Yellow Boat Murk

I guess there's just something about water, because all I remember from my dream last night is that I was frantically trying to get a boat into Yellow Lake, BC without tipping it or something. At some point, I fell into the water, and then I opened my eyes to see where I was going. However, the murky depths scared me, so I quickly snapped my eyes shut again and shot to the surface for a deep breath.

Underwater Shark Arrows

I dreamed I was in a huge room filled with water, machinery, people, and sharks. The water was very deep, and while it didn't fill the room to the top, it was probably a good 100-150 feet deep. Nearly everything in the room, including me, was underwater. Close to me, there were pumps hard at work churning the water into a violent froth. A little bit farther off was an underwater observation deck of sorts, where people were looking out through the gargantuan expanse of the room. Off in the distance, I could see heavy metal stilts supporting platforms on the surface.

At some point I exited the water, and stood beside an inlet of sorts that had a backflow of water from the main area. I got there just as someone was scolding a child. As I listened, the scolder reminded the kid that sharks were not to play with, and one had to be very careful with them. They explained to him that the more you touched a shark, the more they became susceptible to the heavy toxins in the water of the backflow, and that their skin then merely fell off them, leaving the shark to die in a bloodbath. Literally. I watched as the carcass of one such unlucky animal slowly sunk to the depths, spewing clouds of red liquid as it descended.

Then, I decided to jump back into the main body of water and see what the observation platform was all about. I swam down as far as I could, but when I got right to the edge of the platform, I ran out of air. Then, because I wanted to live, I frantically began to paddle back up to the surface. It was too late. My vision began to fade, and I instinctively started trying to breathe, drawing in huge gulps of water.

Then, I either died or was saved somehow, because I found myself within a group of eager, happy children as we bobbed in the water. My sister Bryn was there, and seemed to be in charge of the children. However, she commissioned me to take over for a bit, so I could teach them how to swim, because we were going to try to get to the observation platform so they could see it. So I began to take over, teaching the kids various maneuvers they could use.

At some point, I left the children to tour the platforms at the surface. It appeared that they were part of a residential showroom of sorts, showcasing the kitchens and furniture people could choose to place in their prefab houses. Each structure had the name of a different American state, and were scattered around the larger room.

The next thing I remember, I was in a line of cars, with a random female I don't know in the passenger seat. As we waiting, a crazed, frantic man ran up to us, beating on my windshield. He had an arrow protruding from his mouth, and he pulled it out, ready to use it as a weapon. I somehow developed the impression that he was evil, and that he was chasing us and wanted us dead. The female and I ran out of the car, past the line, and up onto a curving road above. The arrow man sprinted after us. When we were too tired to continue, he caught up to us and yanked other arrows from his torso, trying to stab us with them. I grabbed the one in his mouth an attempted to reciprocate, but failed as he snatched it from me, just as another grew out of his mouth to take its place. I had a feeling of doom and despair.

Then some unrelated random things happened before I woke up.

The Lost Dreams, Part 2: The Mountain

This is a recurring dream I have been having every once in a long while for years:

I don't know how it usually starts, but at some point it's always basically the same. I am with a group of friends, walking through a field, and we find ourselves trudging up a brownish, sparsely-vegetated mountain. The mountain has two humps on it, with somewhat of a hollow in between. I usually run up ahead or something, and in time we find ourselves on the top of the mountain. The main recurring part of this dream is the mountain. I have had dreams where I'm driving down it, running on it, or driving or walking past it in a wealthy neighborhood, with the mountain peeking up on my right-hand side.

I guess it sounds stupid, but the mountain became very meaningful to me. I remember that the first time I was on it, I felt that I had seen it before, and that it was really familiar to me. When I woke up, I really wanted to remember where it was so I could go there. It was a pretty cool place, with a great view and a nice area. At any rate, even though I haven't ever really been there, I still think my mountain is out there somewhere, waiting for me to find it.

Incoh

Hey, I'm not dreaming very coherently lately. Or memorably, for that matter.

The Lost Dreams, Part 1: My Demise

I am going to start periodically posting non-chronological dreams that I have had but never shared here. From time to time, when I am reminded of a particular dream that is especially important or meaningful to me, I will put it here. Here's my first try. It is the recollection of a dream I had several months ago.

