Dream 1: Being hunted down by a repressive, fascist government

Dream 1: Being hunted down by a repressive, fascist government after I stabbed the #1 presidential candidate for this regime in the face with a broken bottle. I was saved by Morgan Freeman after being shot several times. This was probably the most drawn-out dream of the night and most realistic as being something that could possibly happen in real life. The landscape/geography of the area I was in didn’t resemble anything in real life, though I think it was supposed to cover a lot more territory than it really could have given the short distances I walked.

The fascist party in the U.S. was something like the Freedom Party or Liberty Party, but the only freedom you had was if you were white and ready to follow all of the single party’s rules, which were basically U.S. war fetish/conservative/jingoist/being white. There didn’t even seem to really be a capitalist system anymore, per se, as you couldn’t start a business unless you were part of the ruling party. So, it was totalitarianism at its worst from the 20th Century come to roost in the U.S.

However, the ruling party clearly hadn’t gotten good control over the entire country, and various organic groups were springing up to run separate economies which were mostly filled with people of color since most of the white people in the country had fallen in line with the Freedom Party in order to keep their jobs and houses. I was clearly opposed to the party’s primary presidential candidate, who was running unopposed. I pretended to be a big fan and member of the party who loved the candidate dearly (he looked and talked sort of like the dad from the TV show Frazier), and caught him by surprise in a men’s room somewhere before he was to give a speech. My only weapon was a bottle lying in the trash, which I smashed on the sink counter and rammed directly into his face and eyes, and then ran out of the bathroom like Ehud in the book of Judges did to Eglon.

I ran to one of the rogue communities, which truly acted as if they were free in how they ran their economies (which seemed to be a mixture of cooperative and small-business capitalism), and was hiding out when the fascist government sent the military to basically wipe everyone out. I took several bullets but managed to play dead and then sneak into a deep hole, but not before meeting Morgan Freeman, who told me to meet him back at his ranch way up north when I was able to get away successfully. Apparently, Morgan Freeman had some immunity from persecution being a celebrity. Most of the people in the community had died, and the military doused the place with gasoline and launched a flamethrower into it.

Those who got away streamed north into areas that were less penetrated by the government and military, and in the dream this entire part of the country was just streaming with people wandering around–a lot of people of color, but also people who had been sprung from prisons and mental institutions that the government no longer wanted to support in the territories that it had control of. I think the idea was similar to how the Native Americans were treated in real life–smoke ‘em out, push further away, and eventually once the government was ready and the unwanted people were contained, the idea was that all of them would be euthanized at once.

So, I was constantly being bothered by folks with mental problems as well as sex perverts, and people with chronic health problems and disabilities who needed assistance. Except, I had nothing to give, and I was in a pretty bad way myself. I finally got to a border that was being monitored by soldiers like the Berlin Wall before it closed for good, and had some kind of excuse that got me through into a territory that was even less controlled by the government. Morgan Freeman came down from his ranch way north (probably like in the upper parts of Canada) to meet me and take me to a doctor and some refuge.

Dream 2: A speech-making contest that was being attended by thousands of people. There were several stations for participants, and it seemed like the importance of it went beyond being just a contest or game–like we were competing for some kind of bigger prize. Even my son wanted to participate, and he was in the line behind me. When it got to be my turn to give my speech, I failed to give the previous one I’d given in rehearsal, which the coach had said was very good. I started talking about something else and didn’t know how to end it. Rhetorical craft seemed very important–perhaps like how people competed in Greco-Roman times. My first speech was something along the lines of how to speak clearly to the right audience, be it a crowd or over the telephone–a meta-speech of sorts, a speech on speechmaking. In the waking world, I am terrible at public speaking and have grown only modestly comfortable (ie, I don’t completely implode in anxiety) at it.

Dream 3: I received a bad grade from my OT professor that looked like the first bad grade I got on my theology professor, and the comments looked like the ones that the worship professor provided. Actually, the grade from the theology professor wasn’t bad, the test was poorly made and the professor knew it and padded the grading a lot. But, anyway, in the dream, I started to react to the test like I had reacted in the waking life. Except, there was something about needing to get home, and of course we (probably my wife and son and I though I don’t exactly remember) were located roughly around where my old elementary school was in real life and were trying to get home to my boyhood home. This seems to happen a lot in dreams–I end up located on the highway that runs parallel to the old elementary school a block away, and am trying to get home by walking or using a weird contraption or cutting through a dream neighborhood.

