Bird Bones

So, being pregnant has caused my dreams to be even more vivid and frequent than they already were. Lucky you. =) This one happened a few nights ago.

I was looking at the palm of my hand, and at the base of my life line there seemed to be a bit orange-y colored food stuck on. So, I scratched it off. What I thought was food was skin, and there now was a small hole in my hand. I wasn't bleeding, so I looked closer and held my hand up to the sun (apparently I was outside), and I could see inside my hand. I could see the bones and the veins and muscles running through, like the way they look in a biology book where they peel the skin back on the human body so you can study what's underneath.  I noticed that my bones were strangely thin, like a birds bones, and I flexed my hand to see if it felt any different than usual. I then saw another hole in my hand, and I started freaking out. I suddenly concluded that I must have some type of flesh-eating bacteria on my hand. I ran over to my boyfriend and showed him what was happening. He told me to put some bacitracin on the holes and that we would go to the hospital right away. So I started slathering bacitracin over the holes, like when you have to putty up all of the nail-holes in your apartment wall before you move out, but more and more holes kept popping up and my hand was now completely covered in bacitracin ointment.  I started to get really scared because I'm pregnant. Then...I woke up.

Mobiledreams

I fell asleep in mid-conversation on the phone twice tonight. And, each time I had a dream. I fell asleep for just a split second, yet was still able to dream...Is this normal? Well, who really cares about being normal anyway? So, the first one was of me being in a Dallas airport, and the other had a wizard in it...but I can't remember much else. Anywho, just a quirky little tid-bit.

An Ancient Remedy

In this dream I was, yet again, myself. This has become a frequent motif in my dreams of late. I wonder how long it will last? Enjoy.

It was nighttime when I climbed into the helicopter. It had already begun to rain, but the multitude of city lights burned through the slick haze. We lifted off from a small eroded landing pad of faded white markings, pulling higher and higher into the sky. I could see the Mayan pyramid off in the distance, a great hulking mass of trees and crumbling stone. I had been working several years on the excavation of this pyramid, and it looked like an old friend greeting me in the gloom of the stormy night. The pilot swooped up the side of the pyramid giving me a glimpse of the encroaching jungle scaling up the stone sides. I still had so much more work to do. Far off in the distance I could see the city buzzing, oblivious, or perhaps inconsiderate, of the greatness of the structure that stood right outside its limits. The pilot lowered me down onto the top of the pyramid using a rope ladder. I clung to the slippery rungs as the ground floated up to meet me. I jumped down onto the roof and ran across to a trap-door like opening. I climbed down yet another rope ladder into a cold stone hallway. It was dark and damp inside the pyramid, but I could hear voices and a flickering light was coming from the end of a long stone corridor. I followed the voices around a left corner and I walked out into a large cavernous space. There was a small group of people clustered about each other, standing along the edge of a very deep stone shaft that extended all the way down through the center of the pyramid. The shaft was part of the design of the pyramid; it was square and about eight feet across and eight feet wide. Above the shaft, mounted on the walls to the left and right, were two large, metal, cone-shaped coils pointing towards each other. On the opposite ledge from where I was standing was an old desk with a large machine sitting on top of it. The machine contained a large panel of knobs and buttons, and meters with jumping needles inside them. Kiko sat at the desk and was fiddling with the knobs and buttons on the machine. That was when I noticed that Kiko’s husband was standing in front of me, but he looked about thirty years younger. His hair was dark and his shoulders were straighter.  I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him, "What’s going on? I was called out here, but the message didn’t give any details. Did they figure out the wiring problem?” He said to me, “Just wait and see. It’s about to begin.”  Then suddenly, I could feel every hair on my arms standing on end, and there was a deafening crack as the coils sizzled to life with lavender electricity. Arms of light arched out across the gaping shaft towards one another and met in the air above the hole with another whip-like sizzle. A large crackling orb of blue formed where the two arms had met. An old radio on a table behind me jumped to life and began to frantically flip through radio stations, producing a garbled cacophony of background music to accompany the crackling power of the electricity. And then I felt it. A golden, molten warmth seeping and spreading through my body. Every cell in my being began to hum and fizz with life. I felt so alive. Such an effervescent feeling! I felt more alive than I had ever felt in my entire life. A hysterical bubble of laughter escaped through my lips as I flexed my hands, feeling strong and vibrant. Kiko’s husband looked at me and smiled. He looked even younger now than he had a few minutes ago. Kiko turned some knobs on the machine and the electricity popped out of existence, leaving the room cold and blindingly dark. I could still feel the new energy pulsing underneath my skin. Part of me was in shock. I just couldn’t absorb the magnitude of our discovery…we had found the fountain of youth.