I was sitting in a quiet room at a large wooden desk. It must have been years in the future, because I was middle-aged. I was busy with paperwork or something, when the door in front of me opened, and somebody walked in. They said something to me, and immediately I was racked with pain. I clawed at the desk as I felt myself slump sideways and fall to the floor. I could feel a deep, incredibly pervasive pain as I realized that I was in the middle of a heart attack, and that I was dying. As I lay on my right side, taking gasping breaths while my vision blurred, I could see under my desk, and was looking directly at the shoes of the person standing on the other side. They turned, and I watched them retreat through the door, leaving me alone as my life faded. I was filled with terror, and thought to myself that dying was much different than I expected. There was no calm, comforting music, no soft farewell from the world as I gently passed out of existence. Instead, I was perfectly conscious, fully aware of my surroundings and what was happening as I felt the last few drops of vigor flow through my veins. Then the end came.

I was troubled with this dream the following day. I'm sure that the feelings I had were exactly what is felt by every human being that dies a conscious death. My passing wasn't a gentle descent marked by a final giving up of the spirit. Instead, it was merely an intense yet feeble struggle and fight, while my mind worked hard to will myself to live. This scares me much more than the alternative.

I Killed Jack Bauer

Last night, I dreamed that I was at Fairmont Hot Springs. It was Fairmont Independence Day, and big celebrations were to be had. My grandma was there, and she had me drive her car down a hillside into the parking lot of an adjacent lodge. Then, her car transformed into my car, which immediately had transmission problems. I tried to get it to work, but it was no use. After climbing out and talking to some of my nearby friends about it, I decided to try again. I started ever so slowly driving away, and then I realized that I had the car in reverse, even though it was moving forward. I shifted into drive, and the car performed admirably. I parked it, and got out. Somehow I acquired a very tiny bicycle with only a front brake lever, and met up with my friends Michael and AJ at the edge of the pavement. There was a solid concrete ramp down a short hill into a green, algae-covered pool. Me and my friends took turns biking down the ramp into the water. Then, I was on a higher floor of the lodge, standing on the patio. I grabbed by camcorder and began to tape the sun as it was setting. When I turned to leave, the door wouldn't open fully. I noticed that someone was behind the door, so I asked who was there. I heard Kiefer Sutherland say "Jack Bauer," so I reached around the door, yanking him out from behind it. He had a gun, and so we wrestled around in a death grip for a bit before I jumped on his back. Somehow we made it down the stairs, around the building, through the pool, up the ramp, and to a parked car on the pavement. I somehow dealt a death blow to him, and rose up triumphantly as he collapsed. Then, I saw Kiefer's face peeling off, being replaced by that of Frankie Muniz of Malcolm in the Middle. Frankie jumped up, walked a few feet to my right, and took a seat on the hood of a parked car, grinning broadly as a few girls walked up and put their arms around him. That's the last thing I remember.

Mission Spaceship Bereavement

It's days like today that make me really glad I now record my dreams. You see, last night I had what was probably the most deep, meaningful, and moving dreams of my life. Indeed, last night I actually thought I was part of a science fiction film. However, the problem I face with dreams like these is that, since they're so meaty, I have trouble remembering the beginning of them (which is often very integral to the story), and instead seem to just catch the end, like tuning in a few minutes before the final scenes of a really good movie. However, I try my best to rack my brain and force myself to remember as much as I can. Here's my attempt for last night:

As my dream opened, I was travelling a run-down, broken, nearly isolated highway. I had to carefully manoeuvre my vehicle, as there were huge drop-outs and missing sections of the road. This is all I remember of the very first scenes of my dream, and the next thing I knew, I was transported to the exposition of a compelling story.

My family had taken the place of another in the interstellar missionary spaceship pilot field. My father was the family spaceship pilot, and he had duties that included going to rescue people when emergencies were reported, as well as maintaining the ship to ensure it was serviceable. He had to go out on several missions a week, leaving me and my family at the missionary cabin we had been given for the duration of our involvement in the project.

I remember remarking to my mother one day about how much the kitchen in our cabin looked like the one back home, and she agreed. Indeed, it was a near replica of the kitchen in my real-world house today. I'm sure this has no effect on the story, but I dreamed it, so it belongs here.

