Tell me your dreams

[SlaveMasterUK]

Following on from the sleeping thread, I thought I'd start something about dreams. They fascinate me.

I apologise if this has been done before, but I've been away for... quite some time.

I rarely remember my dreams these days. Sometimes the odd snippet will return to me throughout the day, a bit here and a bit there; I know there was always so much more but can never hold the thread long enough to remember it.

Sometimes I have nightmares though. Usually they're the only dreams I remember. To me, there's a very fine line between a nightmare and a nice dream - any dream can suddenly come bad these days, just as a bad dream can come good. For example, I used to have a recurring dream that I bunch of lads were after me, and no matter how many I knocked down more kept coming, until I was battered and bruised and near exhausted. Eventually I'd find out who was behind it all - a gorgeous cute little brunette, who by rights I should have been totally pissed off with, but for some reason it was love at first sight - and what was a nightmare suddenly becomes a romantic dream, the sort that sticks with you all day, the sort that makes you feel giddy and light-headed and just a little love-struck.

A long time ago, after I recovered from my first phase of depression, I learned how to control my dreams. I could catch a dream as it started, then steer it where I wanted it to go. Not happy with the company? Change them for someone more fitting to my desires. Not happy with the supermarket? Change it for a penthouse suite. Superb. I've mellowed out a little since then and I lost that skill quite some time ago, but still sometimes it's possible to steer a dream just a bit - if I realise it's a dream, that is.

I recently dreamt that I was dreaming. That was odd. I was having a nightmare, and I forced myself to wake up because I knew it was a nightmare. So I forced and I forced and I shouted "THIS IS JUST A DREAM!!" And I woke up - breathless and afraid, but I managed to calm down. It wasn't until quite some time later that I realised I was actually still dreaming.

I had another freaky dream recently - one of those dreams that seems real until you wake up, a dream that never gives itself away so that you believe everything is real and then get a shock when you finally open your eyes. I dreamt that I was trawling the web, and I found a site claiming to have various 3D animated porn movies for download. Now being well into the whole cyberbabe thing, I checked it out - I downloaded one that sounded just my style - a bit of enforced lesbianism, some humiliation, a lot of teasing and denial. Just as soon as I started watching, however, I realised in combined awe and horror that it was an animated version of Rhiana, my first erotic novella.

Now for those that don't recall, I was in a very dark place when I wrote Rhiana, and used it as a melting pot to put all the hate and darkness that I had swimming around in my mind. Having conquered that illness now, I find the story chills and frightens me, it disturbs me as much as it turns me on. The animator had used his artistic licence to put the film together; the characters didn't look much like my original design but they acted the way I envisaged they would; Rhiana behaved in exactly the way I had written, right down to the way she begged and cried when she was being humiliated. The story - my story - was so twisted that I wanted to turn it off, but found myself rooted to the seat, unable to move, unable even to swallow the hot, hard lump that had risen in my throat, choking my breath.

It's wierd, having a dream which is both seethingly arousing and hellishly terrifying at the same time.

I have so much more I could talk about, like the time I stopped dreaming completely, or the time I had a dream that lasted an entire summer and is the basis for a novel I intend to write one day... But I'm boring you now, so more of that later. It's your turn now. Join me, and describe your dreams...

ax

 

[dr_mabeuse]

SM--

Just curious as to whether you were taking any antidepressents when you learned to control your dreams, because many of these are known to affect dreaming.

I took effexor for a while, and it gave me very vivid dreams, and I almost always dreamt of crowds. It was the damndest thing. And people I know who've taken Prozac say that they experience unusually clear and memorable dreams.

---dr.M.

 

[LorriLove]

hiya

wouldn't dare tell my dreams honey, i'd get the site shut down

no just joking love, i never seem to remember my dreams, i know i've had one i remember flashes, but never the whole thing and within a day i can't even remember what the flashes were about.

i'm a noisy messy sleeper, the bed gets churned up, hubby loses all covering and i wake him with silly chatter, but it's all news to me in the morning.

am i nuts?

lorri xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

[dr_mabeuse]

In Castenada's Don Juan books, about a Yaqui Indian sorceror, one of the magical exercises involves finding your hands in your dream, just finding them and looking at them. I tried that for years without success.

Dreams are cool because they're entirely human. They have nothing to do with what's outside of us, the rules and laws of nature. They run by their own non-logic, where 1+1 hardly ever make two and effect doesn't follow cause.

