Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

Oh dear I never meant to post that, pretend you never saw it : )

Written Tuesday morning,

Oh man, I slept so late and couldn't make it to therapy and have a mountain of work ahead of me. Damn, damn, damn.

Can't move on without logging in my freaky dream, though. This is a serious exercise in vulnerability. Dreams are the place where all of my true raw feelings and emotions come out and play. I feel really naked here revealing this less censored side of my psyche. Writing about a dream where I wanted to be cool and popular isn't an easy thign to do but it feels right somehow.

I actually posted the notes here by mistake, rather than this edited version. When I came by and discovered that, I felt even more vulnerable. I don't know why I'm doing this exactly, why are you guys doing it? I know I like it a lot. It feels good to share my daily thoughts and doings with you. I ahve wanted to have a livecam for awhile now but am just too lame to pull it off. I mean lame in a good way ; ) Actually I am finally relearning some of the basics in html thanks to btripp, dankitti, evilhomer and the rest of you lovebugs : ) The livejournal format feels a little safe than going all out and being an anawee. I guess I will have to study my motives more deeply : )

My Dreamland

I'm a man a lot in this one, all kinds of different men. A military man who fought in Japan, in a war, and a man who knows how to mine gold out of the ocean, a spy, a helicopteer pilot, a sscuba diver, a submarine engineer, a man in a big pink bunny suit, a creep who has sex with animals, someone like me who lives in a sort of penthouse apartment above an animal hospital, experience and everything, I should probably be putting this one in imajerk's journal but this one was mine, okay here goes.

I have a lot of cats and am visiting my veterinary hospital with them. Only, this hospital is located inside my apartment/office building. It is this really cool structure, very big and modern. I am the biggest tenant and perhaps the owner of the building. I might even own the hospital, I'm not certain. I come downstairs with my cats. I have them all on leashes and later they are just all following me in this big group and I feel like some sort of feline pied piper.

I am flirting with all of the vets, and making everyone laugh. I am popular here and it feels good to me. I went to veterinary school with these guys and we are all friends. I admire these people, and feeling like one of them, makes me feel good about myself. (God someone find me a thirty eight year old successful Vet to love please?) I'm not sure why but for some reason people are treating me really well here and making me feel special, unusual and unique.

At one point a doctor brings out an injection and he keeps waving it around while he is laughing and joking with me. I keep watching the needle afraid he will accidentally jab it into me but then he jabs it into his own leg instead.

There is a little black and white mutty dog here who is lying on his side, tied up on a table. He is about to go into surgery. He has a trache tube down his throat and is in pain and afraid. He is looking at me and asking me for help. He is crying but no-one has bothered to give him anesthesia He is so uncomfortable, sad, and frightened. I am really upset about this and want to help him. The doctors don't like my interfereceand are beginning to turn against me.

At some point I go home with all of my cats, well at least the ones who are well. I like that I can call them and they follow me. Their responding to me and not having to be on leashes makes me feel good again. I am deriving self esteem from my relationship and connection with them. A connection that seems out of the ordinary to other people. People in the hallway watch shocked as I stroll by with a dozen cats.

I am in a helicopter. I switch back and forth between being a husband pilot and his wife, a newspaper reporter of some kind. We have decided to steal this military helicopter and escape. We are gion to make it look like we have crashed and died. We are ebing watched, wither on television or by people on the ground. My husband ois acting crazy, flying eratically and waving a gun around. We fly by a television studio that has a big open window and are hovering erratically there so they will see us. I am trying to deliver a news report about our impending crash. W e decide it is time to fake the crash/escape. we head for the ocean by way of a sort of alley like area, military helicopters are now beginnning to pursue us and are catching up. we try to outrun them to the sea but are blocked by a fence of some kind. We are going to crash and ditch the helicopter in this patch of red mud, but just as we are about to land, the wind from the rotors stirs up the mud and a murdered body comes to the surface.

I am an older man now. I have this very modern home set on stilts over the sea. It can either lift up into the air, well above the sea level, or descend rapidy to a scuba safe fifteen feet and then slowly continue down farther. I have taken a woman here to impress her and get her to have sex with me and to get away from the military. I want her and am kind of creepy and lecherous about it. But this apartment is really great. The walls are all made out of some kind of tempered, pressure resitant glass and everything is pressurized. The ocean is all around us and the view from these windows is breathtaking. There are all kinds of colored and shaped coral, sea fans, sea anemones and sponges, it's amazing; the colors.

