First nightmare, a food safari, and single again

11:30pm bedtime.

“Alienation Nightmare” © 1996 by Sabu

3:45am – I am in bed watching an engrossing but creepy documentary. It begins mildly enough, but in the first few minutes it becomes apparent that this is not a pleasant video. There is cerebral violence and profound sadness here. I had put this DVD in to watch while following along with a manuscript, which I had in my hand, and in my own handwriting.

The details of the DVD are hazy now, but there is a lot of strong and dark emotion, and my notes, of course, coincide with that same dark theme. As the DVD plays and I read along intently, Teresa comes in, apparently having been talking to other loved ones outside about me. She is concerned about the content of the DVD and about my state of mind.

I point to a place in the manuscript of significant emotional anguish, and I tell her that I am not ready to let go of these feelings. Besides, I have no choice. It’s all here in the script. It’s all here in my life. I can’t escape it. I realize that the manuscript is my dream journal, and the DVD is a recording of my dreams.

This is a nightmare, the first recalled since I began writing my dream journal. I realize, too, that it is a movie I have seen played before in previous dreams. I am drawn to it. Morbidly riveted, actually.

I want to scream aloud to relieve my soul of the bottled feelings, but in doing so I know it will harm those around me, causing frightful confusion. They would never understand. Teresa leaves the room, sympathetic and understanding. She understands. She always understands. I release a huge silent scream of pain. My spine tingles with ice cold terror. This is a lonely journey, I realize. Sometimes terrifying.

[Major life changes are difficult, like divorce and leaving your children at an early age to be raised primarily by your ex and whomever she chooses to remarry. So much regret now that they are grown. This dream is a reflection of that regret, the fear of damage I have done, and for just being slow to commit to the hard work of transformation.]

I am now near a mall, walking on a sidewalk with shops to my right and a small thru-street to my left. I am rejuvinated, joyful, and happy. No weight of the world, no heaviness of heart, no feeling of deep sadness. I am carrying my dream journal.

Two dream characters, whom I am familiar with in real life [Ryan and his partner, David] pull up in their car. David is the passenger. I ask David if he would journal with me, so that I have someone to keep me motivated and accountable. Journaling is hard work, and it takes a great commitment to do it consistently and authentically.

“I would be delighted to write,” David said, “But my journal will be about politics.”

I am happy to hear that he will start to journal too. I am in such a great mood.

The car begins to pull away from the curb when I yell, “Stop!…”

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

“…. in the name of love… before you break my heart….” They laugh and drive away as I sing and tap my fingers to the motown beat. [I know these dream characters in waking life from my involvement with community theatre, so breaking out in song is not necessarily an odd thing to do.]

I am walking around several stores inside the mall complex, the last is a cosmetic store with four glass walls. [Teresa works at a cosmetic store in waking life, so that’s why they have ended up in my dreams, no doubt.] After a few minutes of pacing from one side to the other, I realize I cannot find an exit door. I am starting to feel claustrophopic in this rectagular glass box. Then, the clerk behind the counter, noticing my anxiety, reaches over and slides the door open for me. I thank her and leave.

Teresa is here. I am so glad to see her. She tells me she wants to go to two stores, both of which are upstairs. The clerk of one, another cosmetic store, was rude to her on the phone and refused to let her speak to a manager. She wants to find the manager and talk in person.

Here’s the challenge. Both stores are upstairs, and the only way to get up there is to cross a huge river of vegetable casserole and scale a wall, upstream, through of cascading fall of grean bean and potato soup. I make it across the casseroles to the soup falls without getting my shoes dirty, but this is where Teresa must go alone. I am not as motivated to go with her upstairs now.

Teresa, is covered in food as she attempts to hoist herself, amidst the opposing force of falling chunks of creamy potato and herb-laden green beans. She is a real mess, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I just watch in wonder.

[In waking life, Teresa is all about enjoying the journey of life. I tend to hold back with tentative reserve, while she just dives in and enjoys the adventure.]

7am – I am walking in an alley with a dream character that I don’t know. [I think she is a hybrid of several single women I dated when my fiance lived in Los Angeles, most of whom had children from a previous relationship.] I put my arm on her shoulder and realize that this is the beginning of our relationship. Her daughter comes running up from behind us and holds my hand. I sense that this DC (dream character) girlfriend is shy and nervous.

We make it to DCGF’s house, and by this time I am holding her sleeping child in my arms. DCGF’s parents are there, lying on the floor, apparently waiting for us to get home. I ask if DCGF’s daughter needs a nap.

“You’re so old fashioned,” she answers. “Kids don’t nap anymore.”

There is also a massive manhunt in the neighborhood. Police sirens are sounding, and the neighborhood kids are all outside, shooting each other with airsoft gunfire. Apparently there are fugitives hiding in one of the nearby houses.

