January 13th, 2013

I'm at an in-door water park. The voice of a TV news anchor narrates (though not the entire time). I'm with a group of people that includes my wife. I turn to her and mention how exciting it is to be at this particular water park. We had been on vacation and I found this place on a map and we immediately made it our next destination. It's located somewhere in northern Florida. The news anchor's voice says, "Tonight, we take an inside look at a local water park that has become popular, but just take a look at what these two expert water park goers experience." Although I'm not physically with them on the slide, I merge with them and see water rushing down a flume and a very small pool at the bottom surrounded on all sides by a wall. We rush down and I grow terrified for a moment, but the experts maneuver safely down. The anchor again, "Does this look like a place you should take your family? We've heard dozens of reports of injuries and other unsafe conditions."

I'm back in my body and standing with my wife and friends again. We're in a long line in a corridor connecting two major sections of the water park. We're headed for the river rapids, which are down a huge flight of steps. Behind us, a woman and her sister tend a large group of children I presume are theirs. A tiny boy runs ahead. He's wearing blue swim trunks and a white T-shirt. His mother shouts, "Jimmy, you get back here!" But the boy ignores her and keeps running. She doesn't go after him. I watch him run into the stairwell and I grow deeply worried because there is a 40 foot drop to the floor below to the left of the stairs, and there is no railing. The boy hops down about ten steps and then leaps over the side. 

~News anchor: And you won't believe what happens when this man helps a little boy who's drowning.~

I cringe and expect that he will break both of his legs. But he's miraculously okay and just keeps running along. I now see a man-made river. It's blue and narrow and the water is calm, barely moving. The mother is shouting again and I run down the steps after the boy. I jump over the side as he does, with my kayak under my arm (everyone must ride on a kayak). Jimmy is now on the other side of the river and I'm terrified he'll jump in and drown. He does jump in the moment the park ride we're now on gets in motion (it's a river rapids ride that runs through cycles when it's calm so that folks can get safely into the water). The water is getting rough and Jimmy has serious trouble staying above the water. His mother is screaming. I jump in and dip the bow of the kayak under him and try to lift him up. The mother shouts, "You better not hurt my son!" Although he's now on the kayak, I have trouble keeping him above water and he is having trouble breathing. The waves increase. I finally am able to scoop him up and drop him on the bank of the river (which is a blue, spongy substance). The boy hops away. I get in line for the next attraction. The mother catches up with us and gives me hell for hurting her boy.

~News anchor: Instead of being grateful, this mother reams out the very man who saved her son's life.~

The dream cuts to a basketball court where I'm working with my "shooting" coach. I try to take a shot, but drop the ball and go into the next room where I place my head on a table in dejection. The coach shouts at me from the court. Another coach comes up to me and I tell him about the events at the water park and that I cannot play basketball anymore because I'm disturbed over the events. He tries to soothe me.

2nd Dream

Purchased a city apartment with a chapel in the center.

3rd Dream

Sharing a room with my brother. Wake up and want to close and lock all the windows to keep Al Capone out.

Will try to flesh out the second and third dreams as they return to me.

January 10, 2013

A hurricane far worse than Sandy struck the eastern seaboard. The darkened town seemed lifeless. When light returned, we all wondered how many others survived. We felt the whole world had experienced this hurricane. All we could do was wait for news from other towns, other states. We lived in a world suspended between what had been normal the day before, and the wrecked landscape that now stared at us.

I'm living in a large, one-story structure that has an open floor plan. Lots of folks are milling about. I don't recognize any of them, but I seem to know them nonetheless. Another man and I need to have an operation (I get the feeling we were injured during the hurricane). We're told we need to inject ourselves with a sedative. I roll up my right sleeve and search my arm for a good vein. Lots of blue veins stand out on my arm. I'm reluctant, though, to stick myself with a needle. The other man feels the same. We wipe our forearms with cotton balls saturated in alcohol and then wander from room to room, asking folks who pass  us to inject us with this sedative. The first few who pass ignore us. A man wearing a white lab coat agrees. He jabs my arm next to a large vein. He then tells me to hold still and he inserts the needle above the left side of my mouth. He asks me to turn my head, I do and I cringe as he jabs the syringe into my neck.

