I had my first lucid dream in a long time recently. Not sure if it can be related specifically to reading Sandman again, but I wouldn't be surprised.
A friend I hadn't seen in a good long while was over for dinner and chatting, and then when I went to bed, I dreamt that she was still here, and we were still talking, only upstairs this time, and then at some point, I became aware that she wanted to go but I was too tired to get up and walk her to the door. So (still in the dream) I made the decision to separate from my body so that my spirit could walk her to the door while my body was resting in my bed. It was EXTREMELY surreal and didn't seem at all odd while it was happening.
I had a vivid, almost lucid dream last week that I had to have dinner with my Ex (husband). While we've always been cordial and mostly pleasant in real life, I was amazed at how sick and angry I felt seeing him in my dream. I believe I was aware that it was a dream, and I was mad that he was in my dream. But I still had to serve him dinner, so I chopped the vegetables and got to work.
Marian, that sounds maddening. It reminds me of dreams when I was working too much at Barnes & Noble and would be frustrated with work stuff, and would go home and pass out and dream that I was still at work....only similarity being that you are dreaming about something you'd rather not dream about, and aware, but still have to get through the dream anyhow. So, not that similar, but that's where my mind went. :P
It's very rare for me to have a dream I remember but this one from last night really worked:
I was famous. Every project I ever did was worth big money. My current marriage was over but the divorce was dragging out. And several beautiful women were throwing themselves at me and I had to decide which one to pick. One kept sneaking up behind me and kissing my back once and then whispering something sweet in my ear and then she'd disappear again for a while. Then she do it again. And I never knew she was there until she started. I was definitely leaning her way...
I dreamt last night that I had to talk several friends down from doing seriously destructive things (even though in real life, they are things they would NEVER do). One of those things involved a shooting spree. I woke to hear about a shooting in Kansas City. I had one person suggest it was likely related to feelings of control (or lack thereof) and while that's probably true...dude. Dreams, man....they are so beyond weird.
I dreamed I was part of a massive group of people all peacefully sitting somewhere, like a park or conference center, but it was somewhere we weren't supposed to be, and we were all under arrest.
But even as we sat waiting for our turn to be handcuffed and taken away one at a time we were realizing there were too many of us for the authorities to contain in any practical manner.
Still no one seemed to make a move toward standing up or beginning to resist. Not because we were afraid -- I think we felt half that it wasn't our turn, and half that it wouldn't make any difference.
It was a long and vivid sequence. I think this says a lot about what I am thinking of lately when it comes to politics.
One more, I need to record it somewhere, and this seems like the place!
Context IRL for this dream, which occurred in the 10 minutes between snooze buttons the other morning: I was exhausted from a long weekend spent avidly discussing art and money and community and where they intersect. I did some teaching and did a lot of learning, and sat through -- and walked out of -- a talk about how musicians should earn money that I disagreed with so strongly I just had to leave. The reasons are boring -- but I was reexamining my career in every imaginable way over the weekend. And I dreamed a dream.
I had a traveling dream. I was flying from one place to another in a 737, and the plane had a rough landing -- in fact we screeched to a halt in a horribly short time after hitting the runway. The passengers piled out of the plane directly onto the tarmac, bewildered. Our pilot had missed the real runway, and accidentally landed in a short little parking lot surrounded by a cyclone fence. He shrugged, "My bad." None of us were hurt but we still had to be checked out by emergency services, etc. I could see the proper runway through the fence, big and long and leading to the comfortable airport. It would be a long time before we got there.
I continued my journey by car and then by horse and cart, I think, and I had a lot of luggage and things to keep track of. I arrived at a cabin in the woods and went in to greet dear friends and family, like I do most every day on the road. We came back out to unload the cart, all together, and then someone said "Watch out -- doesn't that belong to the sheep?"
I turned around and saw some Dall Mountain Sheep coming down the mountain at a gallop towards us (they are huge, bigger than most domestic sheep, with giant horns). As they got closer I realized they were accompanied by the bear. And all the luggage I brought with me in the cart -- it all belonged to the bear now, or it always did. The cabin folks all backed away and the angry bear and I squared off. I backed away from the cart slowly, talking in a low soothing voice, making for the cabin door. The bear climbed into the cart and settled into my things and let me go.
I knew my belongings were gone, but as I looked around I realized that in the ruckus some items had come loose and been scattered by the sheep, so I began picking them up on my way inside. I grabbed textbooks, pens, office supplies, and then I realized the sheep had scattered cash on the ground in loose bills blowing everywhere along the grass. I started trying to collect it, grateful a little had come free when the bear jumped into the cart. I knew that was all I would keep, a small percentage of what I had brought with me to go on tour. The bear was sitting on the rest.