A Very Merry Unbirthday/ これは日本の書店ですか。

Last night was very strange…for most of it I was caught somewhere between sleep and waking. My mind just kept pacing around the rim of sleep, like a panther stalking its prey. Pacing, pacing, pacing, tasting the edge, then back to pacing. When my mind finally plunged into the inky depths of sleep towards dawn, I had two dreams. I only remember a part of the first dream, and the second one was very short. In both dreams I was myself, which is a rarity indeed.

A Very Merry Unbirthday

There was a house in a dying wood. All of the trees had lost all of their leaves and the ground was cracked and dry and disintegrating into a fine white powder that the wind would suck up from the ground and fling across your nose and mouth.  The house was oddly shaped, like the entirety had been built at different times, room by room. It was longer than it was wide, and each room would end abruptly where the next began without a separating wall. I walked through the house from the front door to the back yard. In each room there were different people doing different things; in one room there was an old couple watching a T.V. program on an old out-dated television set. The furniture was old, the upholstery worn and filled with holes which were covered by crocheted throw blankets in a multitude of colors. A white screen door led out onto the backyard where a very long table was set out beneath the over-arching branches of the white parched trees. Faded paper flags had been strung between the skeletal branches of the trees, and they fluttered in the dust-strewn wind. The table had been painted white at one point, but the paint was now peeling and had been worn off with age. Teapots and teacups littered a white lace runner that ran the length of the table and white plates were laden with cakes and sandwiches. Dean entered the backyard carrying stacks of paper in muted colors. He said that we needed to make more paper flowers and birds for decorations. Apparently, we were preparing for my birthday party…and then…the dream ended and another one began.

Despite (or more likely because of) the faded colors, the peeling paint, and the bare trees, I have to note that the whole scene was quite unusually beautiful. And for some reason, the presence of paper was incredibly important.

これは日本の書店ですか。/ Is this a Japanese Bookstore?

I found myself in a maze of folding tables, all filled to the brim with old books. Heaven. There were other things for sell in this haphazard store other than books, like metal teapots, and antique lamps, but I wasn’t interested in anything but the treasure-trove of books that lay in wait for my discovery. Though I say this was a store, the whole place was open-air with a large canopy draped on poles for shade. I was on an outer edge of the store which was pressed up against the outside of a building where the walls were all made of panels of glass. I then realized that I had not put on any make-up, so I decided to use the glass as a mirror. I quickly slapped on some concealer and blush before anyone could witness me in the midst of a beauty routine. I finished putting on my make-up and continued browsing. Behind me I heard two women talking in Japanese. I turned to glance at them. There were two women and one girl all conversing in Japanese; a mother, an aunt, and a daughter. The mother and aunt both had long black hair tied back into a low pony-tail, but the girl’s hair was cut short and neat right to her chin. The mother was going to go into a shop next door and she wanted to know if they wanted anything to eat from there. They both said no.

The aunt was wearing a draped shirt in various shades of pale green and a pair of cropped blue-jeans; she had a very round face and a very serious “no nonsense” demeanor.  I approached the booth and asked the aunt,  「すみませんが、あなたは日本人ですか。」(Excuse me but, are you Japanese?). And she said, “I’m sorry, but no.”, in English. I was confused as to why she would want to conceal the fact that she was Japanese, and why she would answer me in English, which clearly indicated that she understood me. I just shrugged my shoulders and decided to peruse through the books she had for sale anyway. I picked up a thick, heavy, paperback book titled Her Sorrow. It had been slouching up against a brusselsprout colored hard-cover book in a dark corner in the bookcase. As I picked up the book, the aunt came gliding over, all smiles, wanting to know if I needed any help and mentioning that this was a very rare book. Judging form the way it was placed on the shelf like a reject, I highly doubted that.  Her Sorrow was a large compilation of dark fairy-tales written by various famous authors, one being my favorite author, Tanith Lee. The cover was all dark grey, white, and black; there were two beautiful blonde women, one dressed in black and the other in white, and a large black swan. The woman in black was on the left half of the cover. She had her left hand draped across the swan’s neck and she stood strong and tall looking out to the horizon to the left. The woman in white was on the right half of the cover and she was kneeling with her whole body draped across the back of the swan and her right hand curving up across the swan’s chest. Her eyes were down-cast and tears trickled down her face onto the black feathers of the swan.  Out of the corner of my eye, behind the rather large rear-end of the gliding aunt, I spotted another interesting book. What had caught my attention was the art on the cover. I could tell that it was the work of one of my favorite artists, Kinuko Y. Craft. I didn’t read the title, instead I looked straight to the author, hoping that it was one of Juliet Marrilier’s books. The author’s name was written backwards and upside-down in gold calligraphy. I made out that the first name started with a “V” and that the last name was Kiles.  I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to afford both, and so I prepared to haggle with the aunt. I began to inquire as to the price of the books and…I woke up.

