents, so I know its not valuable and if I found five of them, they would only be worth a dollar. Then I find several more pills lying on the carpet. I don't think the pills are strong, which is one reason why I suspect we were let off so easily in court. I find an assortment of five or six different colored pills, stick them in my right pants pocket, and walk out of the House.
As I walk down the street, I stick one of the pills into my mouth. I continue walking until my head seems to go blank. I can still feel the remaining pills in my pocket and I hesitate to take any more, although I do take a second one. By now I'm definitely high. I pull out another little pill which looks like a little oblong piece of hard red candy. I also take it. It tastes sweet. I quickly feel higher than ever. I'm a little concerned about mixing the drugs. I hadn't thought they were very powerful, but they've turned out to be quite strong. I don't think I should take the rest of them right now. I'm definitely quite high from the ones which I've taken. The drugs have the feel of an opiate and are definitely not hallucinogens. I prefer hallucinogens, but this opiate high is not unpleasant.
I reach an area outside of something like a bus or train station where other people are walking around. I pass a shop where three or four people are standing on the sidewalk. Some art works or posters - perhaps from the 1960s - are on display. The proprietor is standing in front of the shop and showing the posters - hanging on display like on a clothes rack - by pushing one after the other to the side so it can be seen. He explains a little about each poster as he displays it.
I step back and notice that another little shop - it looks like a head shop - is next door. People from that shop also step over and start watching the man show the posters. I speak to one woman who says she's thinking about buying the head shop. She starts telling me what she would sell in the shop. I notice that a little restaurant is also connected to the head shop and I tell her she ought to think about buying the restaurant, too. I think there is one other shop like this in Portsmouth, but I think this is the best one. I wish her luck and I continue walking.
I enter an open area which appears to be the platform of the train station. I've been here before, but its been a long time ago. I like this place and I feel comfortable among the people here. I wonder if anyone here knows me. I don't see anyone whom I recognize, but I'm not looking at everyone either. I wonder if anyone is aware just how high I am. I notice that I'm not walking exactly right due to the drugs. Since I don't want anyone to realize that I'm high, I decide to float. I rise perhaps ten centimeters off the ground and I begin floating through the people. I think some of them probably notice, but at least now I'm moving steadily. I enjoy floating, even though my mind really isn't working.
When I exit the train station, I want to cross the train tracks, and I have to pass through some gates and barriers until I reach a metal stairwell which leads to a passage under the train tracks. I float down the empty stairwell toward the door at the bottom. I hope I'm not jumped by some black thugs, because it begins to seem as if I'm in the black area of town. I reach the bottom of the stairs and once I pass through the door, I start floating along extremely fast. I pull the remaining pills out of my pocket. Part of one brown pill breaks off and falls to the ground. I'm going so fast, I don't want to stop and pick it up. I drop another pill which I likewise leave lying. When I finally slow back down to floating at a normal speed, I still have a couple or three pills left.
I'm definitely sure that I'm now in the black section of town. Instead of being on the street, I'm in the middle of a cluster of small houses. I've been in this area before and I don't feel threatened, but I don't want to be here. I can't seem to find my way out of this labyrinth of houses and finally I float up onto a porch until I find myself on a balcony a couple stores above the ground. This balcony is peculiar because its made of concrete and has a wall about waist high along one side. I like it up here and I can see much of the surrounding town. I realize that I've never been here before because I'm on private property on the balcony of someone's house. I follow the balcony all the way around the house until it comes to a dead end and I have to turn around and go back.
When I reach the place where I had started on the balcony, I see a ladder and I start to descend. Just as I do, however, I reach up and grab something overhead to steady myself. In the process I pull off a long piece of metal from the roof overhead. Thinking I need to put the metal back, I float out over the side of the balcony - now floating freely in the air a couple stories high. I think about just floating down to the ground, but decide to stay floating where I am, fearful that if I head to the ground I might plunge uncontrollably. I feel comfortable simply floating here.
I hear a voice and I see someone climbing up the ladder. Then I see other people standing on the balcony. I realize that I know one person who is in fact one of the people whom I'm trying to reach. I'm not sure whether any of these people has ever seen me float. Since I'm now floating here in the air two stories above ground, I think it must be obvious that I've used some drugs. Alluding to my floating, I say, "Yes, its true. I took some drugs or I wouldn't be here."

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