Hi all, it's been a while. Hopefully this isn't annoying, I know the internet's general distaste for posting old boards. It's more important for to put this somewhere - more that it was written down that it be read and this seemed like the right spot for it.
I lost a place in my personal dreamscape a few days ago, and I tried to write about it and it didn't make sense. Then tonight I woke from a dream and the pieces started to fit together.
"Here you are, Lucien." Handing him a scorched metal sign, I said "I thought He would want this back. I---I don't need it anymore.
Agnes and Agnes's Sister. They hadn't always be called that, yet today. On this night, those had always been their names.
Agnes's Sister (Even she called herself that) was always the tinkerer, wiring and rewiring the Inn. There was so much strewn about, I often mussed that they could disconnect from the grid, and the electricity would be trapped there, constantly traveling the house, never sure if it was coming or going.
I could visit every day for months, years maybe - getting a cup of bitter black coffee and a slice of lemon meringue pie and just sit there and follow the wires with my eyes. Going this way and that, here and there, until I'd be trapped in some central point, wrapped in a cocoon waiting for the Mistress of the Web to come and free me. Or end me.
If only I had spent less time on those wires, and more on looking outside, or talking to the other guests. Or I could have joined the house boys in the chores. Things could have been different. Honestly, could they? Could I have really done that - given up my past, given up my future to join them? Was I a slave to my nature, like the grasshopper or the scorpion, or did I just not try hard enough? Did I even try at all? Such is the thing of dreams that I don't remember anymore. Would they have taken me in if I had asked?
The House Boys - Agnes's own neverland, except these boys grew up. And as they grew they learned the things men need to know to live in the world. Things that others never had the ability, or the time- in one way or another- to teach them. How to sew, and cook, and do laundry. How to fix a door and paint a wall. How to balance the books for the diner and write invoices and plan purchasing. Sometimes there would be other lessons. And after the customer was asked to leave, and the unfortunate lesson of hate, there would be the lesson of forgiveness. That last one was often harder than even the one-handed egg crack-and-separate. Often, but not always, I thought with a weak smile. If only we could skip that lesson plan entirely.
If only I had skipped studying Agnes's Sister's wiring that day, if I hadn't notice that fault and tried to fix it. It all happened because of me. Even now there's a voice in my head that says "...tell them you didn't touch it. It wasn't your Fault. you Didn't Build it...." But it goes beyond that, before the point where I saw the thin wire start to glow red, before trying to pull it away from the sheets and blankets on the floor.
In full honesty, I think I made that fault appear. I imagined it into being. I can make guesses why. Did I want to save the day? Be a hero? Or was I just concerned that something could happen and The Worries made it real to spite me? (There I go blaming someone else again) After the fire started, everyone responded quickly, in that mix of panic and calm of one who knows what to do, and has to fight the lizard brain and the fairy brain to remember to do it. (Yet afterwards, one remembers being in a panic while everyone else was calm. Or sometimes the other way around.)
The fire department was called, the extinguishers and buckets brought in, and in the end, everyone was safe and only two of the rooms were damaged at all. The Chief wasn't happy though - Of course he knew not everything was "To Code" at the Inn. He came and ate at the diner. Most of the town came to the diner one time or another. But this was now paperwork, and paperwork was a problem.
"30 days" said the Chief, "I can give you thirty days to fix this place up to regulations, but after that I'll have to kick everyone out until it's done. No offense, Agnes's Sister, but there are laws I have to follow. And I'm sorry. It's the most time i can give you." And 30 days might have been enough, but maybe it was too close to possible, too generous. Word spread quickly. Old employees showed up to work more hours, and as the boys worked to make crafts and other supplies, as the other folks came to buy soup and firewood and shirts and toys, the kitchen ovens ran day and night, the register a bit more full each day.
Grand Duchess Busybody of Nosy owned the waffle house next door, and no, that was not her name. I'm not sure if anyone knew who started calling her by that, and I'd wager it was embellished over time. Someone else heard she was called Nosy, and so they said it too, and it just kept going until the town became a living thing and just decided that was her name, She wasn't that bad of a person, at least she didn't seem to be. In fact, she wasn't a bad person at all, she just owned the restaurant across the street. And at a time like this, with everyone banding together to save the Inn, it made her the enemy.
I say this so you do not judge the boy too harshly. He was given an education he did not ask for, and you would never desire. And so now I can almost understand why he was laughing.
I certainly didn't understand then, when I stepped out the door after finishing my coffee and heard a feral chuckle. As I turned toward the boy and started to speak, he pointed across the street to the new lighting dancing on the roof of the waffle house. The dancing and flickering of flames.
With the ovens and stoves running all day and night, there was no time for the chimneys to cool down. And with all that flour and ash from the breads being made, the smoke from the Inn changed from a dark smoke to a cloud with pinpricks of primordial power. Most died out in the breeze, vanishing away into nothing, but one - maybe two or three- of those dots had landed on the roof of the Waffle House, and the soft wind slowly coaxed them to life.