---dr.M.

 

[Dirt Man]

I'm afraid that I rarely dream at all.

I sleep until I wake up. I'm awake until I get sleepy. Oh SHIT! This is a reality nightmare!


As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man

 

[Sshafer]

reply to dreams

I've had this dream off and on for some time. I park my car in a town i've never been in looking for a street number or something. I get out of the car and start walking down the side walk. I hear this slapping noise behind me like foot steps. I turn around there is a five foot duck standing there looking at me. I try to scare it away but it just looks at me. People walk up to me and tell me I have and nice looking duck. I tell them its not my duck they don't belive they just walk on. Every were I go this duck follows me. If I go into a store it waits for me to come back out. I cann't get rid of this duck. Then a cop comes up and tells me I have to have it on a leash or I'll get a fine. I tell him it's not my duck but he won't belive me. I ask him if he think it odd to see a five foot duck walking around town. He said no.
Any one think this dream is fuck up or is it just me?

 

[pixiesjuice]

I've only ever had one dream that bothered me, normally I don't remember any.

I am back in the small village where I grew up, outside my grandfathers house; it's the middle of the night and the moon is bright. There are at least ten of my family there and we join in a wide circle around a fire that is banked by smooth round stones. My grandfather is sitting directly opposite me and is the closest to the house, no-one speaks, the flames rise higher and higher and I am aware of a noise around us on the ground, I know it's a snake without seeing it. I try to get up, try to shout a warning but my grandfather silences me and tells me to sit back down and we hold hands till the snake disappears.

All the people in the circle with me in the dream were family members that passed away a number of years ago.

 

[SlaveMasterUK]

Dr.M, I've never actually been prescribed anti-depressants despite suffering from depression on two long-term occasions. When I learnt to control my dreams was when I was recovering the first time around during psycho-analytic counselling (or something like that).

I've often asked, during darker times, if there isn't something happening in our dreams that is beyond our understanding or reasoning. I'm not a superstitious person, but this rather vivid dream made me wonder:

About a year and a half before my recovery from my first phase of depression, I was very much in lust with a girl I worked with, but never seemed able to get to know her. She became the inspiration for a lot of my music, which was all stored on my PC.

One night I had a dream that I had gone on holiday with my workmates; the object of my affections had come with us as part of the crowd and we got to know each other and became very close. The dream was on the final day of our holiday and we'd elected to go shopping together, leaving our pals to go walking in the hills.

During our shopping trip I left the girl's side for a moment to pick up some photos or something from a camera shop; just as I was paying the clerk I heard a noise like a riot outside, then gunshots and bullets ricocheting from the walls. As I ran outside I saw my girl fall slowly backwards with two red marks on her chest and blood dripping from her lips.

I can still vividly recall cradling her in my arms and crying as the last of her life drained away, but even more vivid still, I can remember the looks on my friends faces as I returned alone to our holiday apartment. As I walked through the door they sat stunned, unable to look at me, afraid to say anything, as was I, as I stood in the doorway in silence.

And then I woke up.

The following morning I went to college and bought a computer game on my way home, put the disk in the drive, and watched as the PC crashed. Shrugging, I restarted the machine, to find that the disk had somehow caused a surge in the motherboard that had destroyed the hard disk and lost all the music that I had been working on, all inspired by the girl I had seen die in my dreams the night before.

ax

 

[Dirt Man]

Dr.M, I've never actually been prescribed anti-depressants despite suffering from depression on two long-term occasions. When I learnt to control my dreams was when I was recovering the first time around during psycho-analytic counselling (or something like that).

I've often asked, during darker times, if there isn't something happening in our dreams that is beyond our understanding or reasoning. I'm not a superstitious person, but this rather vivid dream made me wonder:

About a year and a half before my recovery from my first phase of depression, I was very much in lust with a girl I worked with, but never seemed able to get to know her. She became the inspiration for a lot of my music, which was all stored on my PC.

One night I had a dream that I had gone on holiday with my workmates; the object of my affections had come with us as part of the crowd and we got to know each other and became very close. The dream was on the final day of our holiday and we'd elected to go shopping together, leaving our pals to go walking in the hills.