He's finished and I feel the sedative working. I grow increasingly more relaxed and sleepy.

I awaken from having the operation (no idea what part of me was operated on) and need to urinate. I enter a large bathroom filled with urinals and stalls. All the urinals and toilets have yellow sticky notes on them saying, "Do not use." I understand that they're not working due to the hurricane.

I find a dental chair with a toilet built into it. The chair is for disabled people and allows them to urinate or defecate without having to get up during dental procedures. This is where I urinate.

January 9th, 2013

My friends, immediate family and I are having a picnic at a lake. We're in the grassy area where the tables are. No one knows about the lake. I discover it while taking a trip to the bathroom. It's a large lake with a calm, iridescent surface. Diving in is bliss. I discover a shack where the owner of the lake/picnic facility lives. He's an older man (in his mid to late 60s). He's tall and has got a thick, grey-white mustache. He proceeds to tell me he and his buddies invented the 1960s. This, of course, makes perfect sense to me. I return to the others and tell them about the man I met who invented the '60s. I also invite them to dive into the lake. This seems like a spiritual rite of some kind. At the very least, I lead people to the lake so that they can find bliss...it feels nice.

I'm on a city street near the picnic / lake area. A twelve year old African American boy comes starts harassing me. He seems to be "acting tough" for his friends, who form a semi-circle like a small audience. The kid is giving me a hard time for being a white guy. He seems to think that I'm racist because I'm white. His father arrives. This man is a huge, muscular black man with dreadlocks. I realize he could beat the piss out of me with just his pinky and I grow frightened. But we quickly recognize each other and he gives me a huge bear hug. Turns out we used to work together when I was in high school. The two of us and his son get into the man's old Chevy Impala. He says he knows where the lake is and will return me to it, but we keep driving down this long city street, past old buildings--we pass a roller coaster too--but he seems to have forgotten where it is. I suddenly find myself driving the man's box truck--the one he uses for his business (not sure what his business is), and one identical to the one we used to drive when we worked together years before. The brakes are incredibly squishy and I'm deeply concerned about my safety and the man's safety (he's not with me, but I'm worried that he'll get into an accident if he doesn't get the brakes fixed).

I finally make it back to the picnic / lake area. I go back into the shack where the '60s guy lives. A bunch of his old friends are milling about. One of them shows me a bunch of guestbooks from various decades. He hands me one that's quite old and looks more like it's from the 1860s than the 1960s. I flip through it and see that it's a scrapbook. The man points to one of the first pictures and tells me that was taken the day the '60s started. The image is of the same shack I'm standing in now, but the owner of the lake and about six of his buddies are there. They're clearly a bunch of drunk college kids just laying around working off their collective buzz. The next images I must censor due to their graphic nature--I'll humbly ask the reader to use her own imagination here.

I return to the banks of the lake where people are diving into the yellow-green rainbow.

From January 8th, 2013

My wife and I are getting married. We, and all the guests, are in an old village somewhere in western Europe. The ceremony must have already taken place, because we're outside at an enormous banquet table. The reception is being held outside in a graveyard. The long, narrow table is in the center, tombstones run parallel to the table on either side, their rounded tops match the shape of the backs of the chairs. A stream runs through the center of the graveyard, sometimes running under the table, and sometimes weaving between tombstones. There are also a few puddles of standing water, brownish in color.

One of the guests, a tall woman, looks at some children drinking out of the stream, "That's fine, but they should not drink from the puddles because those go deeper into the ground--that water may have mixed with the bodies beneath us." I agree that we should only drink from the flowing stream.

I see mountains far off on the horizon perpendicular to the banquet table. My parents, my new wife, my in-laws, my siblings, and I walk across a vast, barren plain toward the mountains. At the foot of the mountain range is an enormous tree. Its roots grow along the surface of the ground and they're like large, smooth arms. A waterfall cascades down from the heights of the mountain, flows over two enormous, arm-like roots, and continues across the plain where it feeds the stream that runs through the graveyard. We all climb the massive tree.

