I am outside the world looking down on it – seeing the blue oceans and continents from space. And then I soar towards earth, closer and closer, like a Google map. Finally, I recognize a large mountain range -- rocky and barren. I fly over it, thinking that maybe it’s the Alps. I come closer yet until I’m cruising over a quaint village of old-fashioned shops and restaurants with a cobblestone street -- something from 18th century London. Lights are on, but it’s still dusk. I fly above the streetlamps, feeling happy to be there and wanting to stay. I continue to drift over the town and wake up, wishing I could go back to the dream.
* * *
I am riding a very small horse. In real life it would be more goat-sized, but he’s a horse in my dream. And I take him on a long ride with obstacles in our path; we’re having difficulty getting back home. At one point we wade through a stream, and cross a rocky slope. I’m afraid he’ll trip and fall. We cross an uneven meadow and come to an Eastern monastery with flowing water and attendants and a modern structure where people are filing in. I get off my horse and lead him up a manmade waterfall and into the building with the other people. It’s serene and peaceful inside. We pass through and continue homeward. There’s a large structure, like a bridge overpass, that we can’t get across. We need to go around, and I’m concerned about the distance and whether my horse will be all right and make it up the slope. Then I wake up.
I went into a theatre auditorium, which had rows of chairs flat on the floor, not slanted as they usually are in a theatre. Our seats were in the first row, but since my husband wasn’t there, I went into the lobby to call him. I couldn’t get my phone to work properly. Every time I punched in a number, something was wrong and I couldn’t get through. The play began; I heard the actors’ dialogue and wanted to be watching, but I was worried about Ron, and kept trying to call him, getting more and more frustrated that I couldn’t get the phone to work.
I went to the lobby window that faced the sea. In the water was a small fishing boat, and someone had a straining fishing rod in the water. The line was bowed with the weight, and I wondered what the person had caught. A rather stout woman in a wetsuit went into the water. She was evidently wondering what was on the other end of the line too. (Line, as in phone line??) As I watched her swim to the boat, the water cleared so that I could see beneath the surface.
The fisherman had caught a black and white pony on his line, and the pony was drowning. As I watched, the lady in the wetsuit reached the pony, wrapped her arms around him, pulled him to the surface and brought him to shore. The pony was all right; he’d survived. I was so overjoyed that when the woman came inside the lobby, I gushed with gratitude and praise, and thanked her for what she’d done: saving the pony. She looked at me as if I was a nutcase, as if it wasn’t any big deal. Then I woke up.
My husband and I were in a taxi driving in a dark part of a city unfamiliar to us. The car stopped and two men with strange-looking guns pointed at us through the windows. We were afraid to move. I thought we might be shot – that they wanted to rob us. Instead, an old man got into the front seat. His silver hair was long and wavy, and at first he didn’t say anything or turn around to where we were sitting, anxious and afraid. After a minute, he turned his head and said to me, “I am your grandfather.” Since I’d never seen him before I understood that he was my ‘birth’ grandfather – not my adopted one. He got out of the car and began to hurry up the street without saying anything more. So I got out and ran after him, asking him questions. He wouldn’t answer except to say that he had to leave.
I followed him to a small, old building, with a lobby and adjacent room. I went through the lobby and saw a group of people sitting on the floor in the room. They were practicing yoga – each in a different position. I looked around the corner and saw my grandfather lounging on a raised platform. He had on different clothes – bright-colored satin, and his long, silver hair flowed out around him. He was smiling and talking; he seemed to be their guru. I decided this wasn’t my scene, so I left to find my husband. He didn’t ask where I’d been. We walked in the dark street, hunting for a taxi, and came to a store, which was closed. Everything was closed. In front of the store was a dolly piled with carpet remnants, and a man lay on top of the carpets, asleep. He appeared at first to be a bum, or a homeless person. My husband got a shovel and hit the man on the head. I was appalled. (In real life he would never do such a thing, either.) The man began to mumble things, and I saw that he was very rough-shaved, as if he’d shaved with a dull knife. There were red marks around his neck and throat. He also wore a soldier’s uniform. I was shocked that my husband had hit a soldier, and said that I was upset about this man being here, probably homeless and a soldier. Then I woke up.
My husband and I were at a weekend workshop inside a complex of town-house style buildings. A large group of people was there, and we were to spend the weekend moving from one workshop to the next, all located within the complex. The first one I learned about was a biology lab experience, and a woman asked me if I had any prior education in biology that would give me the ability to use a computer to keep track of data gleaned from the experiments in the lab. I said no, but that I was a quick study and was willing to learn, but that I wouldn’t dissect any animals, not one. She asked me if was more mentally alert in the morning or at night. I said night, so I was assigned to an evening session.
We continued on our tour of the complex. While in an upstairs room of one of the townhouses, I looked out the window and saw the building we were in sinking into the ground. Evidently, there was a threat outside, and this group had devised a method for hiding their buildings in the ground so they wouldn’t be detected. I was never clear exactly what the threat was. But at one point, my husband and I were outside when the nearest townhouse dropped slowly into the ground. We frantically searched for a way inside before it was too late. Ron made it in, and I tried, but didn’t make it. So, I went around to the other side of the townhouse to steps that led down and inside.
The room was crowded with people who immediately checked my shoe for an identifying red dot that said I was ‘one of them.’ Some of us hustled to the next workshop, where I saw my husband and told him I’d been assigned the biology night shift, and that I wasn’t happy about it. We lost track of each other, and I lost the group I was with. So I followed another group outside and through a beautiful expanse of green mountains and rolling hills. We came to a stone wall, turned left, and before us was a crystal green pool filled with aquatic animals – a large number of green turtles the size of dinner plates, exotic birds I’d never seen, and a mammal that floated on his back and looked something like an otter, except that the fur on his head was much longer. I kept asking what the creature was called. No one answered me. But I decided I would much rather be out here in this beautiful, enchanted garden learning more about these animals than working inside in a biology lab. And I woke up.
