I am at the bitter end coffee house, hanging with my friend Molly and Cody while they ardently yet somewhat frivolously try to get their homework done by midnight. And I am blogging for what it seems the first time in ages. I have two specific dreams I want to write about that have occurred to me over the past couple weeks. One is more personal and one is just...interesting to think about. Sort of "LOST-esque", if you will. Let me describe that one, simply because it happened it last night and it is fresher in my mind.
What do you think about time? Many Eastern religions and fields of thought believe time occurs in a circular pattern, like say, how the seasons come and go in a pattern. They believe life renews itself. Reincarnation is a part of this mindset as well. Life is constant, ever moving, always restoring and replenishing. Western religions think of time in a more linear mode. You cannot take back time that has past, and you can never relive what has already been. Once you die, you die. You have no second chance, and you aren't reborn. Many believe in an afterlife, and many believe death is the ultimate end.
All this to say that my dream involved time, and though I have been trained since a child to think of time in a linear way, in my dream, I could turn back time and not only relive it, but change things.
In LOST Season 5, the people left on the island have a choice to make. Daniel Faraday is convinced that they can turn back time by detonating a hydrogen bomb, and the plane would have never crashed. Others, such as Kate Austen, aren't so sure that it will work, let alone if they will survive it. My question was always: what if the detonation of the bomb is the very reason everything happens the way it happens? What if it didn't matter what they did; that that very act was the cause of their reality?
In my dream, a girl named Kailey, beloved by many, drowned to death in a tragic accident while swimming in Lake Michigan. She was very young, and so many grieved that she could so easily still be alive, if only she could have cried out for help. If only she hadn't gone into the water at all. If only. If only.
I grieved for her and her loss of life. I remember feeling so sad for the people who knew her, even though I didn't know her at all. I wished I could do something. Then, all of a sudden, time warped and I was in the past again. I knew that she was still alive.
Scene change. I was at East Side Baptist Church, searching and searching for Kailey. I asked everyone I knew if Kailey was around. The obligation to tell her of her imminent death in Lake Michigan was nagging me. I wasn't sure if my pursuit of her would change anything, but I knew I had to find her and try to convince her I wasn't crazy.
I ran into a Kailey, but she wasn't the right one. Then, entering through the door of the auditorium, I saw her. I couldn't believe I was actually seeing her. I was going to talk to her, I knew that much. I had the opportunity to change things, and to see for myself if she would live as a result of my intervention.
The attempt to not to come across as crazy didn't work. I was outrightly honest with her, explaining that in the future, she was already dead, and if she didn't listen to me, she would die very soon. I told her I wasn't out to get her and that her life depended on her belief in me, in what I was telling her. I was very persistent, which is interesting because I am not this way in real life. As the conversation progressed and I sounded weirder and weirder, she started to cry. I think it was because I was beginning to creep her out. I don't know why a small person like me would creep her out, as I can't do much damage, but I did. She waved her arms in front of her, thanking me for my concern, but that she is fine and doesn't need my assistance to keep her alive. Tears were streaming down her face and I knew she didn't know whether to discount me completely or take my word for it. She was scared. And from my perspective, if she didn't believe what I said, doomed. The last thing I was able to say to her was that, the day she died, she would win $10,000 from a raffle drawing. I was hoping this part of the future would not change and it could be her way to believe me.
Scene change. She and a whole group of random people were sitting in a crowded conference room awaiting the announcement of the raffle drawing. I was anxious and closed my eyes tightly. When I opened them, I saw her not too far off. This was good, because I knew I still had her within my reach.
The raffle results were announced. Kailey was the winner. As she received her check for $10,000, we made eye contact and I knew that the raffle was our constant throughout time. No matter how many times we relived the past, her name would have been drawn every time. There were some things that were just meant to be. Unpredictable as human creatures are, often there are constants-things that supercide human decision. Things that are meant to be. Elements of our decision-making is out of our control. The raffle drawing was one of them in my dream, which is ironic because a drawing is one of the more random acts of mankind.
