|Michael Dunn on Instagram_ “Beyond Sight”|
Hi Mom, Seems time to unleash this one.
It was not my plan to post this entry today, but after two nights of vivid dreams, which I recorded here, I decided to post since the first dream takes us all the way back to January.
Still in study mode, so that's it for today.
I dreamed I was dead, but people could still hear and see me, so it was okay to be dead. I decided to carry on with life even though I was dead because if people could see and hear me, then what was the difference? It would be more or less the same as life, though there was some question as to whether my body had physical density and substance. But then as the dream progressed, I disappeared. People could no longer see me, but they could still hear me. I decided that this was all right as I could still express myself. And then even later, I was talking and no one was acknowledging me. I started to shout "Hello? Hello?" and nothing happened. Upon having the discovery I could no longer be seen or heard, this is when I woke up.
I was dreaming about Ultimate but then you showed up, Mom. It was the beginning of the ultimate season and we were getting organized for first Spring games. It was raining lightly. I had to go get my ultimate things, which happened in a two part way that happens sometimes in dreams. In one part, my friend Fris is driving me to get the things and we have to check the mail, as some things will be in the mail, and other things are stored at S&J Sports (this is a place made up in the dream). But in another part, I go home to get the things, and you, Mom, need help getting ready. I am helping you get ready in the bathroom with creams and chap stick and Flonase and all those things we used to do, and I am wheeling you out, and you indicate that you need this pink, zip-up fleece hanging on the side of the mirror. I say "Can't get anything by you." And you say "Nope" and grin broadly. But this is also the time in which you have been losing your ability to speak or to even move your right arm, which I know also. You did not smile much once the palsy started to take you, but you did in this dream, Mom. I am looking out the window and it's raining hard, and so I am thinking I maybe should stay and not play Ultimate as I cannot afford to catch a cold. But then I am back at Ultimate walking around with the captain counting how many players we have because at first he thinks he needs me but then when we count 16, he realizes he doesn't. But then, it's stopped raining, and I think I want to play, and so the whole thing with Fris and looking for the Ultimate things takes place. I remember him saying "we don't have to take the time to get your mail," and I said, "If we want me to play Ultimate, we do."
This dream featured you before the meningitis, Mom, and oddly you were running away to France. I couldn't find you, but I did find a shopping bag in the trash, and yet I was in the cool Star Trek conference room in Sangren Hall where I was yesterday, which wasn't even built any time before you got the meningitis. I am not sure how I knew you were running away to France, but I did, and I couldn't find you, but I found the shopping bag, and it was all very mysterious. I knew I had to find you, and so I started searching, but then the dream shifted again and went into material that is the kind of thing I will never share here in this blog.
Maybe I have more vivid dreams when I mix a sleeping pill with Motrin as I did last night because I had a headache plus neck and shoulder pain. In this dream, I was taking care of you, Mom, during the early days of your post-meningitis times but when you had recovered enough to be reasonably well. You were talking a "blue streak," chatting about many things and full of spunk and good energy, the best Marjorie that you were during those 15 years after the meningitis. I was dressing you, getting you in your wheel chair, and ready for breakfast and the rest of your day when we got a visit from the president, who in this dream was Barrack Obama. Though as the dream progressed, it was revealed that he was no longer the president. He asked me how I felt about that change, and I told him that this Trump person was no president of mine, that I did not consent to his presidency or recognize his authority as I view him as a dangerous lunatic and an idiot. I told Obama that I was somewhat re-assured by the post-election interview he did with Rolling Stone, which I have been reading, but not enough re-assured to not be terrified that Trump was going to do something horrible, like start a nuclear war. Obama agreed with me, and told me to hang in there. He was very interested in you, Mom, and paid you a lot of attention. You beamed admiration at him, as you liked him very much, at least I think you did. Meanwhile, I had a great talk with Michelle Obama about the same stuff and about her recent vacation with her husband, Barrack. And then I woke up.
This one was weird and had multiple parts. The first part involved some big meeting in the mall food court early in the morning. People were assembling to go to Mackinac Island on a big bus trip in April, but there was a huge snow and ice storm raging. I worried about the bus getting across the bridge safely and then wondered if the straits were frozen. My friend Mark Brager was planning on going and counting on me sitting next to him on the bus and being his pal. I was wondering if I was going to go and feeling undecided. I scanned for Mark in the crowd, but I didn't see him. Suddenly, I had to poop, so I look around for a bathroom. I saw signs directing me out of the food court and down a long hallway (like they have in malls). As I am leaving, I hear my name called several times (as Christopher) but I ignore it. As I pass someone, he says "aren't you Christopher?" I say that I am not.
So then there's scatological stuff in the bathroom, so I won't go into detail. When I return to check in with some big burly guy in school polo shirt, he is an outrageous asshole to me. Before I even say anything, he's giving me shit and being a cock. I explain that I cannot go on the trip. He's even more abusive and vitriolic after I start to explain. Now, I see Mark come out of the crowd with his duffel and I try to explain, but he's also very upset. "This is our first chance to see each other in years and now we may never see each other again." I promise to call him later, but I am not sure if I will.
The dream shifts or maybe another dream starts. I do not recall this one as well. It involves a bunch of my friends but I cannot remember which friends. We have to infiltrate some factory, pretending that we work there. We end up stealing these two huge black sedans from the motor pool. This is important as we have to use the sedans when we go back to get deeper into the factory complex, pretending to be workers. Meanwhile, I need dental work, so we're all at the dentist. When it comes time to pay, I want to pay cash so there's no record of my being there because the factory people are looking for us and for their sedans. Suddenly, my Dad is there. I ask him if he has cash -- he always does -- and so I borrow the money. Later, we're back at the hotel where we're hiding out, and I am worried about where we parked the sedans, and if they are sufficiently hidden.
The dream shifts again, and I am at some winter lodge, a great room with a vaulted ceiling and hewn wooden beams, a huge stone fire place and a roaring fire. There are large chairs and sofas covered in a hunter's plaid fabric, which reminds me of the old lounge in Trowbridge at Kalamazoo College. There are authors and celebrities there. I get the chance to meet Eric Braeden, who plays Victor Newman on the Young and the Restless. I am reading his book right now, and I am praising it because it's actually very good. It's even better as an audio book because Braeden narrates it. George RR Martin is there, and I am making a comparison between Martin's Songs of Fire and Ice series (known to the world by the name of the first book and TV show as Game of Thrones) and soap operas. It's told like episodic fiction much in the same way as soap operas. I am also praising Braeden for his captivating and quite fascinating memoir, encouraging others to read it, like Martin, who tells me he already has because he's a huge fan of Y&R, which is why Braeden is at his house and his party. Then I wake up.
Reflect and connect.
Have someone give you a kiss, and tell you that I love you.
I miss you so very much, Mom.
Talk to you tomorrow, Mom.
- Days ago = 656 days ago
- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 1704.21 - 7:10
NOTE on time: When I post late, I had been posting at 7:10 a.m. because Google is on Pacific Time, and so this is really 10:10 EDT. However, it still shows up on the blog in Pacific time. So, I am going to start posting at 10:10 a.m. Pacific time, intending this to be 10:10 Eastern time. I know this only matters to me, and to you, Mom. But I am not going back and changing all the 7:10 a.m. times. But I will run this note for a while. Mom, you know that I am posting at 10:10 a.m. often because this is the time of your death.