Doors

Ok, I think it is time for me to come to terms with something. I am not consistent. And, I should stop making promises that I can't keep. So, I will post as often as I can. Enjoy. =)

The dream started off in a dorm. Amanda, Anya and I were hanging out in Troy’s dorm room while he wasn’t there. We weren’t supposed to be in his room, but he was in class. We listened to his music and used his computer to play games. His room was a mess, clothes all over the floor, and his door had been un-locked, which is why we decided to take advantage. We left his room, afraid that he might come back from class early, but then I remembered that I had left my book on the floor, so I ran back to his room and quickly retrieved it. I backed out of his room, taking in one last glimpse of the chaos within, and shut his door; when I turned around…

 I was no longer in the dorm. I was in a different hallway entirely.  This hallway was painted all white with dark hardwood floors, and high, square crown-molding.  The door that I had just come through was one of a set of three doors on that wall, and on the opposite wall was a large rounded square-ish arch-way that opened out onto a large living room and white and blue tiled kitchen. Then, it suddenly came to me, like I had known all along but couldn’t remember, I was in my own house. My mom and I had just bought a new house and we were renting that third room out to Troy. My room was the door in the middle and my mom’s room was the door on the far right. I went into my room. The room was abnormally long and narrow, like it had been made as an after-thought, or by accident. At the end of my room was a bay window with light lemon-cream colored cushioned seats and sheer curtains. My bed was off to the right side of the room, with a matching lemon-cream comforter.  On the left hand wall I had a white vanity. The room was filled with the sunlight filtering in through the windows, painting everything in a warm golden effervescent kind of glow. Next door, Troy’s room was now empty because he had moved out, and the house felt a bit lop-sided and hollow on that end. I looked up at the left side wall of my room, and I could see that the plaster was cracked and a bit had crumbled away onto the floor in a little powdery heap. There seemed to be something peaking out from behind the plaster, so I pulled my step-stool over to the crack in the wall, and stood on my tiptoes to reach the crumbling bit of plaster. I squeezed my fingers in-between the plaster and the wall where it had fallen away and pulled a big chunk of it off with a loud crack. There was a dark recess there that had been hidden behind the thick layer of plaster. I furiously began to pull pieces of the plaster down. When I had finished, there was a small doorway set high and deep into the wall. The door was painted a dark yellow and had a rounded top with a half-moon window cut into three pie slices set in it. I opened the door and there was more plaster on the other side, so I pushed on the plaster and it gave way almost like paper. The door led into the room that Troy had been renting from us. I ran out into the hallway looking for my mom.

“Mom! Mom!”, I yelled in excitement.

“I’m in my room!” She answered.

I didn’t even bother to open her door. I just spoke to her through it. “Mom, can I have the room that Troy was staying in? Please?! I found a hidden door in my wall that leads into that room!”

“Well, I guess so.” She answered.

I ran back to my room, but then realized that I had forgotten to ask my mom something, so I ran back out into the hallway, closed my door, spun around and…

I was no longer in my house. I was at my grandmother’s house, and I had just walked out onto her back porch and slid the sliding-glass door shut. Part of the porch is covered with an open-air structure painted a hot-pink, and the other part is an un-covered round piece of cement. But, the round piece of the porch was gone, and in its place was a large, square ornamental fountain-like pool. On all sides of the pool-fountain, stairs descended into the water, giving it the illusion that it was deeper than it actually was. In the middle was a small raised square where water bubbled up in a soothing sort of care-free way. At the bottom of the pool were hundreds of pearls in shades of cream, white, and grey; and on the surface of the water floated large, base-ball sized pearls. My step-mom came out and said to me, “Isn’t it beautiful? Your dad put it in just last week.” I looked across to the opposite side of the pool, and there was my dad, watering a tree along the fence of the neighbor’s yard. I stepped into the water, it felt so cool against my bare skin, and I lowered myself down and lay in the water, floating on my back. The sky above was a churned up soup of greys and white, and I could feel the wind gusting across my exposed skin. I closed my eyes and…