During our shopping trip I left the girl's side for a moment to pick up some photos or something from a camera shop; just as I was paying the clerk I heard a noise like a riot outside, then gunshots and bullets ricocheting from the walls. As I ran outside I saw my girl fall slowly backwards with two red marks on her chest and blood dripping from her lips.

I can still vividly recall cradling her in my arms and crying as the last of her life drained away, but even more vivid still, I can remember the looks on my friends faces as I returned alone to our holiday apartment. As I walked through the door they sat stunned, unable to look at me, afraid to say anything, as was I, as I stood in the doorway in silence.

And then I woke up.

The following morning I went to college and bought a computer game on my way home, put the disk in the drive, and watched as the PC crashed. Shrugging, I restarted the machine, to find that the disk had somehow caused a surge in the motherboard that had destroyed the hard disk and lost all the music that I had been working on, all inspired by the girl I had seen die in my dreams the night before.

ax

And you didn't have your songs backed up somewhere else? No hard copy print outs?

As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man

 

[raphy]

I don't often remember my dreams, but I do know that last night I had a bizarre dream involving severed heads.

Go figure.

 

[shereads]

Severed heads...My god, you were there too?

 

[shereads]

I had a lot of terrible and guilt-inducing dreams during my dad's illness. After his death, they were worse, and I knew it was because I had encouraged my mother to have him removed from life support (he had suffered severe brain damage).

The dreams of having been responsible for his death became more and more disturbing, and I would sometimes wake up in tears or screaming...Until one night, after six weeks after my father's death, I dreamed that he joined me on my evening dog walk. The two of us just walked together, without a word spoken between us - but I felt him communicating something to me - a sense of peace, like a benediction.

I never had another guilty dream about his death. I mentioned the dream to my mother, and she told me about her own dream of him, which came at around the same time: she woke up and found him sitting on the edge of her bed, smiling peacefully at her, and the two of them held each other for a long time - again, no words were spoken. She said she could smell his after-shave, feel the flannel of the shirt he was wearing, feel the warmth of his body, as vividly as if he had been there in the room with her. And she knew he had come back to say goodbye, and to tell her that we had made the right decision in letting him go.

 

[raphy]

Severed heads...My god, you were there too?

Um... I'm pleading the fifth

 

[Mhari]

I have really really vivid dreams, almost every night. Very rarely nightmares, though, unless I'm feeling extremely stressed or trapped (in which case I generally have a dream of one of two types: trapped in an uncontrollable elevator (often flipping upside down and/or moving sideways) or being in an airplane doing really odd things (like trying to land and/or take off in the middle of a highway)).

I've gotten a lot of story ideas from my dreams, so I like that.

Anyone else have those deja-vu-type dreams? Where you dream something and forget about it...then remember it later when it's happening?

Yeah, I'm psychic!

Oh wait...maybe that was just "psychotic".

 

[SlaveMasterUK]

And you didn't have your songs backed up somewhere else? No hard copy print outs?

At the time I was a struggling student, when each of my songs was around 4-5MB on disc and the only affordable external storage device was a floppy disk, which at that time were about as reliable as a paper liferaft.

I have one copy of most of the songs on a very old poor-quality cassette tape. I've tried to re-make the songs on a number of occasions but never quite seem to recapture the energy and emotions of the original.

ax

 

[Black Tulip]

I used to have horrible nightmares as a kid. Needing my father to sit by my side because I was afraid to go to sleep.

Always the same dream, nights in a row. My bed is on fire and I can feel the heat of the flames singing my footsoles.
I used to wake up in a ball at the top of the bed and go to sleep with my hand on the floor so I would wake up in time as the floor got heated by the flames.



She,

I had a similar experience when my mother died. I took care of her for the last 6 months. She had cancer and we all knew it was ending. At the very last moment she asked us to help her end it and we did (my 2 brothers and me). The day she was cremated I felt her presence in the house as we prepared to leave for the service. My brothers felt her too. As if she came back to say we had done the right thing.

 

[SlaveMasterUK]

I've gotten a lot of story ideas from my dreams, so I like that.

Anyone else have those deja-vu-type dreams? Where you dream something and forget about it...then remember it later when it's happening?

I too get plenty of ideas from dreams. I once had a dream that lasted an entire summer - I actually lived and ate and slept and did all the day to day things for about 5 months during one evening's sleep. I can still remember all the details; one day I'll write the entire dream into a story, because it actually has quite a good twist at the end.