I go to this movie and watch it, but then it is as if I am in the movie. The movie is being told backwards. So everything that happens, all of the spy and acion adventure sequences, happen in reverse order. I sit through it twice.

At one point as the camera pans by a part of this submarine underwater. I cheer when I see a sort of gay pride sticker on the ship. People are angry with me for this for some bizarre reason and I stand up to them. I think that they are homophobic and mean. I become righteous and angry. We fight and finally some other people come to my aid.

After the first showing of the movie, I notice a lot of kids in these beautiful long, white, tulle-skirted dresses and tuxedoes. The girls are sitting together and so are the guys, paired off in same sex couples. I ask them why they look so nice, and the women who are with them, nice loving women with corsages and boutonnieres, say that they are part of a group. Shoot, I've forgotten the name, but basically they support gay and lesbian, high school couple's right to attend their proms in pairs. And then I think they also hold their own prom.

I am so happy for them. they are obviously so happy. I am so moved that I start to cry and have to hold it back. I tell them that I heard about this on the radio, and was so in favor of their having this kind of help and support that I donated money to help their campagn. They are all so sweet, healthy, happy and accepted. I am so proud of their good and loving parents for giving them this support.

The movie is the trippiest part of the dream. From what I can remember and understand of it, I am some sort of super brave spy. The weird part is that inside I am frightened, but just playing out my role as if I know what is about to happen, and have to just walk myself through it with bravery. There is all kinds of stuff that happens to challenge my courage. In each case, I am the one person who survives, or is the bravest.

For some reason, I have to pretend to be on the side of the bad guys, in order to actually help the good guys win. I remember having to operate submarines in weird wetsuits, and going through strange, plastic, birth-canal-like tunnels, and carrying all kinds of guns and remembering passwords and codes. I work for these bad-guy, arab-type, characters, and pose as a security guard.

Sometimes I am a greedy, craggy, salty sea-dog of an older man. Sometimes I am a brave, young soldier. Sometimes I am this disgusting man who at one point has sex with his cat. (Of course this is so upsetting and horrible to me that I wanted to censor it from you, as if I actually did this, yuck). Sometimes I am a kind of wealthy benefactor, behind the scenes government, grey man, power manipulator and all kinds of different macho hero types who blend in and out with my female self.

At some point I am the man behind some kind of powerful engineering marvel. I invented this whole complex, undersea, gold mining operation, involving mini-submarines, robots and conveyor belts, and mechanics and hydraulics and God knows what else. In the dream I have the whole project in my mind and am describing it to the money people. Then suddenly all of this has come to pass and I am one of them, successful for having engineered the whole thing. I remember that it had something to do with the filtration of gold through sea-water in these deep water mining operations at sea.

Throughout the dream there are always children in peril. The bad guy's kids and the good guy's kids but in every case I try to save them all. At one point I am the only perso in a room filled with adults and children who are watching a famous African American blues musician record his latest album. He is in this small booth a ways away from me singing. The studio is unlike any I have ever seen. the sound booth is too small and the roomf or the engineer its huge like a big schoolroom,and way too brightly lit. I don't see any kind of mixing board, but people are kind of grouped around some sort of console thing in the middle.

For some reason I have been told that ther is a bomb planted in the sound booth. The por musician is going to blow up and die when he presses down on some sort of sound proofed surface on the floor. There is no way I can warn him wihtout setting it off, enddangeering the lives of all these people and totally blwoing my cover. I am sad about this since the best I can hope for is to be able to save some of these children and maybe myself. I am working both sides and have been promised that I might survive if I close my eyes and somehow protect my hearing from the blast. There are these strange little astronaught-travelling-in-cryogenic-stasis, space tube things around the perimiter of the room. I decide there is room here to save the little children. Somehow without alerting the terrorists who would then set off the bomb prematurely, or risking giving away my true identity, I manage to convince almost all of these beautiful little children to come hide in these tube-like rooms and to cover their ears and eyes. But they are naughty and fidgety and don't all want to.

When the blast comes, some of the children blow out the windows, and across the rooma and have their eyes open. I do eveyrthing I can to grab them and protect them. I have about seven or eight all smushed around me. I think that I will be glad to adopt them, now that their familes have died. I am completely resigned to the fact that there was nothing further I could have done to alert or save the people who didn't make it. If I had, everyone would have died for certain.