One day, when I was walking around the premises of our house, I came upon an old man sitting in a pool of water beside a cliff. In front of him, a vast pile of logs were ever so slowly being pulled by the water over the cliff. With such a huge mass, though, they got all bunched up and were not moving too readily. I greeted the old man, and he beckoned me to him. When I got closer, he told me to try to get as close to the edge of the cliff as possible, so I could look down at all the logs tumbling down the waterfall into the depths below. I declined, worrying for my safety, but the man kept insisting. To keep him quiet, I acquiesced to some degree. I peeked over the edge, teetering on an especially unstable and slimy log. After I had risked my life to the degree deemed necessary, I pulled back from the precipice, told the man goodbye, and continued on my way.

It really, really bothers me that this next part is basically forgotten, mainly because I know it was so significant and emotional that it formed the meat of my story. All I can remember is that there was a substantial, tense mission rescue that I was part of, and I think it was involving a girl. Something happened to me during that flight, and it colored and changed my perception of the rest of the story. If it ever comes back to me, I will edit this post and re-write this section, completing the story. For now, however, read on, knowing that, within my dream, I had a deep sadness in my heart as a result of what happened here.

I was now back at my house, and my parents were having somewhat of an argument about the state of the mission project. It seems that my father was having some trouble keeping up to pace with the demanding schedule, and the previous pilot was having to fill in for him. The other pilot came back then, and joined our discussion. He explained to my father that he understood that it was difficult adapting to the pace of the project, and that he was only able to fully grasp it after two years of service. I remember looking out the window across our property, to where the mission ship sat on a small hill. It was somewhat bulbous, having a greenish-blueish-whitish color scheme. It had stubby wings, and a rounded fuselage.

Time skipped ahead, and I was an adult, watching a group of people that were working hard, bent over a wooden counter. They were laboring intensely, driven on by an excited young man. I remember him saying that they were preliminary workers for a film, constructing props, costumes, and other set pieces. I remember thinking to myself what an awful occupation this must be. Out of the workers, two in particular caught my eye: a teenage boy and girl. They were competing with each other, seeing who could complete which tasks first. As I watched the mayhem unfold, the leader shouted out a command, and the workers switched places, beginning on new tasks. I walked forward and was immediately drafted for duty. I was given a metal tray with moist beanbags on it, and was told to begin work. I cluelessly looked to my left for inspiration. The boy worker was busy as can be. I could see that he and the woman across from him were making great progress on their beanbags. I could also see that across from me was a kitchen suspiciously like the one in my childhood mission home. I then realized that our current task was shaping the beanbags into kitchen cabinets. Naturally, I thought this was impossible, but I could see the others making great strides at their projects, so I decided to start buckling down. I kneaded the beanbags, and the more I pushed them around, the wetter and more pliable they became. Then, the leader shouted at me that I was supposed to weld my metal tray to the table before getting to work. I tried to, and thought I succeeded, but my weld points just came undone. Not wanting to keep trying, I went back to my beanbag kneading.

Just then, I heard a shout behind me. I turned and saw my surroundings for the first time. We were in a fenced clearing, with low buildings all around. A small number of people ringed the clearing, and were all peering expectantly at the overcast sky. Then, a large booming, cracking, sizzling noise broke out, and I saw a gleaming white spaceship break through the clouds and come streaking to the ground. It altered its trajectory drastically as it came closer, and flashed across the field in front of me. Then, a speeding white car drove the opposite way, nearly getting blown to smithereens by the sheer momentum of the spaceship. Several people yelled in annoyance at the driver of the car, saying how he could have been killed. However, they soon disregarded him, turning to the ship. It majestically looped around the yard and came to rest behind the building across from me, and the people broke out in cheering.

Then something moved within me, and I began to sob. This spaceship had served as a reminder to me of all my years at the missionary project. I remembered people that my father had interacted with, those he had saved, and some he had lost. My sobs grew, and I wept uncontrollably, burdened by the weight of the losses we had failed to prevent. I cried so hard that I was unable to stay standing, and I collapsed. Several people loaded me up on a cart and started to wheel me away. Then, the teenage worker girl took over, and wheeled me over to a stream surrounded by lush foliage. She whispered soft words to me, explaining that she was tasked with comforting and protecting me. As I got myself under control, she told me that I was fully spent, and was going to die. As I feebly protested, she stopped me and described her solution. She volunteered to die in my place, and had already resigned herself to do so. I watched aghast as she got in the cart, leaning back with her eyes closed, and died. I was completely shocked and confused, spitting at the water of the stream in my frustration.

I awoke.