[My fiance and I have been discussing, in waking life, the option of either having children of our own or adopting. I had a vasectomy after having four children during my first marriage. My age and the length of time since my vasectomy are factors that will affect the likelihood of success. Teresa has never been pregnant, and we would like to try for a baby. I have been doing research on vasectomy reversals, which has given me some anxiety. This is probably the reason I still dream, from time to time, about the thought of marrying someone who already has children of their own. All in all, I have no apprehension about my decision to begin this stage of life with Teresa. I will go with her to the ends of the world.]

Dreamsign Catalogue:

1. Inner awareness (0/4)

2. Action (4/15)

• I had put this DVD in to watch while following along with a manuscript, which I had in my hand, and in my own handwriting.
• I release a huge silent scream of pain.
• After a few minutes of pacing from one side to the other, I realize I cannot find an exit door. I am starting to feel claustrophopic in this rectagular glass box.
• DCGF’s parents are there, lying on the floor, apparently waiting for us to get home.

3. Form (2/14)

• I realize that the manuscript is my dream journal, and the DVD is a recording of my dreams.
• …and the only way to get up there is to cross a huge river of vegetable casserole and scale a wall, upstream, through of cascading fall of grean bean and potato soup.

4. Context (0/12)

Morphing orphans

The scene takes place in what may be something like my mother’s office, which is attached to a much bigger facility with several rooms and a kitchen. Several people are mulling about, preparing for what I later realize is dinner.

I am sitting comfortably in a La-Z-Boy® recliner, when several adults walk in the room with two little girls around age 2, a blonde Caucasian and an Asian. They are both dressed in onesie pajamas, the blonde in pink and the Asian in black. One of the caregivers carries the two girls over to me and seats them both on my lap. I understand that these are orphans in need of a home.

“What’s your name?” I ask the one to my left.

“Amanda,” the girl in pink answers.

“And what’s your name?” I ask the other.

“Amanda,” she says, smiling.

The blonde girl squirms to the floor, and the Asian morphs into an Asian boy around the age of 5. He is abnormally limber and performs several acrobatic tricks, the likes of which I had never seen. Everyone’s eyes are on the child as he twists and contorts and lands in a spectacularly articulated finale. Applause follows from the present onlookers.

The little boy approaches one of his caregivers and asks, “Will I ever die?”

The bewildered man says, “No… I don’t think so.” Uncertain of the proper response to such a question, the caregiver turns to me and asks, “Should I have told him yes?”

I begin to recount the story of young prince Siddhartha, and how his father carefully sheltered him from the knowledge of illness and death. Siddhartha’s first glimpse at the sight of a dying old man had a cataclysmic effect on his emotional well-being. I conclude, “Truth is best.”

I motion for the little boy to come to me. He spins and flips and stands in an impossible posture, his body behaving like elastic, expanding in length. Then he walks over to me.

“You have been given a great gift. Your body and mind can achieve many amazing and wonderful things. But there will come a day when you will no longer have this body. Most people get to keep their bodies for 70 to 100 years.”

Amanda, the blonde girl, comes in and asks me to talk about myself. “What would you like me to say?” I stand up, pick her up, and carry her into the kitchen, where my parents and others are preparing food, as she answers me by reciting a nursery rhyme all about me.

Dinner is ready. I pass the table of food and, still carrying the child, open the door to another room to check on my own kids, twin teenagers.

“Hey Dad,” Franklyn says, digging into a huge wheel of cheese. “Do you like Limburger?”

Dreamsign Catalogue:

1. Inner awareness (1/3)

• The scene takes place in what may be something like my mother’s office, which is attached to a much bigger facility with several rooms and a kitchen.

2. Action (1/8)

• she answered me by reciting a nursery rhyme all about me.

3. Form (3/7)

• The scene takes place in what may be something like my mother’s office, which is attached to a much bigger facility with several rooms and a kitchen.
• The blonde girl squirms to the floor, and the Asian morphs into an Asian boy around the age of 5.
• He spun and flipped and stood in an impossible conceivable posture, and his body behaved like elastic, expanding in length.

4. Context (1/7)

• “Hey Dad,” Franklyn said, digging into a huge wheel of cheese. “Do you like Limburger?”

WAKING NOTE:

I shared this dream with my fiancé. We had talked about possible adoption if I am not able to provide her with children. I had a vasectomy at age 26, after having 4 boys. Now, at 40, we are discussing options. Teresa mentioned that the content of the dream reminded her of a conversation she and I had with my mom on separate occasions. My grandmother is beginning to show signs of dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. My mother seems, for the first time in her life, to be waking up to the reality of death. Like her, I have never lost anyone close to me. My fiancé, on the other hand, who is only 25 years old, lost her father several years ago. Such a profound loss changes us. Without loss, there is no knowledge or experience.