Calling for 911, I answered the boy's glare with a point of my own - To the roof of the Inn, where embers from the Waffle House had landed and started fire anew. This awoke the boy from his hatred, and he ran inside. Inside to the Waffle House, to tell them of the danger they were in.
I could tell the Inn wouldn't be saved this time - it was already so warm and dry, and the fire was so high up, by the time the trucks arrived, the structure wouldn't hold. The packed Inn didn't have enough exits for everyone. I told the customers to leave and told the boys they could gather whatever they could carry in one hand, as long as they stayed out of the top floors. After everyone was outside and accounted for, some of the boys tried to fight destiny, throwing buckets of water on the unburnt wood, hoping to keep the fire from spreading.
It's an odd thing, to watch a building burn. You feel like there's something you can do, that you must do, but none of the tools are there. Everything is out of reach. You should just turn any walk away, but you're anchored there. If you leave, you might miss a chance, a window of opportunity. One that never comes. And as the building burns down, you fill up with a sense of loss. A container that can't be filled, that eventually you get used to holding.
The owner of the Waffle House, she took her insurance and rebuild the inn. It's a different place now. Not bad, just different. The new folks like it well enough, and the old folks - well, it would just be rude to bring it up.
Agnes and Agnes's Sister? What happened to them you ask? Did they get punished? No, nobody blamed them, it was just one of those things that happens, you know?
Oh, why didn't they rebuild the Inn? Ah, yes…
If you ask anyone that was there that night, everyone saw them safely outside the whole time. My mind insists that I also saw Agnes's Sister running back inside, muddling something about one of her contraptions, and Agnes followed her into that fire.
But they must have just been too tired to rebuild, and left to join their family. If they had been trapped in the fire, we would have heard screams or found bodies or something. The only thing I heard that night was a "Whompf", like the sound of an old hard-covered book being closed.
I had to move on myself - it was still a nice place, but things just didn't feel right. Everything was made out of paper, or nothing had any color, or it was all in two dimensions, or one of the other metaphors we use to deal with loss. It was time to go.
I remember one of Agnes's stories. I didn't tell you about her, did I? She was always the storyteller. Either to a big crowd after a weekend meal, or just chatting with you while doing something with her hands.
This time it was sewing - Embroidering - and she sat down while I was finishing my coffee that day.
"You don't hear the name Agnes much these days" She said. "Time were, every young man with a horse and buggy….Do kids still know what horse carriage is these days?"
I nodded as she mumbled to herself, 'Of course they do, that hasn't happened yet."
"As I was saying, every young man was hoping to catch the eye of Agnes McGillicutty, and maybe her hand"
"Why Ms. McGullicutty, had quite a few gentleman callers, did you?"
"What? Why are you calling me -- No, that wasn't me. The point of my story was that things change. Take this old place here. Lot of rooms. Even more stories. But if you stay in one room too long, if you stay in one story too long, you'll miss the rest of the tales. You have to know when it's time to move on.
I woke up remembering that story from back when. And then I remembered that I had never heard that story before, at least not before the fire.
And that's when I saw I still had the old sign from the Inn's front door.
"Welcome. We're Open! And stay as long as you need."
Comments
I was famous. Every project I ever did was worth big money.
My current marriage was over but the divorce was dragging out.
And several beautiful women were throwing themselves at me and I had to decide which one to pick.
One kept sneaking up behind me and kissing my back once and then whispering something sweet in my ear and then she'd disappear again for a while. Then she do it again. And I never knew she was there until she started.
I was definitely leaning her way...
And then I woke up.
But even as we sat waiting for our turn to be handcuffed and taken away one at a time we were realizing there were too many of us for the authorities to contain in any practical manner.
Still no one seemed to make a move toward standing up or beginning to resist. Not because we were afraid -- I think we felt half that it wasn't our turn, and half that it wouldn't make any difference.
It was a long and vivid sequence. I think this says a lot about what I am thinking of lately when it comes to politics.
Context IRL for this dream, which occurred in the 10 minutes between snooze buttons the other morning: I was exhausted from a long weekend spent avidly discussing art and money and community and where they intersect. I did some teaching and did a lot of learning, and sat through -- and walked out of -- a talk about how musicians should earn money that I disagreed with so strongly I just had to leave. The reasons are boring -- but I was reexamining my career in every imaginable way over the weekend. And I dreamed a dream.
I had a traveling dream. I was flying from one place to another in a 737, and the plane had a rough landing -- in fact we screeched to a halt in a horribly short time after hitting the runway. The passengers piled out of the plane directly onto the tarmac, bewildered. Our pilot had missed the real runway, and accidentally landed in a short little parking lot surrounded by a cyclone fence. He shrugged, "My bad." None of us were hurt but we still had to be checked out by emergency services, etc. I could see the proper runway through the fence, big and long and leading to the comfortable airport. It would be a long time before we got there.