In the scary submarine parts of the dream I am on all kinds of carriers at sea, and strange ships, and pods. i am constantly having to negotitate all sorts of complicated entrance and identification procedures in order to prove mydelf to the powers that be. They are mostly members of some kind of powerful drug and weapons cartel, who would kill me in a fast second, if I proved threatening or unuseful to them. Luckily I am fast, brave, and funny. They seem to find the fact that I continue to survive a kind of humorous thing.

There is something about two rolls of incredibly, important military film. I was supposed to put it into some kind of developing tube. I have been through this part of the dream before. I think this is the movie going around again so it feels like dejavue. This time I decide to act of my own accord to fight against this strange system. I do not deposit the film in these weird pneumatic tubes, but keep it with me instead. Instead of following the same path I have always followed before, I choose to go a different way. I am hoping to get to my destination a moment sooner thus increasing my opportunity to save more people.

There is lots of gadgetry and strange body and glove fitting things to operate, fit into, and move through. All kinds of weird equipment and plastic like pod spaces that I am supposed to fit through and use to reach other destinations. Throughout the dream I am barely a half step ahead of people pursuing me who mean to kill me or kill others. I feel a desperate sense of honor and desire to protect these innocent people.

I am on their ship and am pursuing some sort of mission. I am in the presence of the head guy. He is with his family talking about something and I am not supposed to interrupt him, even though I know mortal danger is imminent. His children are all around, as are his many wives. It seems to be some sort of party. I am trying everything to help him. There are lots of adult-sized costume characters. When the bad guys come, (well actually these are the rebels whose help-the-common-man views I am more alligned with politically, but I am deep undercover and connot revel myself and they are bad nevertheless) landing in some kind of weird super small space vehicle on the deck of the ship UI am quickly able to disguise myself as some kind fo huge oparty character pink bunny rabbit. I quickly grab one fo the kids and cower in teh back of a sort of covered space on the deck. oretending to be terrified is part of my cover. The rebels are killing wildly. Killing whoever strikes their fancy. It is pure horrible pandemonium.

One of the rebels, a woman, approaches me. She assumes I am female and Latin American. Just so she won't kill me I allow her to believe this. She says thing like, "Don't worry, we will liberate you from this opression", and hands me several stolen envelopes, filled with papers and money. She says, "This four thousand dollars is for you and your family." I am so afraid she will take off my big bunny head, and discover that I am not who I seem. I have to raise my voice and mumble so I sound female. She asks me where I am from and I can't think straight, so I mention some mexican pueblo I know nothing about. Of course, this being my screwy dream, she says, "Oh what a coincidence, my aunt is from there, tell me all about it". Somehow I manage to muddle through and escape discovery.

In this other part of the dream I have had to go through unbelievably elaborate measures to be allowed to reach a certain place. I am a perfect soldier. I salute crisply. I am honorble and duty bound. Suddenly two really evil boys appear. They are playing military and bent on torturing people. They are also adult spies, don't ask me, my conscious mind doesn't understand a thing about this. We are forced to sit against the walls of this boat on benches and chairs and undergo a sort of evil child's game or test of bravery. One by one we are challenged. If we so much as flinch or fail in any way, they shoot us in the kneecaps. Then if you respond to that with any kind of reaction, or show that you are in pain, they shoot you in your other kneecap. Somehow I pass this challenge and they are impressed. When they focus on me I stand and give out my rank and serial number. Remember, I am the perfect soldier. But despite this and for some reason I completely comply with any challenges, tests or assignments they give me. This stumps them somehow and those of us who remain alive saved and set free.

There is one part where I am coming down some stairs and see some Japanese men and women. Coming down these narrow, metal, white-painted, ship stairs I see that there is some sort of shrine that they have erected to their war dead in a tiny room just ahead. To honor our mutual losses I take off my bayonet, and together with a samurai sword, am making an offering to the gravesite of one particular woman's children who were killed in the war. I step into this room. It is made to resemble the outdoors. She is so moved that I would do this, and I am so moved by her grief, and the loss of these innocent children, that we are both crying. I bend down and bow above the earth. To the right are elements of the earth that represent her little boy. Brown leaves and earth and things of his that she has gathered and clearly cherishes as her only tangible link to him. She takes some of this very precious mixture and sprinkles it over my bent head. Then she bends to the left and gently scoops up blossoms, small pink dried cherry blossoms, and tells me that these are her daughter, and suddenly we are covered in falling cherry blossoms.


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