OnDreaming: The Blog

Dream last night:

I am with Marie (a musician friend of mine) and someone else that I don’t know. We are watching a sepia-tented street parade from a distance. A colored merry-go-round sitting on sepia tented grass, brightly decorated floats filled with people who look like they are in old photos. Little slices of color every once in a while come into view, but mostly sepia. A man from the distance is walking towards us. As he gets closer, I notice he wears bits of color. A gold and silver crown with royal jewels, a deep red robe the color of wine. He stands in front of me now, and points his finger directly at me, then motions for me to come to where he is. Marie is excited and tells me to go, that he is some one.

I’m shaking my head no. I ask her who he is and she looks at me like I’m insane. She loudly whispers, The Emperor!

I follow him into the crowd, grabbing her (reluctant) hand and dragging her along. I have no idea where we are going, but the atmosphere is becoming more colorful, the energy is electric.

I wake up.

Dream on Wed, Nov. 23, 2005

I am on a rooftop of red dirt & stone. There are many townspeople there also, looking up at the rooftops. Across, more people are on their own roofs, looking through binoculars down at people covering the hilly grounds. They are everywhere, for as far as I can see. I am looking at someone who resemles Mozart and is just about as mischievous, but I seem to love him anyway. I am puzzled as to who Machiavelli is, but keep hearing his name. I am dressed in layered long golden clothing. He is layered in red velvet cloth. I begin walking from the left of the rooftop, to the right corner.

A man approaches me to tell me something, in Italian, so I cannot understand all of it, just certain words. He’s just an ordinary man, and I almost dismiss him. I keep walking forward to the corner of the roof. I take a pipe, and breath into it, then out, deeply. It is some sort of air that is supposed to help with the ones who can’t breath well-or maybe some sort of legal drug.

A few people watch as I look down. On the ground are thousands of golden, sparkling relics. People have come from everywhere to throw the jewels and relics into the sky, offerings to God. I have thrown my treasures into the sky as well. This man, Machiavelli, has done the same. I see one on the ground and pick it up. It is a small ring with a heart in the middle. I want it so badly, but am unsure of the karma it would bring if I take it.

I stare at it in the palm of my hand while some man tells me, in Italian, that I am not supposed to take it because it was an offering. I dig for all of the euros and coins I have in my dress pocket. I look at the money and toss it onto the ground in the apex of the roof, into the dirt-filled corner where I found the ring. The money sparkles like the rest of the relics and other coins. I am feeling concerned that the ring might be worth far more than the euros I offered in it’s place.

I am thinking that it isn’t the value of the ring I care about, so that makes it easier to justify taking it. As I study the ring closely, and look into the center of the heart, I realize it is ancient. It looks as if a bird has pecked out the heart with his beak. But, I am sure I need it. A voice (Machiavelli’s I believe) is telling me that it is okay to take it-good to take it even. It is a gift especially for me. I really want to keep it.

Upon further inspection, it turns out the ring is made of wood and the heart is missing, but my own heart is telling me that it is worth more than a ring of gold.

Last night’s dream:

I’m walking up and down curved sidewalks, in a town I don’t know. I see a lady through a dirty window of an empty apartment. She’s cleaning. Old violin and guitar cases are on the covered porch, looking dusty and hot. I start to pick up a violin case, just to see if the weight is heavy enough for it to be occupied by a violin. I open it.

The violin is curvy, like the sidewalks I am walking. It smells like Spruce and dirt, a heavy scent that almost makes me sneeze. For a split second, I think of taking it due to it’s obvious abuse. It’s wasting on a sidewalk porch, and I’ll give it a better home, I’m thinking. I look around at the other cases, wondering what they hold. I think better of taking it, and put it down.

The lady inside cleaning walks out to the covered porch. She’s a happy woman, with a grin like she knows me. I ask her about the instruments. She speaks to me as if I’m an old friend, telling me to take some of them. All of the sudden I feel like I shouldn’t. Oh no, I say, please let me pay you for them. No, take some of them, she says. I notice she doesn’t tell me to take all of them, and begin to wonder what she’s going to do with them. I ask. She tells me that the owner is someone else, but she’s sure she doesn’t mind, as she is on her way to take them to a shop. I ask which one, and she points to a few, one of which was the one I first chose. I’m happy. I pick it up to leave, and she points to another part of the porch. It’s a jewelry table, she says. Take it!

I wake up.

Oh wow. A happy dream.

Outta pure boredom, I’ve had an urge to post new dreams. Well, nightmarish in this case, but all is well.

Last night’s dream:

I am driving uphill onto the Kemah bridge, going the speed limit, but notice that the bridge is steeper than usual. My car suddenly goes into some kind of overdrive, and speeds up so fast that I fly up into the air as I hit the top of the bridge. It accelerates about a mile into the sky, causing me to black out due to the g-force. I gain consciousness as the car nosedives over the bridge. All I can think of is the crash landing and how to prepare. I wake up.

I’m doing some JS reconstruction surgery here. Read if you want, but it’s mostly for me.