12/26/12 Apocalypse

Last night's narrative...

A plague is spreading on the east coast (U.S.). Simply touching the infected (which are both human and canine) is enough to become infected. It's a typical zombie/vampire-like scenario with one difference: the survivors are at war against each other. I'm traveling with people whom I trust. We make our way through broken buildings, rubble-strewn streets, and climb cyclone fences--the only thing to do seems to be to travel; stay on the move.

Day is marked by an increase in light, but the sky is filled with dark green smog--so day is an extended twilight; at night: total darkness.

We engage in various battles that involve avoiding the zombies and attacking the rivals. Both sides try to trick the other into places infested by zombies. (These fight sequences are fading fast now that I'm awake.)

A vivid dream memory:

We are navigating our way through the first floor of an enormous house. I am in the middle-back of the group. One of the folks in front of me turns and shouts, "Code gray!" We're in a narrow hallway--the walls are dirty. A small white dog comes toward us. It shows signs of the zombie plague. We must not let it touch us. I have a short stick in my hand and I begin hitting the dog with it. This is a vivid sequence and I recall feeling just horrible over having to do this. Because the stick is not very large, it takes multiple blows for the dog to die. Each time I hit it, blood appears on its white fur and it groans, but keeps moving. I continue striking it until it stops moving--it lays in a bloody heap on the floor. I feel both relief and disgust.

We move on...

The rest of the dream has faded, but I will expand if any of it comes back to me.

December 22, 2012

Four dreams from last night...

1st

My wife and I saw a small white dog--a cute thing with curly cotton fur--

wandering the neighborhood,

"Is that Chips?"

I wonder the same thing--Chips was a dog owned by neighbors who moved

about six months ago,

"I think it is!"

We go to him.

I hold him firmly

so he cannot get away.

"This can't be Chips," and then I add,

"I just can't believe they would leave him here."

"Check his tags. See if it says his name."

He has three tags--two green, square tags that

list the vaccinations he's had and when.

The third tag is a large, red heart.

His name is not Chips.

2nd

I am driving with my mother in the Pine Barrens of South Jersey.

I want to take her to see the family land in Atco.

(This is something we used to do occasionally when the family

still owned this bit of forest.)

We're driving on a dirt road through a thick pine forest.

We pass tracts of land and homes every two hundred

feet or so; the homes are ordinary--they're nestled in the trees.

Ahead appears an industrial complex. It's about three stories tall,

square, and rusted. Mom insists that the family land is there,

next to the complex.

"No, that's a sewage treatment plant, mom. Our land is nowhere

near that place." The smell is overwhelming. Raw, brown sewage

pours out of pipes and flows in a stream in front of the plant.

I turn left.

The road is flooded, but cars drive through the deep water.

We watch as a small black sedan turns in front of us

down a road on the right. It drives through water

that seems too deep for the car to pass. I expect

the engine to fail. But the car makes it,

and so we follow it.

3rd

A few friends of mine and I are living in a forest hideout

with a violent mafia...or perhaps it was more like a militia--

they're a disheveled bunch: dirty and unshaven.

My friends and I are undercover, trying to help expose the militia.

We're asked by someone I believe is the boss or leader to go

on a "hunt" to find traitors to assassinate. I remember

feeling hopeful that this would be the moment we would

arrest the group--before they can do more harm.

The "hunt" takes us over vast distances, through towns

and cities across the globe. We spend a lot of time

traversing Japan. The leader, Joe, walks ahead of us with

Rob. One man in our group tells me, "Joe is glad

that Rob dropped his quest for Enlightenment."

I am not convinced that Rob dropped his quest.

We're lead to a Zen Buddhist temple. As we enter the temple,

I see a couple of people sitting cross-legged on the other side

of a screen. The screen is about a foot above the ground, which

is why I can see them. I look in through the foot-high gap

and fake disinterest, "Nothing there."

