Dreams
I have given up everything and have bought a cottage in the remote Outer Hebrides. The cottage is beautiful and sits in a ridge and over-looking the ocean. When I arrive, you are already there. You have given up everything and have come there to live with me. We must be start new lives because the world will judge us for loving each other. You are in a green flowing dress with bold embroidery and are wearing a flowery crown. I am naked and walking around the house with a hammer, pulling up floor-boards. You follow me and stand there as I pull up floor-boards to discover things hidden underneath: empty liquor bottles, pills, cash, guns, knives, body parts, rotten food, bones….
You guide me to another room and cover me with a long tartan cloak. You say, “This is better room. Pull up the floor-boards here.” Under the floor I find diamonds, gold, beautiful fabrics, books, music CD’s. I stand up and throw open the cloak and all my tattoos have become wildly colorful and are vibrating. I notice also that my foreskin had grown back. I collapse onto the floor and cry from joy. You kneel down and stroke my head.
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I dreamed last night that I was in bed sleeping and you woke me up, standing up over me naked and painted completely gold. I opened the bed-covers and asked you to lay down on top of me. You said, “But you will get gold all over you.” I said, “I want to.” You laid down on top of me.
We are in the bedroom of our cottage on the coast and a storm is howling outside. I am undressing in front of you as you sit naked on the bed smiling at me. As I undress, we see that I am covered in bruises. You kiss each one as I point to it. They fade by half. When I am fully naked, you pull back the blanket and invite me in. We lay together, you with your head on my chest and my arm around you. You whisper, “You will heal, but the bruises will stay forever.” That brings me a sense of peace.
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First dream:
I have single-handedly built a house for myself to live in. Before I can move in, the city building inspector must come look things over. He arrives and we walk around my house as he inspects the plumbing, the electrical wiring, the foundation…everything. He points out the mistakes I made with everything. We walk outside and stand on the sidewalk. He says, “You can’t live here. It’s unsafe. You must tear this house down and rebuild it. If you insist on building it again by yourself, I suggest that this time you consult with some experts.” He added, “I will say, however, that you have excellent taste in furnishings and art.”
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Second dream:
My cat is rustling around behind the couch. I pull the couch back and there are hundreds of cock-roaches crawling around. I shoo the cat away and call an exterminator. She arrives quickly, a very tall buxom red-head in a green uniform. I take her insecticide can away from her and am going to spray the bugs myself. She tackles me and lays on top of me lengthwise. Her big boobs cover my ears so that I can’t hear very well. She takes my hands in hers and we spray the bugs together, killing them all. As we are doing this, she is humping me.
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I develop a technology that allows you to step into your television and travel through to my television and step into my living room. The catch is that you can never travel more than than 25 feet away from my television or you will disintegrate. So, we meet in this way often and visit together, have dinner, make love, read and so on. Then every night you go back home on the other side of the world. On one visit, we are making love and it gets very intense and acrobatic. Your feet get outside of the 25 feet boundary and they start to disintegrate. I quickly pull your feet back and while they are still whole, they have turned bright red. I say, “Oh, that red is permanent then. You will have red feet for the rest of your life.” You reply, “That’s all right…my feet are beautiful this way.”
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I have engaged the services of a professional dominatrix. I go to her dungeon to be worked over. I get there, undress and she ties me to a big wooden cross to be flayed and receive cock and ball torture. She looks vaguely familiar and seems to be my age. The Dominatrix inserts a huge padlock into my frenum piercing, stretching my cock down to my knees. She starts to flay me with a cat of nine tails, making me bleed. She grabs me by the chin, kisses my lips, looks into my eyes and with a look of recognition, bursts into tears and immediately ages 20 years. I then recognize her: It is a High School classmate, K.B. She is suddenly embarrassed and hurriedly gets dressed and is transformed into an El Greco version of the Virgin Mary. She takes me down from the cross, lays me in a claw-foot bathtub and washes my wounds.
K.B. made my life a living hell for 2 years in High School. She was a Christian Minister’s daughter, very pretty and head cheerleader. She hounded me for two years, shaming me in public and telling me that I would burn in hell for being “perverted” and an Atheist. Her boyfriend routinely bullied me, threatened me and twice beat me up (it stopped when my father confronted and beat up his father). Our Senior year of school, K.B. got pregnant and disappeared from our small town for a year. K.B. recently found me on facebook and sent me a friendly message and made no mention of her past behavior toward me. I have not responded.