Because she understood that, strangely enough, I was not crazy and was truly from the future, that day she did not get drunk and take a swim. She took it easy and specifically stayed away from the lake. I saved her life, and it was a surreal moment to see her the day after and know that I had just changed the past with one act of graciousness. In doing so, I had also changed the present and future. I caused her, who was dead, to live. In my dream, she was meant to win the raffle all along but she was not meant to die, and it was my duty to change that.
Let's just say I had a long night and was thoroughly baffled when I woke up.
Listen.
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dream. Show all posts
July 30, 2010
June 13, 2009
dream journal.
Have you ever had an dream full of epiphanies or one that would be an amazing plot idea for a story? Or maybe you've had an interesting dream you want to remember. One that included the meeting of a lost loved one, an angel, purple elephants, or Abraham Lincoln.
Record your dreams. It's fun and simple. Keeping a dream journal is as easy as having a dream, waking up, and writing it down before you forget what happened. I like to keep my dream journal on my nightstand so I can write the dreams down as soon as I wake up; the longer I put it off, the less details I remember!
In this Interweb blogged-up culture, there are even online sites dedicated to the recording and interpretations of dreams. You can keep a dream journal online here or here.
If you've always wanted to keep a journal, but don't know what to write or where to start, I suggest buying a notebook and starting a dream journal. See what happens. You might find that you have more to say than just writing down your dreams! Write down what you think they mean. Anything, as long as you are writing and keeping your mind going.
Record your dreams. It's fun and simple. Keeping a dream journal is as easy as having a dream, waking up, and writing it down before you forget what happened. I like to keep my dream journal on my nightstand so I can write the dreams down as soon as I wake up; the longer I put it off, the less details I remember!
In this Interweb blogged-up culture, there are even online sites dedicated to the recording and interpretations of dreams. You can keep a dream journal online here or here.
If you've always wanted to keep a journal, but don't know what to write or where to start, I suggest buying a notebook and starting a dream journal. See what happens. You might find that you have more to say than just writing down your dreams! Write down what you think they mean. Anything, as long as you are writing and keeping your mind going.
November 14, 2008
every day.
On the way to school yesterday morning, the song "Everyday" by Rascal Flatts came on the radio, and I thought of my mom and aunt Dana. I always think of them when I hear that song. I think about how my aunt has pulled through so much in the last decade (and her entire life), and how strong she is. I think about my mom and aunt's relationship. They always stand beside each other, through young and old, thick and thin...every phase of life, every day, they have saved each other.I can only hope that you have a 'someone' like that, someone who saves your life every day.
The song also made me think of a dream I had just two nights ago. I was with my aunt Dana in a room with only one window. I could not see out of the window because she had tacked so many pictures of Shane all over it. She was completely estatic, the happiest I have ever, ever seen her. She kept talking about how she was going to see her Shane soon, and she could not compose herself, she was so excited. Shane was coming to get her anytime, and I told her I didn't want her to go, but she was so happy that I let her.
The thought of who will be there when we leave this world makes death seem so much less frightening. I know Shane will be waiting behind the white picket fence of heaven, smiling at her, just as anxious to see his mommy again.
November 12, 2008
i knew that he would.
my first short story for creative writing, loosely based on the true story of one of my coworkers.
I avoid divorce cases, because I have found no logic in loving a person. Marriages turn into divorces because people try to reason with love; they try to color love in blacks and whites when love only comes in shades of grey. I tried to reason with love once, and before I could realize what I was doing, it was too late.
She wanted nothing other than to become a wife and a mother. Since childhood, my dream came packaged in a courtroom with judges, questions, and convicts. Simply put, I was going to be a lawyer.
“We can do this thing together; you get your degree, and I have my kids. We’ll be happy together,” she said with her lack of reasonable doubt, her thrill of whimsical dreams.
Law practice is not a fatherly career; it involves travelling, possibly leaving for a couple weeks at a time. I have to have flexible availability to meet with my advocates. Staying up into early morning hours to research precedents and file paperwork is a requirement if I wanted to do well at my job. My career would only cheat a child. I do not cheat children, and I most certainly do not cheat her.
Sometimes when confronting a decision that determines the rest of one’s life, such as where to go to college or who to marry, one experiences a flash of divine confidence toward a particular path, as if it is not anymore a wish, a leaning towards, but a must.