We continue to another temple. We enter the meditation hall and see

that it is filled with monks who are in the midst of a retreat.

The teacher sits on cushions on the center of the wall to my left;

he has an enormous head, a thin beard, and wears a

navy blue teacher robe. He looks at me as though he's

perplexed as to why I'm there, but he does not get up or

say a word. I walk to the back of the meditation hall and

sit cross-legged on a square cushion. I am directly

opposite the teacher. The head monk gets up and shows various objects

to the group. A few monks try to respond to the head monk,

but he rejects each of their statements.

He holds up a medium-sized bronze bell.

I say, "Ring it without striking it."

He nods and then sits down.

I'm clearly interested in staying with the monks,

but I fake disinterest so that I don't blow my cover

with the mafia/militia. I get up and return to the group,

which is standing near the entrance way.

Suddenly, I see a floor board that is much lighter in color

than the other floor boards. I remove the light-colored board

and reach my hand down. I reach deeply under the floor

searching for something--I have no idea what.

I feel a dirt floor and begin digging.

The mafia/militia are hopeful,

but I find nothing and we continue on.

We're back in the U.S.--we're in a forest again.

My friends and I secretly communicate with the FBI

and help set up a sting operation--our task

is to lead the mafia/militia to a specific location
where we'll arrest them.

We rejoin the group and take a walk with Joe and Rob.

Joe has gray stubble on his face.

His clothes are old and dirty.

He tells us he'll shoot anyone in the face, and I shudder.

4th

I'm living in a post-apocalyptic world:

once majestic cities are reduced to rubble

and twisted steel beams.

Thick, gray clouds block out the sun.

It's impossible to avoid dirt.

I'm traveling with three others--one man and two women.

One woman tells us she had a dream that she betrayed a friend.

We travel far and wide over this blasted landscape--

mainly just trying to survive.

We come to an enormous dome that collapsed, but

still maintained it's basic shape.

It's made of enormous steel beams that once

held large panes of glass.

The woman who had had the dream of betrayal

slices the other woman across the belly with her sword,

blood pours from the woman's belly and she looks

at her attacker with a confused expression.

The man with whom we're traveling encourages

the attacker--"Do it!" he shouts.

The attacker then lifts part of the dome

like it's the trunk of an enormous car,

and kicks the woman she cut down into a deep pit

that is the footprint of the dome.

I continue on with the group,

but suddenly my POV changes. I'm now

seeing the betrayed woman in the pit under the fallen dome--

I'm not with her, I'm just seeing her as though through a camera.

She's standing, holding her belly, but otherwise physically fine.

Then she says, "Above or below the earth, you cannot escape my wrath."

December 18th, 2012

Two Dreams...

The first is simple, I'm eating steak and enjoying it. (Note: I haven't eaten steak in about ten years.)

The second dream...

Two thugs--
and I do mean thugs; the stereo-typical skinny,
muscular, dirty wife-beater-wearing, short haired, guys--
tossed me into a dirty motel room.
I lay on the floor in a heap where I had fallen.
They began throwing food at me:
1/4 pound of Provolone cheese
sausage
tomato sauce in a small container
a torpedo roll
human flesh.
One thug pointed at me,
"Now, eat that or we're gonna' come back
and kill you!"
The two left and slammed the door.
The door was huge, made of metal plates
riveted together
and painted pale blue.
I began shouting and heard voices at the door;
thinking the two thugs had returned, I
grew defiant as I shouted.
I opened the door and my family entered the room:
mom, dad, sis, bro, and my wife.
I showed them what the thugs had given me,
and told them what I was supposed to do.
I held up the human flesh.
It looked like a large summer sausage
with deep crevices--like thick tree bark.
"Do we even know if this is real?
I mean, if it's just chicken, I'll eat it."
But if it were actual human flesh,
eating it would mess me up for life--so I feared.
One of them--I think it was my brother--had
the idea of cutting the flesh into deli-sized slices.
We did that, examining each piece carefully,
sniffing them, wondering if it were chicken or pork
or anything besides human.