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I am house-sitting for two rich friends K. and R. who live in a very swank San Francisco penthouse apartment. I am there with them as they are leaving, suitcases in hand. K., who is a tall beautiful Vietnamese/White women tells me that they will have to lock me in to the apartment for the whole two weeks. I hang out for a while, naked, eating all their ice-cream, masturbating, watching TV…..
People start to appear in the apartment. They are my relatives and people from my childhood. My relatives are somewhat exaggerated versions of themselves, but based somewhat in truth: barefoot toothless hillbillies, biker-trash, trailer-park dwellers…wild animals roams about, vegetation starts growing from the floors, someone is roasting a pig. A hillbilly bacchanal starts complete with fiddle-players and buck-dancers. A moonshine still appears and my Cherokee Great-Grandmother is doing a rain-dance. I am mortified and terrified about what is happening to the apartment and how K. and R. will react.
K. and R. return home. K. is now a really hot platinum-haired andro Lesbian and R. is in drag. K. yells at me and for a while, but eventually she and R. relax and join the party. K. says, “This is the best thing that could have ever happened to us all!” The dream ends there.
Analysis.
I think this dream shows progression from some of my insecurities to self-acceptance. While I live the life of a professional in San Francisco, I am acutely aware of my “lower-class” Southerns origins. And, while I am by no means rich and live pay-check to paycheck and own nothing of monetary value, my life is vastly different from that of my relatives. For example, I am the first person in my family to attain a college degree. For a long time I felt acutely aware of my origins while in more “cultured” San Francisco settings such as museums, concerts or nice restaurants and felt some fear that I would be “outed” for who I really am. For a long time I disguised my Southern accent. K. & R. are aspects of me. In this dream everything comes together,my past and my present. I do not need to feel shame.
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Last Night’s Nightmare
Bachmann/Palin win the 2012 election. Obama is exiled to Kenya. Libraries and yoga studios are burned. The only books allowed are the Bible (a reverse Jefferson Bible, with only the hateful parts left in — none of that “Love thy Neighbor” stuff) and the works of Ayn Rand. I am woken up in the middle of the night and taken to a concentration camp where Psychotherapists are trained and forced to convert homosexuals to being straight. I am standing in a line and told to pass back our uniforms, a boxy Mao-suit with a smiley face embroidered on it. As I turn back, I see that Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung are standing behind me.
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I am driving down a Tennessee country road in the 1974 VW Beetle that I had in college. It is night and raining. The headlights do not work. I am scared. On the AM radio is my my mother who is hosting a fundamentalist Christian talk-show. She is reading listener letters and saying all kind of judgmental shit. I am hoping that she reads my letter that I wrote to her telling her than I am a good person and don’t deserve her judgments. She ends the program without reading my letter and says that anyone who is not a conservative Christian and a Tea Party Republican should burn in hell.
The sun comes up and the rain stops. I stop the car at a toy store. I walk in and go to the section where infants are on shelves to be sold. I choose a naked bald-headed hazel eyed boy (that’s what I looked like as a child). I take him up the register and a tall-haired check out lady with rhinestone cat-eye glasses says, “Good choice, Sir! There will be no charge. I take him to my car and strap him into the seat. I think, “oh no. I need to get diapers.” I leave him in the car and go back in for diapers. When I get back out to the car, the boy is now me at age 16 and naked. He has a huge erection. I am embarrassed and take off my shirt and cover him up with it. I get into the car and drive off. He turns on the radio and it is playing classical music.
Analysis
In this dream I see a reflection of my progress from many of the issues I have overcome as a result of all my hard work and recovery. Driving the car is me moving though all the bad shit in my early life (the rain, darkness), all the abuse my mother inflicted upon me. Her judgements and the judgments of my culture of origin are in that radio show. I want her approval and do not get it, but I keep moving nonetheless toward recovery and healing. The sun comes through and I start to see possibility. The infant I “buy” is me and I get to heal my wounded inner child. He is perfect and beautiful and naked — my true nature underneath all the abuse and my own past self-abuse. The check out lady is a Spirit Guide and represents some of my “outsider” cultural interest well. I worried that I will perpetuate all my old baggage by shitting in my car (my journey, again), but I do not. The naked 16 year old with the erection is me at the stage when I begin to fully come into my own and explore my sexuality. By covering up his/my erection, I can see that perhaps some of my issues are still not resolved, that I still have some internalized homo/bi-phobia or shame left. I drive on and continue my journey. The classical music represents the beauty and freedom I am moving towards and stands in contrast to my mother’s hateful talk show. I feel so happy about this dream’s message.