Regards deja-vous dreams, I never dream of things that actually happen, but sometimes during the day I'll do something that suddenly reminds me of a dream - something very similar, but not so similar as to be spooky.

ax

 

[TheEarl]

I used to have recurring spider dreams. I am hugely arachnophobic (The first person to say "Why? They can't hurt you" or "They're more scared of you, than you are of them" gets a virtual smack). The dream was that I was at home and then I see a spider. I follow default reaction (shrieking like a girl and running like buggery) and run into another room, but everywhere I run is covered with spiders. I'm running from one room to another, trying to get away from these spiders that cover every surface and every place I go to.

There's never anyone else in these dreams and I usually wake up from them quite quickly, but after the dream, every time my skin tingles or my hair raises, it's a spider crawling across my arm. Thankfully I haven't had that in a while.

One of the more disconcerting things in my life was watching the film 'The Craft' which has a scene so extraordinarily similar to my dream that it's spooky (FYI my dreams came before the film. Can I sue?).


Understand exactly what you mean about controlling dreams. It's called lucid dreaming and strangely enough is a sign of very deep and relaxing sleep. Most people get them on occasions; sounds like you were lucky enough to get an entire batch at once.

The Earl

 

[shereads]

I am hugely arachnophobic (The first person to say "Why? They can't hurt you" or "They're more scared of you, than you are of them" gets a virtual smack).

Funny how these things seem interconnected, isn't it? I sometimes dream that a man I don't know, someone named "The Duke," or "The Viscount," or sometimes "The Baron," is attacked in his home by spiders but fends them off with some sort of wrench, or pliars.



Just remember: as long as they can't see you, you can't see them. Or is it the other way around...?

P.S. You may want to give "Return of the King" a miss.

 

[shereads]

Most of my remembered dreams, although they have elaborate storylines, are so clear in their meaning that they require no interpretation.

These dreams can be physically exhausting - I wake up breathing hard as if I'd been actually running from the lions, not just dreaming of running.

Oh yeah. The lions. This was one of those exhausting, emotionally draining and laughably self-explanatory - dreams. It happened during the recent self-destruction of the company where I was employed, after multiple rounds of layoffs had left us with a skeleton staff and a "consultant" who was being paid to help us be fired properly:

I dreamed that I was trapped along with my few remaining coworkers in our high-rise building and that we were being stalked by lions. It was just like the movie, "The Ghost and the Darkness," except that Michael Douglas never showed up to help us.

I vividly remember that the elevators wouldn't work, so we were trying to leave the building by way of the stairs, which of course were perfect for being ambushed by jungle cats. The lights kept going off and on. There were dead bodies on some floors, but on others there were companies where things were going along swimmingly, and the people on those floors were a little annoyed that we kept disturbing them whenever the lions would flush one of us out of the supply closet or the stairwell.

You can imagine how it might disrupt your own workday if people in your building kept interrupting you, asking for help with their lion problem. I remember being both indignant that they didn't offer to help, and also a little embarrassed by having to ask.

Just before I woke up, I became separated from my coworkers and was confronted by a lion in an empty hallway. I tried to shoot it, but my rifle didn't work, so I had to beat the poor animal in the head with the butt of the rifle, over and over again. I could feel the "thunk" of the rifle butt hitting the skull.

Of course I hate hurting animals even though this one was trying to disembowel me, so I woke up crying.

 

[damppanties]

I've gotten a lot of story ideas from my dreams, so I like that.

Same here and I love it. I have two stories inspired from dreams on Lit.

Other dreams... well, yesterday I had a vivid dream where I was a criminal/fugitive and I was running away from the police. It was quite real, if you know what I mean. I can still remember every bit of it. The setting was my uncle's house and I got shot in the leg while I was trying to escape.

Now I'm wondering whether I have an anti-social element trapped inside me.