I was laying on a cold, grey marble floor. I saw myself from above;I was wearing a beautifully ornate, Victorian-style gown in dark-grey satin with light-grey and white stripes. The whole outfit was trimmed in dark-silver ruffles. I was dying. I had been stabbed, and my blood was spreading across the marble floor in a lop-sided dark-red circle from underneath my body.  There was a marble fountain to the left of my body, and as I was dying I could hear it gurgling away, pouring an endless stream of water into the basin. Fortunately I didn’t feel any pain, but I could feel my life trickling to a stop, I couldn’t breathe, it was becoming hard to think, I couldn’t see…

I opened my eyes and I was still in my Grandmother’s back yard, still floating on my back in the square pool that had once been the porch. I stood up shakily, feeling far colder than I should have, and wobbled over to where my Dad was watering the tree. The wind had picked up into a gusty, leaf-tearing howl. I looked past my Dad to where the neighbor’s house usually is, but it wasn’t there; in fact, there wasn’t any ground there at all. Instead, there was the edge of a cliff that plunged far down to angry looking ocean. My Grandmother’s house was now on a cove of cliff faces, and on the opposite cliff face was a whole town of houses painted in red and white that had been built directly into a hill, stacked like legos on top of each other. The wind blew harder, and you could see the houses on the cliff blowing away like sheets of construction paper, buckling in and then scattering. But, when the walls blew away there was nothing inside, as if they had never been real, and real people had never lived in them. The town was just a child’s construction paper dream.

I yelled to my Dad over the wind, “There’s a storm coming!”

My Dad turned to look at me and said, “Yep.” And then turned back around and continued watering the tree.

And then…I woke up.

Bunker Fare

Hello, the two of you that are following my lonesome little blog. I have not been as devout to posting as I had hoped I could be. School has taken a nasty tole on my free time. But, all of the stress, lack of sleep, and little cat-naps that have fueled me onward through my days have produced some pretty exciting dreams. I am going to do my best to catch up and make up for my serious (yet inescapable) neglect of this blog.

There was some type of chemical war going on. Dean and I and our partners decided to create an under-ground bunker to stay in. It wasn’t very big; there was just a kitchen and a living room with two couches, and two very tiny back bedrooms. There was also a small biosphere-like area where plants and food were grown. We had decided to head below because there had been a rumor of a chemical bomb threat broadcast over the radio. We decided that a month below could possibly be a sufficient amount of time to wait for the major threat to be over.

A month went by so slow; this trapped feeling rising in everyone’s throats, just on the verge of panic; it left a lingering after-taste. The hunger for sunlight was unbearable. The lights in the garden weren’t enough, it just wasn’t the same. Being down there felt like someone else had dressed me in my own skin, but had put it on too tight, or had thrown it in the dryer for too long and it had shrunk. I was scratching to get out, pangs of longing for the sky plunged deep into my gut.

We had small arguments now and then, brought on by the need to find a place to breath away from each other; even if it was just to gulp down fistfuls of stale air. But, for the most part we all got along pretty well; we had already been good friends for a long while. Dean and I had known each other for the longest. We had known each other since high school. Those days seemed so far away in comparison to the recent days, which had been filled with fear and running as the world fell apart in a clatter of metal and gunpowder.

Finally, the day came when we could return to the surface. By this point we had become more afraid of being underground than the chemicals that were possibly raining down above our little haven of solitude. We crammed into the elevator, pressed in even closer to each other for the last bit of our imprisonment; perhaps so that the escape would taste that much sweeter. The doors opened and we tumbled out in to the forest. Blinking, under that bright-green canopy, it began to rain. Oh, the air was so clean, expanding in my lungs, pushing out the fermented air-conditioned oxygen from the bunker. And the rain. The rain felt like magic. I never thought I could miss the rain so much. We danced in the forest, wet and pale, but free.

Insomnia

I'm afraid that there will be no post for tonight. I have been suffering from sever allergies for the last two weeks, so yesterday I finally broke down and went to the doctor. I was given a steroid shot, and I believe it is the culprit for this new found insomnia. I think I've slept a grand total of an hour tonight. Not exactly the best way to start the new semester this morning. Sigh. Well, maybe I'll try to write up an old dream a little later to make up for it. Hopefully everyone else had good night's rest. ^-^