I continued my journey by car and then by horse and cart, I think, and I had a lot of luggage and things to keep track of. I arrived at a cabin in the woods and went in to greet dear friends and family, like I do most every day on the road. We came back out to unload the cart, all together, and then someone said "Watch out -- doesn't that belong to the sheep?"
I turned around and saw some Dall Mountain Sheep coming down the mountain at a gallop towards us (they are huge, bigger than most domestic sheep, with giant horns). As they got closer I realized they were accompanied by the bear. And all the luggage I brought with me in the cart -- it all belonged to the bear now, or it always did. The cabin folks all backed away and the angry bear and I squared off. I backed away from the cart slowly, talking in a low soothing voice, making for the cabin door. The bear climbed into the cart and settled into my things and let me go.
I knew my belongings were gone, but as I looked around I realized that in the ruckus some items had come loose and been scattered by the sheep, so I began picking them up on my way inside. I grabbed textbooks, pens, office supplies, and then I realized the sheep had scattered cash on the ground in loose bills blowing everywhere along the grass. I started trying to collect it, grateful a little had come free when the bear jumped into the cart. I knew that was all I would keep, a small percentage of what I had brought with me to go on tour. The bear was sitting on the rest.
There, now it's written down!
Honestly, could they? Could I have really done that - given up my past, given up my future to join them? Was I a slave to my nature, like the grasshopper or the scorpion, or did I just not try hard enough? Did I even try at all? Such is the thing of dreams that I don't remember anymore. Would they have taken me in if I had asked?
Often, but not always, I thought with a weak smile. If only we could skip that lesson plan entirely.
After the fire started, everyone responded quickly, in that mix of panic and calm of one who knows what to do, and has to fight the lizard brain and the fairy brain to remember to do it. (Yet afterwards, one remembers being in a panic while everyone else was calm. Or sometimes the other way around.)
The Chief wasn't happy though - Of course he knew not everything was "To Code" at the Inn. He came and ate at the diner. Most of the town came to the diner one time or another. But this was now paperwork, and paperwork was a problem.
And 30 days might have been enough, but maybe it was too close to possible, too generous.
Word spread quickly. Old employees showed up to work more hours, and as the boys worked to make crafts and other supplies, as the other folks came to buy soup and firewood and shirts and toys, the kitchen ovens ran day and night, the register a bit more full each day.
She wasn't that bad of a person, at least she didn't seem to be. In fact, she wasn't a bad person at all, she just owned the restaurant across the street. And at a time like this, with everyone banding together to save the Inn, it made her the enemy.
Agnes and
Agnes's Sister? What happened to them you ask? Did they get punished? No,
nobody blamed them, it was just one of those things that happens, you
know?
Oh, why didn't they
rebuild the Inn? Ah, yes…
If you ask anyone
that was there that night, everyone saw them safely outside the whole time. My
mind insists that I also saw Agnes's Sister running back inside, muddling
something about one of her contraptions, and Agnes followed her into that fire.
But they must have
just been too tired to rebuild, and left to join their family. If they had been
trapped in the fire, we would have heard screams or found bodies or something.
The only thing I heard that night was a "Whompf", like the sound of
an old hard-covered book being closed.
I had to move on
myself - it was still a nice place, but things just didn't feel right.
Everything was made out of paper, or nothing had any color, or it was all in
two dimensions, or one of the other metaphors we use to deal with loss. It was time to go.
I remember one of
Agnes's stories. I didn't tell you about her, did I? She was always the
storyteller. Either to a big crowd after a weekend meal, or just chatting with
you while doing something with her hands.
This time it was
sewing - Embroidering - and she sat down while I was finishing my coffee that
day.
"You don't hear
the name Agnes much these days" She said. "Time were, every young man
with a horse and buggy….Do kids still know what horse carriage is these
days?"
I nodded as she
mumbled to herself, 'Of course they do, that hasn't happened yet."
"As I was
saying, every young man was hoping to catch the eye of Agnes McGillicutty, and
maybe her hand"
"Why Ms.
McGullicutty, had quite a few gentleman callers, did you?"
"What? Why are
you calling me -- No, that wasn't me. The point of my story was that things
change. Take this old place here. Lot of rooms. Even more stories. But if you
stay in one room too long, if you stay in one story too long, you'll miss the
rest of the tales. You have to know when it's time to move on.
I woke up
remembering that story from back when. And then I remembered that I had never
heard that story before, at least not before the fire.
And that's when I
saw I still had the old sign from the Inn's front door.
"Welcome. We're
Open! And stay as long as you need."