 

[Dirt Man]

Merry Christmas

The Filling Station
> ====================
>
> The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve.
> He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away.
> He had no decorations, no tree, no lights._ It was just another
> day to him._ He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a
> reason to celebrate._ There were no children in his life.
> His wife had gone.
>
> He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling
> for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the
> door opened and a homeless man stepped through._ Instead of
> throwing the man out, George, Old George as he was known by
> his customers, told the man to come and sit by the space
> heater and warmup.
>
> "Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger.
> "I see you're busy._ I'll just go"
>
> "Not without something hot in your belly," George turned and
> opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.
> "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty._ Stew._ Made it myself.
> When you're done there's coffee and it's fresh."
>
> Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell.
> "Excuse me, be right back," George said.
>
> There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy._ Steam was rolling
> out of the front._ The driver was panicked.
>
> "Mister can you help me!" said the driver with a deep Spanish
> accent._ "My wife is with child and my car is broken."
>
> George opened the hood._ It was bad._ The block looked cracked
> from the cold; the car was dead._ "You ain't going in this
> thing," George said as he turned away.
>
> "But mister._ Please help...."The door of the office closed
> behind George as he went in._ George went to the office wall
> and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.
> He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the
> truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting.
>
> "Here, you can borrow my truck," he said._ "She ain't the best
> thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."
>
> George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it
> sped off into the night._ George turned and walked back inside
> the office.
>
> "Glad I loaned em the truck._ Their tires were shot too._
> That 'ol truck has brand new tires........" George thought he
> was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone._ The thermos
> was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.
>
> "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.
> George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start.
> It cranked slowly, but it started._ He pulled it into the garage
> where the truck had been._ He thought he would tinker with it
> for something to do._ Christmas Eve meant no customers._
> He discovered the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom
> hose on the radiator.
>
> "Well, I can fix this," he said to himself._ So he put a new one
> on._ "Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter
> either."_ He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln.
> They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car.
>
> As he was working he heard a shot being fired._ He ran outside
> and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground.
> Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me."
> George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training
> he had received in the Army as a medic._ He knew the wound
> needed attention.
>
> "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought._ The laundry
> company had been there that morning and had left clean shop
> towels._ He used those and duct tape to bind the wound.
>
> "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to
> make the policeman feel at ease._ "Something for pain," George
> thought._ All he had was the pills he used for his back._ "These
> ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the
> policeman the pills.
>
> "You hang in there._ I'm going to get you an ambulance." George
> said, but the phone was dead._ "Maybe I can get one of your
> buddies on that there talk box out in your police car."
>
> He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the
> dashboard destroying the two way radio._ He went back in to find
> the policeman sitting up.
>
> "Thanks," said the officer._ "You could have left me there.
> The guy that shot me is still in the area."
>
> George sat down beside him._ "I would never leave an injured man
> in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the
> bandage to check for bleeding._ "Looks worse than what it is.
> Bullet passed right through 'ya._ Good thing it missed the
> important stuff though._ I think with time your gonna be right
> as rain."
>
> George got up and poured a cup of coffee._ "How do you take it?"
> he asked.
>
> "None for me," said the officer.
>
> "Oh, yer gonna drink this._ Best in the city." Then George
> added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
>
> The officer laughed and winced at the same time._ The front door
> of the office flew open._ In burst a young man with a gun.
>
> "Give me all your cash!_ Do it now!" the young man yelled.
> His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never
> done anything like this before.
>
> "That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
>
> "Son, why are you doing this?" asked George._ "You need to put
> the cannon away._ Somebody else might get hurt."
>
> The young man was confused._ "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot
> you, too._ Now give me the cash!"_
> The cop was reaching for his gun.
>
> "Put that thing away," George said to the cop._ "We got one too
> many in here now."
>
> He turned his attention to the young man._ "Son, it's Christmas
> Eve._ If you need the money, well then, here._ It ain't much but
> it's all I got._ Now put that pee shooter away."
>
> George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young
> man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time._ The
> young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and
> began to cry.
>
> "I'm not very good at this am I?_ All I wanted was to buy
> something for my wife and son," he went on._ "I've lost my job.
> My rent is due._ My car got repossessed last week..."
>
> George handed the gun to the cop._ "Son, we all get in a bit of
> squeeze now and then._ The road gets hard sometimes, but we
> make it through the best we can."
>
> He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair
> across from the cop._ "Sometimes we do stupid things." George
> handed the young man a cup of coffee._ "Being stupid is one of
> the things that makes us human._ Comin' in here with a gun ain't
> the answer._ Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this
> thing out."
>
> The young man had stopped crying._ He looked over to the cop.
> "Sorry I shot you._ It just went off._ I'm sorry officer."
>
> "Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.
>
> George could hear the sounds of sirens outside._ A police car
> and an ambulance skidded to a halt._ Two cops came through the
> door, guns drawn.
>
> "Chuck!_ You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
>
> "Not bad for a guy who took a bullet._ How did you find me?"
>
> "GPS locator in the car._ Best thing since sliced bread._ Who
> did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.
>
> Chuck answered him, "I don't know._ The guy ran off into the
> dark._ Just dropped his gun and ran."
>
> George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
> "That guy works here," the wounded cop continued.
>
> "Yep," George said._ "Just hired him this morning._ Boy lost his
> job."
>
> The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.
> The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered,
> "Why?"
>
> Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, boy._ And you too, George,
> and thanks for everything."
>
> "Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there._ That
> ought to solve some of your problems." George went into the
> back room and came out with a box._ He pulled out a ring box.
>
> "Here you go._ Something for the little woman._ I don't think
> Martha would mind._ She said it would come in handy some day."
>
> The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he
> ever saw._ "I can't take this," said the young man.
> "It means something to you."
>
> "And now it means something to you," replied George.
> "I got my memories._ That's all I need."
>
> George reached into the box again._ A toy airplane, a racing
> car and a little metal truck appeared next._ They were toys
> that the oil company had left for him to sell._ "Here's
> something for that little man of yours."
>
> The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150
> that the old man had handed him earlier._ "And what are you
> supposed to buy Christmas dinner with?_ You keep that, too.
> Count it as part of your first week's pay." George said.
> "Now git home to your family."
>
> The young man turned with tears streaming down his face.
> "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is
> still good."
>
> "Nope._ I'm closed Christmas day," George said._ "See ya the
> day after."
>
> George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.
> "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
>
> "I have been here._ I have always been here," said the stranger.
> "You say you don't celebrate Christmas._ Why?"
>
> "Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see what all
> the bother was._ Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a
> good pine tree._ Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just
> wasn't the same by myself and besides I was getting a little
> chubby."
>
> The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder._ "But you do
> celebrate the holiday, George._ You gave me food and drink and
> warmed me when I was cold and hungry._ The woman with child
> will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.
>
> The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being
> killed by terrorists._ The young man who tried to rob you will
> become a rich man and share his wealth with many people.
>
> That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any
> man."
>
> George was taken aback by all this stranger had said._ "And how
> do you know all this?" asked the old man.
>
> "Trust me, George._ I have the inside track on this sort of
> thing._ And when your days are done you will be with Martha
> again."_ The stranger moved toward the door.
>
> "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now._ I have to
> go home where there is a big celebration planned."
>
> George watched as the man's old leather jacket and his torn
> pants turned into a white robe._ A golden light began to fill
> the room.
>
> "You see, George, it's My birthday._ Merry Christmas."
>
> Author Unknown