I still remember the moment. As I walked diligently from her apartment, my shoes scathed against the wooden floor confirming the justice of my choice. My decision to walk away was only right. The sound of her muffled snivels through the door cracks was apparent as soon
as I shut the door.
‘But,’ I reasoned with myself, ‘to have what we both want…’ the sound of her sobbing continued. ‘This will get easier.’
I glared at the stairway, the sun revealing dust in the air as it shown through the clammy windows onto the stair railing. I took my first step from her door.
One day, about a week later, I heard someone screaming outside of my house. It was shrill and serious, not like the careless screech of kids playing in a pile of leaves. Then, I heard my name. The screaming was her voice. She was outside weeping for me. It was horrible, actually, and so silly it made me angry. I drove her back to her apartment, and though she tried to “reason” with me, she was the one being irrational. She needed to move on, I told her. And though I secretly hoped someday I would hear her call my name outside, though I lived in the same house where she could find me all these years, the reason caught up to her and she never came back again.
We crossed paths ten years later. I stopped in the Rudy's bar and grill for a drink after a long day dealing with house evictions and unqualified disability applicants. The bar was a fairly clean one, almost as pure as a coffee shop with a faint mist of strawberry tobacco pipe smoke and aroma so slight of ale. I sat on the barstool to order my drink and turned my face to her, as if the scent of her hair knew me and made itself edible in the air. I knew it was her as soon as I looked. She was sitting at a booth alone.
I turned my face sharply forward, staring at the sierra-tinted beer mugs hung upside down on the wall. My choice was clear, as if already predicated beforehand; I was going to talk to her, however vulnerable it made me. I hoped two things, that she was single and miserable like me. As I approached the booth, she noticed me and her eyes grew so wide I did not know if they would ever close again.
“Warren? I…,” she said. She did not yet close her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
I stood before her at the table, and I did not want it to be awkward. But it was, after ten years of closing that door, after hearing her call for me, it was. I motioned my hand toward the seat across from her, and she affirmed that I could sit down. My hands trembled, and I purposefully kept them underneath the booth, embarrassed.
“How have you been? It’s been, wow, about…” I said.
“Ten years now. And I’ve been great,” she finished in a polite manner, but noticeably distant.
“That’s really great!” I said, smiling fake. I’m certain she noticed.
“I am a mother.”
“Oh, that’s...” I started.
“and a wife.” She said.
I forgot to breathe for at least fifteen seconds.
“That’s awesome. Boy or girl?” I asked, trying to sound interested. The fake smile was starting to hurt my face.
“Son. He’s four, and his name is Bradley,” she stated, as if rehearsed. She did not look at me directly, but stared at her beer mug as she talked, fingering circles around her beer mug.
“I congratulate you.”
“Thanks.”
I told her about the law firm I shared with a few associates, trying to make it sound as interesting as possible. I asked her about her family, and she was delighted to tell me how happy she was. Her husband had a business degree and worked for a bank downtown. Her son was the “light of her life.” Truly, I was glad for her. Her willingness to open up was refreshing. Seeing me probably wasn’t her idea of a good time.
“I really messed up.” I had to put it out there. I may never get this chance again.
“Yes, you did, and now you are too late.” She looked at me for the first time, and as soon as she caught my eye, I looked at the table in fear she would think I was a creeper for staring at her.
“I’m sorry. If I could go back, I would.”
And I would.
Sometimes I pass by her house and see her son riding his bicycle on the sidewalk in mid-summer. She does not know it, but I wonder if I had only opened her door one more time, listened to her logic instead of mine, sat on her loveseat and gave her a wordless hug, would her son have my eyes?
I knew that he would.
I avoid divorce cases, because I have found no logic in loving a person. Marriages turn into divorces because people try to reason with love; they try to color love in blacks and whites when love only comes in shades of grey. I tried to reason with love once, and before I could realize what I was doing, it was too late.
She wanted nothing other than to become a wife and a mother. Since childhood, my dream came packaged in a courtroom with judges, questions, and convicts. Simply put, I was going to be a lawyer.
“We can do this thing together; you get your degree, and I have my kids. We’ll be happy together,” she said with her lack of reasonable doubt, her thrill of whimsical dreams.