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I dreamed last night that I was randomly shot in the head while walking down the street, I survived and it unlocked my God Gene. I was omniscient, sitting in in my hospital bed, telling reporters how the Universe began, the history of humanity and how we evolved….I spoke every language. I held back telling the world what the purpose of life on earth was because I did not fully understand it full yet. The world came to a stand-still because of me, all wars stopped, priests and imams burned down Churches, Mosques and Temples and all places of Theistic worship, laughing at the absurdity of it all. I watched all this on TV in the hospital. Suddenly, CIA agents were at my bedside. Shit.
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I am hanging around with the Dalai Lama playing guitars, drinking Jack Daniels straight out of the bottle and smoking pot. His Holiness is wearing a red visor (which annoyed me) and is playing my very first electric guitar I had when I was 7: a red Fender Mustang. His amp catches on fire and he kicks it over to reveal the back. Flames are shooting out and he pours the whiskey on it on put out the flames. This only makes matters worse. I grab a nearby plate of cocaine and douse the flames with that. The Dalai Lama says, “Well, let’s knock this shit off and go meditate.” We get up, open a door and walk into an elaborate Tibetan temple toward some meditation cushions.
I woke up upset and drenched in sweat. i am sober, in recovery, and occasionally have using dreams. When I woke up I felt hungover, incredibly guilty, and could taste the pot and Jack Daniels. This quickly passed when I reflected on how the dream ended. While I am not a devotee of the Dalai Lama, I do admire him. I am mystified as to what this dreams means exactly. I does however follow the progress of my recovery: drug/alcohol use, flirting with spirituality, stupid behavior, then relative peace.
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I dreamed last night that my heart was taken out and replaced with an artificial heart. The surgeon said that my real heart was defective. I went on walk with someone up a hill but could only walk slowly because the artificial heart was weak. The woman I was walking with told me that the surgeon lied and that there was nothing wrong with my real heart. She also said that the batteries would eventually run out on my artificial heart.
That day I spoke harshly, out of extreme frustration, to someone I love. I felt rotten, so wretched and guilty even though I apologized profusely and they forgave me. So, I think I felt that something is really wrong with me, with my heart, and it needs replacing. But, the woman in the dream told me that there was nothing wrong with my heart and she is right. It’s just my behavior that needs fixing.
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I am dragged out of bed by several shadowy people who place a thin rope around my neck and knot it at the back. I am pushed out of the shack I am l in and into a foggy and completely treeless landscape. I trudge along, shoved by the men behind me. I try to look and see the men, but can only see vague outlines of long gray hooded robes. We turn right and I can see the ramshackle shack, my home. The men push me on through damp squishy ground. I look down and see my feet that are clad in short boots. The words “peat bog” keeps repeating in my head. I am wearing a leather cap that falls from my head and onto the ground. An arm reaches down, picks up the hat and pushes in roughly onto my head. In the distance, in the heavily fogged and treeless landscape I can see a dark rectangle on the ground. I know it is a grave, my grave. We walk toward and it as I struggle to see the men behind and I start to se them more clearly, their coarse-woven gray hood robes obscuring their faces. I am terrified. We reach the grave and stand there. I feel the noose tightening.
Analysis
I have had versions of this dream about 5 times, each time with more detail. The dream has progress up to the point where I am standing at the grave. I am a man about to be killed or sacrificed. I believe in the dream that I am the Tollund Man. When I first saw a photograph of Tollund man, I was moved by it and stared at the photograph for an hour. It resonated deeply with me and I read all I could about him. I don’t know if maybe I feel like I am a reincarnation of Tollund Man, or perhaps the image of him and the speculative story about him has entered by subconscious. I am very interested in the phenomenon of natural mummification, of people buried in circumstances that cause unintentional mummification due to particular soil conditions.
http://atlasobscura.com/place/tollund-man
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On the eve of my birthday, I dreamed that I was on a train. I moved from box-car to box- car as the train sped through the mountains, passing through tunnels and steep mountain passes. I went through perhaps 4 box cars, each one filled with different things. One car had piles of rotting garbage that I had to step over to get to the next car. The next car had piles of coal which I had to kick aside to move on to the next car. It had weapons and ammunition stacked to the ceiling. I burst into the final car and there lay my father, sitting up in his death-bed with my mother sitting in a chair beside him. The walls of box car were decorated floor to ceiling with elaborate religious iconography, framed in gold and silver. Gold, silver and bronze artifacts were piled everywhere. Gemstones and gold coins littered the floor. Stacks of cash lay scattered on the bed. My mother got up and motioned for me to sit down. I looked at my father, took his hand and he said to me, “All of this is yours, Son, and not just the beautiful and valuable things — the trash and the coal and the weapons too.” He then died, smiling. The dream ended there.