I am not sure if all these dreams where I start back near elementary school are trying to tell me something about some levels of maturity I have or not.

Meta notes on dreams…
I almost forgot the latter two dreams, and did indeed forget most of the content of them, in my effort upon final waking to remember the first dream.

Intent, intensity of focus, importance of a thing — could the mind be capable of seeing more about reality if it determined that it was necessary to focus “the more” — that which lies beyond the things it is commonly told to focus on? Could existence in this particular state itself be governed largely by an intensity of focus?

My ability to have those visions and moments of experiencing a higher reality may have come due to a sense of not needing to completely focus on this life, the life at hand. In other words, survival and the constant disparaging remarks I heard from people around me about realities beyond this one have prompted me to no longer focus on them (also to a large degree fear of them). When I was younger, I had parents who were taking care of my essential survival needs and so I had the freedom to let my mind not be nearly as present and attentive to this reality.

Even my focus on my aging self perhaps perpetuates the sense that my mind is becoming less capable.

A lot of dreams popped up after I stopped taking Mucinex DM regularly

A lot of dreams popped up after I stopped taking Mucinex DM regularly, though my sinuses have been blocked most of the time and inevitably, I will probably start being irritable again. Something in the DXM acts like an SRI, I think. You might think that DXM would give me crazy dreams, and I think it probably does, but I can never remember them upon fully waking–I just wake up with the impression of having had a lot of crazy dreams. I remembered these more fully upon waking, as I have most times that I’ve slept after stopping DXM from an extended period of taking it.

I’ve forgotten most of the dreams, though, since I woke up with a push to get us out of the house today. There was a dream about my son biting the dog, and the dog reacting in fear, and peeing on the floor, but my wife taking it as an act of aggression and stating that the dog was being territorial, and we needed to get rid of the dog. I got very angry at her in in the dream about this.

I don’t remember the rest of the dreams now, since we woke up and pushed to get out the door and come up here to Dallas today. The focus was more on getting out the door and making our way up I-35.

I think that a lot of the dreams have been sort of acting like entertainment, since I haven’t been able to get into watching shows and movies online, and my reading has mostly consisted of school assignments and reading poetry, rather than just purely entertaining fiction. My brain more or less works to entertain me while I sleep, and I don’t think that there is much meaning inherent in most of the dreams beyond that.

I’m starting to recall a dream that was sort of related to school–I think it involved my worship class teacher, whose style of teaching I mostly didn’t take to very well. In the dream, she’d asked for an assignment where we cut and pasted very specific items from a 1200 page book of topics varying from how to bake communion bread to endless slides of her vacations and mission trips. My attempts to paste the right items together weren’t met with approval, because I’d apparently mismatched my choice of communion bread with my choice of liturgical text. Suddenly, the bread was actually bread, and she was trying to line it up for me with cut-and-pasted text–literally cut and pasted as we used to do in the old days. There were several factors complicating this approach–I seemed to be under pressure from some kind of ultra-oppressive government to not get caught doing this and have it finished in a short period of time. I strangely did not fly into a rage about her request to change my choice of bread, as I seem to do often in dreams where I’m asked by a person in some position of authority over me to do something I don’t want to do.

There was a lot more vivid detail to the dream than that, but it’s not quite coming to me–some possible interactions with seminary or high school classmates, maybe my dad.

I kept thinking that I should have snagged my phone and jotted a quick note about the dreams to prompt my memory, but unfortunately, I didn’t quite get motivated to wake up to that degree–and my wife would probably also have wondered what I was doing, but she may have to get used to it–I’m running out of even marginally interesting things to write about.

The trip up I-35 was pretty breezy now that they have three lanes all the way up to Temple, and three lanes all the way from Waco pretty much to Dallas. Plus, it helped going at an off time of day and week. We got hit by a downpour once, and downpours in Dallas tend to turn everyone into timid drivers except for a few daredevils who want to prove how fearless they are and they will drive even worse than they regularly do.

I’m pretty much resigned to either moving on into Greek class, or possibly taking this final job possibility if they bother to call me back next week. I’m resigned to my world being what it is, and my level of intellect being what it is, and etc. The illusion that I was in charge of a lot of things that I really wasn’t has mostly come and passed. For some reason, the only writing I’ve really cared to read recently is poetry, though I still like reading about philosophy, if not directly from the philosophers themselves, which is usually a descent into dense brain pain.

