My Dream

Just a sprinkling of rain this morning. Not the snow we expected.

I've got to get a handle on this blog thing. When I write on here, I try to write well (which is counterproductive to creativity.) And when I go back and read my blogs, I edit them to try to improve them (that one on global warming and chaos theory is a mess. I didn't make my point clear at all.) And then I get discouraged because who's going to read this? No one is. This is making writing work and for no good reason, and I don't need more of that.

So I'm thinking I need to take it like my journal of yore. When I used to just get up and write whatever was on my mind (hee, knowing no one is gonna read it anyway). The only problem with that is I get up at 3:30, make coffee, feed the cats, feed Shiloh, get dressed, and then I have ten minutes before waking Mike up. (Hmm, ten minutes might be just enough.)

One important thing is that I need to NOT be online at 4:30, which is when Direct TV satellite downloads its programming. Maybe I could get Boone to change it to 3:00.

I slept late this morning, had one-two hours more sleep than I really needed. When that happens, I'm dreaming like crazy. Last night's dream:

I stroll through the grounds of a Buddhist-like monastery, just checking things out, learning about stuff. I see a grassy square mound in the ground before me, and several people are gathered on top of the mound. They are going through some kind of trial. I knew the woman who was on trial. So I go up to try to testify on her behalf. As I start to go up, I hesitate. I am not *Buddhist. I worship God who became human in the form of His Son and sacrificed himself for our salvation. Am I betraying God at all by going up onto this *Buddhist mound? I checked with a little prayer and got nothing, so went on up.

The person judging the trial was the prince of this land. He resented my intrusion. I prayed constantly for the right words, and it became a debate between religions. Strangely enough, I knew I could fight the woman's guards and get her free. I could and did visualize the flying side kick and spinning back axe kick I could do to each of them. But they were women, too, and I felt it would be wrong. So I talked about God. What I said did not persuade anyone, I knew, and the woman was condemned.

Feeling defeated, I went on my way. Then I was in another country, this one very physical. In fact, I was in a huge, gymnasium with multiple arenas for various sports, each arena with its attendant locker rooms and showers. They were getting ready for a big football game. The XXX's against the Bears (which was my team.) I sat down in the bleachers to watch the pageantry a moment. A man sat down beside me (the stadium was crowded and that was the only free seat) but his legs were long and he had to use my space. I might have protested, but he looked big and dangerous. Then the people around me started talking about what happened in the neighboring country. I looked around and recognized the royalty of this country. They were talking about the death of the prince I had just left. I knew that eventually, they would ask me, the only stranger there, if I had done it. So I left. (Oh, I figured out from what they were saying that soon after I had left the Buddhist mound, a flash of lightening struck the mound, killing all the people on it.)

At this point, my dream became a bit jumbled. Maybe I woke up or half woke up. I remember starting down some outside stairs of the huge gym, and some guards coming up to get me. I fight, but there are law officers below me on the stairs and law officers above me on the stairs.

Since I had been wandering from country to country, and apparently I had magical powers and was protected by God, the royalty of this country condemned me to ride in a train from country to country all my life, with no company but the driver (who would be busy).

So I was on the train watching it eat up the rail-miles. Then we came to my country. The driver had to stop the train so he could sleep. I slipped my bonds, told the sleeping driver I'd be back, and went home. There I saw my sisters and told them my adventures, and then my boyfriend, who wanted me to stay, but I said I couldn't. I had an obligation to fulfill. So my sisters, their arms laden with gifts, and my boyfriend, his arms wrapped around me, went back to the train with me. The driver had woken up and was looking very worried for having lost me. He would have quickly been put to death for it.

"I told you I'd be back," I said. Then my sisters and I said tearful good-byes. My boyfriend wrapped me in an intense hug that for a moment said, I won't let you go, but then he said, "I love you," and let me go.

As we pulled out from the station, my friends and family ran ahead to the place I loved best, where the river passed under the tracks, hit a big rock and cascaded over it. From there, they waved good-bye to me.

At this point, there were many passengers in the train with me. And it seemed to my friends I was not condemned at all, but having a merry time. I can't explain this. I thought perhaps the extra passengers were taking advantage of the train for some transportation, but also they were -- if not heads of state -- at least seconds in command, the very people I was to talk to.

If they were to look at the train in the months preceeding and afterwards, they would see me sitting alone, my hair growing long and curly and twining like vines about the window frame while the driver worked at the front of the train.

War was brewing. A world war. As we crossed over into the next country, I saw groups of people on all sides of the train protesting (some of them protesting my treatment), and soldiers hewing them down. And overhead, I saw an airplane drawing a banner across the sky that said, "Beat the Bears." (Was the war to be in actuality a football game? I doubted it. Perhaps the game would set off the war.)

Then we were stopped or sidelined for a bit. It looked like the end of the line to me. The driver wasn't there. I climb off the train, and since there wasn't a landing, I had to climb down between the tracks, down the trestle, where the driver was being held prisoner and tortured. (I knew) the executioner of this country carried out his duty with an unholy zeal. He was going to kill me too, if he could manage it. He actually held the power of the country; the king and queen of this country were just a front for him.

That's about all I remember of the dream. But now, how can I use it? My character for my angels story could have the same sort of drive that she can say good-bye to a loving boyfriend and family. Would she confront the heads of state? I had thought her power would be against the certain evil that leaked into the world; but perhaps the evil which seeks power begins to reside within the heads of state. A thought.