When I awoke, I realized that I was now the age m father was when he died. My father died young.
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I was with a woman for two years in San Francisco. I loved her more than life itself. She was a poet. She left me and moved back to New York because her parents would have never accepted me. This what I dreamed after the last time I saw her before she left.
I had fallen asleep in the middle of the day. I awoke at dusk and went for a walk in our neighborhood. There were people everywhere, panicking, fighting car-crashes, pandemonium….I grab a crazed man who was staggering by and ask him what the hell is going on. He said, “The Moon has abruptly left the Earth’s orbit. The oceans will no longer have tides and women will no longer menstruate!” I walked on and into a local deli. The owner, a kind old Palestinian man, with tears running down his face handed me a sandwich and a transistor radio. I continued my walk, looking up into the moonless sky, eating my sandwich and listening to the radio. People were jumping off of buildings and hitting the sidewalk in front of me as I walked along. On the radio station news, a commentator was giving a history of he Moon, saying that when the Moon came into earth’s orbit from another galaxy, human civilization began because poetry was born at that moment. Now, the commentator said, civilization would decline because there would be no more poetry. I walked on, crying.
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V,
I had a wonderful dream about you last night. I’ll write it out in the present tense so I can re-live it.
I walk up some steps and into to a huge and beautifully decayed Victorian house. I push open the door and inside there are many beautiful people, in various states on undress, dancing and chanting, some ecstatically and some slowly and methodically. Some people are meditating. The light is dim, candles are burning and the air is thick with incense smoke. I wander from room to room; each room full of rich and vivid color, decorated with antiques, rugs, tapestries, and beautiful objects d’art. People seem to be in a blissful state of worship. I am searching for someone and I am thinking, “mother, sister, daughter, woman…” I walk up stairs and push open a door to a bedroom. Everything turns black and white. The bedroom is sparsely furnished with a very high four-post bed draped in gauze. I push aside the fabric and there you are lying on the bed. It is as if I have stepped inside that beautiful black and white if you lying back on some pillows, your exquisite breasts bare. You gaze at me placidly as I undress and climb into the bed with you. We kiss deeply and you look me in the eyes and say, “feed.” I then have sex with you while you remain still. I enter you with my penis for a while but don’t thrust. I kiss and lick every inch of your body and suck at your divine breasts. I then spend a long time with my face between your legs, drinking your essence, breathing you in, lovingly eating your divine womanhood. I feel as if I am worshiping you, servicing you, performing a ceremony. I am receiving communion and a gift. I look up and you smile beatifically at me, your face glowing. The dream ends there and I wake up. All day long I felt at peace, more than I have in a long time. I seemed to glide all day and was especially present, loving and compassionate in all my interactions. Thank you for sending me this beautiful dream-gift.
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I am hanging out at Justin Timberlake’s house, playing with guns. There is a flash flood. We hear the cries of kittens and decide that we need to rescue them. The kittens are in the back yard and the waters are rising rapidly. We pull some rain-gear on and start to leave the house. Justin stops me and says, “Dude, wait. Let me look on my iPhone Wikipedia app how to take care of kittens first!”
Oh Justin. So beautiful and talented, but so fucking stupid.
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Dream from last night
I dreamed briefly last night about my first girlfriend. She gets out of a car, as she appears today, quite the Memphis Society Matron, very pregnant in a shiny Empire-waited brocade party gown with an enormous bow in her massive hot-rolled hair. She starts yelling at me to get her bags out of the trunk and take them into the house. She has come to live with me because the child is mine.
In real life, she was the first woman I had sex with and we were together for a year. I was 17 and she was 25. She ended up pregnant and had an abortion after a lot of drama and emotional upset for both of us. Turns out the zygote was not mine. I had been away for 2 weeks and she cheated on me one time with her ex-boyfriend. She was sure that she got pregnant from that encounter. Years later I had sex with the guy, not knowing who he was until afterward. Cool story, bro….