 

[dr_mabeuse]

What about these two standbys:

(1) Out in public in your underwear (or worse) and no one seems to notice but me. (I heard somewhere that men have this dream more than women, which seems kind of paradoxical)

(2) Showing up some place for a test and realizing that you haven't been attending class and have no idea what you're doing. In my version of the dream I show up for a band concert and am handed some instrument I've never played before: a french horn or contra-bassoon or something.

---dr.M.

 

[shereads]

Re: reply to dreams

People walk up to me and tell me I have and nice looking duck. I tell them its not my duck they don't belive they just walk on. Every were I go this duck follows me. If I go into a store it waits for me to come back out. I cann't get rid of this duck. Then a cop comes up and tells me I have to have it on a leash or I'll get a fine. I tell him it's not my duck but he won't belive me. I ask him if he think it odd to see a five foot duck walking around town.

Strange dream...On the other hand, that is a nice-looking duck.

 

[Guest]

First, Merry Christmas! all. Went to bed late, woke up early, no one else awake, here I am. Feel good, a bit joyful.

OK, I have sporadically recurring dreams about being in an opera and in a ballet. It's always "La Traviata" and I am Violetta and I don't know the words (the music but not the words). It always ends before I'm to enter the scene, but the whole dream is both exciting and stressful.

The ballet is "Giselle" and I'm Giselle. In one dream I merely stood center stage, no movement whatsoever. But somehow I embodied the role and the audience went wild. That was nice.

Fave dream: some twenty years ago I dreamed that Oscar Wilde came to my rescue (some banal situation wherein I was being threatened). He spoke to me in such a way that when I awoke I felt as if I had really met the man. To this day I feel as if I did and I think of him as a real friend.

Perdita