I’ve started taking Rhodiola again. I remember it having nominal benefits before, but I don’t think I was patient enough with it. Since I’ve gotten better about trying these kinds of supplements for the long run, I’ve noticed that some of them do offer advantages, but you have to be patient with them–you can’t just pop a pill and suddenly feel great and have big, smart thoughts.

Today’s nap dream was about an ancient piano at a church I was attending. I continued to write children’s sermons and skits that saw the children interacting with the piano which was about to collapse and fall apart. Every time I did one of my children’s sermons, the childcare assistants would have to hover around the children who got up near the piano, to yank the kids out if the piano started to collapse. In real life, I’ve never written a children’s sermon, and my son was banging on my in-laws’ piano as I drifted off into sleep. In the dream, I was very proud of the way I continued to incorporate this dangerous piano into the children’s sermons, and I very much wanted to tell a fellow (real life) seminary student about it because I thought he would be impressed with it. The piano was scheduled for demolition, though, and I promised to give each child a piece of the piano after it was destroyed, along with some pie.

It continues the thunder heavily and rain, though I think it will probably pass shortly. There weren’t any real plans made to do exceptional things here in Dallas. Of course, Half Price Books always calls out to me, and I’d kind of wanted to go eat seafood somewhere, but the in-laws had already decided to order pizza, and I didn’t feel like making a thing about it.

Was out of sleep aid and there was not even the weaker Benadryl in the cabinet. Stayed up hearing the loud television and conversation until it ended whenever. Slept in fits all night.

Dreams: I decided to join the Army and become a professional boxer at the age I am in the waking life: 41. Other tough-guy dreams I forgot. One moment of waking into sleep paralysis, and hearing the weird way sound is refracted into whatever the sleep paralysis world is, and the humming. I started trying to be playful with whatever “demons” were in the room, so I clearly wasn’t in my right mind–inviting demons in or even attempting to interact with them is hardly anything I would want to participate in. I think I was trying to be a tough guy about realizing I was caught in sleep paralysis.

Other dreams–I was at the Dam for the old childhood lake, and they were offering a bunch of smoked ham. Not sure if there was significance in the rhymed words. People were debating on whether it was safe to eat or not, because it had been smoked in the side of a rock face.

Some extended engagement with random people, and then I found myself cleaning out a McDonald’s fry vat like I had to do in high school. My friend JK from HS opened the spigot and the grease ran out all over the floor. He never worked at McDonald’s in real life. He seemed rather unperturbed by what he’d done, even though I was furious. The fry vat somehow became part of the sink, and people started piling dirty dishes in it even as I was trying to clean it out and prepare it for brand new grease. Some people from seminary showed up and deposited their dishes and I got mad at them. I accused one of them of never engaging in conversation with me unless I initiated it. She was rather offended by this, and I felt the need to try to make amends with her.

There were a lot of other dreams as well, because I kept falling asleep and only staying asleep for a very brief period of time. For some reason, a lot of them have been about me trying to put myself in very masculine roles like the Army/boxing dream, but I generally don’t lose my temper and get destructive during the process.

I don’t feel especially tired this morning, like I should from having not had much sleep. I don’t know if the Rhodiola is working already, or I am just feeling the effects of not having any sleep aid or DXM in my system. Eventually, I start to grow more and more irritable about little things the longer I go without these. I already got kind of irked last night at dinner after a beer or two when my in-laws started talking about one of their friends’ son-in-laws, who apparently has consistently put his career over spending time with his son with the excuse that he can only make money by doing what he does on international engagements in places like Korea and Romania. Judging from his profession, he could in all likelihood still make pretty exceptional money anywhere he wants, if not doing exactly what he’s been doing, and have a hundred times more time available to spend with his son. I don’t know much about these people, but the little boy has had all kinds of eating disorders, that I would hazard to guess are from all of the stress he’s had to go through being moved from place to place without being able to spend time with his dad, who seemed mostly aloof and and distant from his son the one time I met them. His dad seemed to be like the Scottish version of the American jock–he pulled his American wife and son back to Scotland on the pretense of needing to be close to his own extended family, and then promptly moved them to an engagement in Romania. I think the guy just wants to be independent and do as he pleases while making a ton of money, and just be able to say he has a proper wife and kid. For all I know, I have completely misjudged the situation, but it seems like the priorities are out of whack enough as to be unsavory to hear about. A man who can’t spend time with his family–what did the Godfather say about that? From what it sounds like, neither the guy or his wife have jobs that would see them poor and broke in just about any city around the world. Choosing a million dollars a year vs. a quarter million and sacrificing 90% of the time you could be spending with your little boy seems to me to be a travesty.