I know that this was probably a very tedious, arduous read. But this morning I felt very somber as I shrugged the remnants of this dream away. It probably sounds very trivial, but I can remember more than anything the emotions caused by this story, and how they affected my heart during and after my dream. I was unable to fully describe how I felt. The recounting here is confusing and seems inconsequential. It probably leaves much to be desired, but IT'm going to be thinking about this dream for a long time to come.

The School Burglary Festival

I have been gone for a week, and my dreams have been so nebulous and confusing in the meantime that I have kind of neglected to post anything. So here goes:

Last night, I dreamed I went back to my old high school. For some reason, after 3 years of college, I decided I needed to brush up on some old-timey learning fun. So I signed up for all my classes, and on the first day, I had classes pretty much straight through. It was really weird going back to seemingly archaic learning methods. However, I did. When the school day was over, I remembered that I had parked my car out back. For some reason, even though my school was just around the corner from my house, I had decided to drive. I realized that, since all the gates were locked, the only way back home was to drive out through the back field and a big hole in the fence. So I did.

The following day was more interesting still. I only had one class, and it was some religion/math hybrid that I really didn't understand, and I left before the quiz could be handed out. Then I checked the weekly schedule on the wall, and realized that my sister Bryn was going to perform an organ concerto that afternoon. I'm pretty sure I attended and it was great, but I can't remember too well.

Suddenly, I was at another school. This one was a confusing mix between my college and the boarding academy I attended for my senior year of high school. My latest real-world roommate (Josh) and I explored the campus and reminisced about times we had experienced. Then, I had a huge bouquet of strange flowers that I left in the women's dean's office. I don't know what I planned to accomplish, but they quickly wilted, and so I reclaimed them before any more damage could be done. Me and Josh walked over to the other wing.

The next thing I knew, we were in a car, looking for something to do. I think we were quite bored, and so when we pulled up next to some senior student housing, of course we decided to break in, just for fun. We both pledged to do nothing especially illegal (aside from the initial break-in), and instead took it upon ourselves to explore all the rooms, leaving the lights on and the doors open. I came to a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. I decided it would be hilarious to pee in their toilet and on their toilet seat. I then did so.

Then, the residents (two young ladies) came back. I heard them walking up the stairs, and so I jumped in the corner of a room across the hall. They walked past, and I rand down to the tiny garage where my roommate had parked his car. Thinking only of my own safety, I noisily opened the garage door and ran out onto the street. By then, the residents had heard me, and they shouted out hate-filled phrases after me as I ran around their house, trying to get away. I guess I had stolen some possessions after all, because I was dragging along a big plastic box filled with their stuff. They kept shouting at me through the window, and I kept running along, until I decided to do away with their belongings so that I could really run. I opened the box, and as I poured the contents on the ground, they became a strange green slime. Thinking nothing of it, I ran through neighborhood after neighborhood. As I passed several newly-constructed homes and communities, I noticed strange signs denoting that the houses' driveways had previously been grass, and now were covered in some type of eco-friendly asphalt that was supposed to look better. I remember thinking about how strange it was that these signs were bragging about such a thing.

I had little time to contemplate, however, because I then came back to the campus. My life immediately became half about the chase I had just endured, and half about running through a stately building, trying to evade a separate group of people who wanted me dead for something else. Some random lady was there too, and she got shot in the chest several times. I ran outside and found my family there, doing a tribal dance of sorts. It seemed there was a year-end festival going on, and so I joined the festivities.

Before I knew it, the dance had broken up, and everyone in attendance had joined a long line. Someone started a chant, and we all followed along, turning this way and that to show letters on our back that spelled some larger message about the school. After, we all gathered together, looking up at a huge screen. The A/V guys began to play footage that students had shot throughout the year, including a large amount of my footage.

Before I knew it, I was transported into the screen, and I started living out the video. I was on a boat, drawing closer to a rocky outcropping. As the boat got near, I could hear a sappy love song being played by an unknown, unloved 90s band. We stayed on the boat for awhile, and the band played the rest of the song. When it was done, the lead singer jumped onto a waiting jetski with his guitar, and left. Then, I climbed up the rock to where one of the band members was playing an electric cello. I took it from him and started trying it out, and before I knew it, the rest of the band had started up, playing the Christian praise song "Eagles Wings." I came to the shocking realization that this praise song was really just a secular love song adapted for church use. I voiced my concerns to Erroll, the chaplain at my old school, and he assured me that it was no big deal.

And then I woke up.