Law practice is not a fatherly career; it involves travelling, possibly leaving for a couple weeks at a time. I have to have flexible availability to meet with my advocates. Staying up into early morning hours to research precedents and file paperwork is a requirement if I wanted to do well at my job. My career would only cheat a child. I do not cheat children, and I most certainly do not cheat her.
Sometimes when confronting a decision that determines the rest of one’s life, such as where to go to college or who to marry, one experiences a flash of divine confidence toward a particular path, as if it is not anymore a wish, a leaning towards, but a must.
I still remember the moment. As I walked diligently from her apartment, my shoes scathed against the wooden floor confirming the justice of my choice. My decision to walk away was only right. The sound of her muffled snivels through the door cracks was apparent as soon
as I shut the door.‘But,’ I reasoned with myself, ‘to have what we both want…’ the sound of her sobbing continued. ‘This will get easier.’
I glared at the stairway, the sun revealing dust in the air as it shown through the clammy windows onto the stair railing. I took my first step from her door.
One day, about a week later, I heard someone screaming outside of my house. It was shrill and serious, not like the careless screech of kids playing in a pile of leaves. Then, I heard my name. The screaming was her voice. She was outside weeping for me. It was horrible, actually, and so silly it made me angry. I drove her back to her apartment, and though she tried to “reason” with me, she was the one being irrational. She needed to move on, I told her. And though I secretly hoped someday I would hear her call my name outside, though I lived in the same house where she could find me all these years, the reason caught up to her and she never came back again.
We crossed paths ten years later. I stopped in the Rudy's bar and grill for a drink after a long day dealing with house evictions and unqualified disability applicants. The bar was a fairly clean one, almost as pure as a coffee shop with a faint mist of strawberry tobacco pipe smoke and aroma so slight of ale. I sat on the barstool to order my drink and turned my face to her, as if the scent of her hair knew me and made itself edible in the air. I knew it was her as soon as I looked. She was sitting at a booth alone.
I turned my face sharply forward, staring at the sierra-tinted beer mugs hung upside down on the wall. My choice was clear, as if already predicated beforehand; I was going to talk to her, however vulnerable it made me. I hoped two things, that she was single and miserable like me. As I approached the booth, she noticed me and her eyes grew so wide I did not know if they would ever close again.
“Warren? I…,” she said. She did not yet close her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
I stood before her at the table, and I did not want it to be awkward. But it was, after ten years of closing that door, after hearing her call for me, it was. I motioned my hand toward the seat across from her, and she affirmed that I could sit down. My hands trembled, and I purposefully kept them underneath the booth, embarrassed.
“How have you been? It’s been, wow, about…” I said.
“Ten years now. And I’ve been great,” she finished in a polite manner, but noticeably distant.
“That’s really great!” I said, smiling fake. I’m certain she noticed.
“I am a mother.”
“Oh, that’s...” I started.
“and a wife.” She said.
I forgot to breathe for at least fifteen seconds.
“That’s awesome. Boy or girl?” I asked, trying to sound interested. The fake smile was starting to hurt my face.
“Son. He’s four, and his name is Bradley,” she stated, as if rehearsed. She did not look at me directly, but stared at her beer mug as she talked, fingering circles around her beer mug.
“I congratulate you.”
“Thanks.”
I told her about the law firm I shared with a few associates, trying to make it sound as interesting as possible. I asked her about her family, and she was delighted to tell me how happy she was. Her husband had a business degree and worked for a bank downtown. Her son was the “light of her life.” Truly, I was glad for her. Her willingness to open up was refreshing. Seeing me probably wasn’t her idea of a good time.
“I really messed up.” I had to put it out there. I may never get this chance again.
“Yes, you did, and now you are too late.” She looked at me for the first time, and as soon as she caught my eye, I looked at the table in fear she would think I was a creeper for staring at her.
“I’m sorry. If I could go back, I would.”
And I would.
Sometimes I pass by her house and see her son riding his bicycle on the sidewalk in mid-summer. She does not know it, but I wonder if I had only opened her door one more time, listened to her logic instead of mine, sat on her loveseat and gave her a wordless hug, would her son have my eyes?
I knew that he would.
February 25, 2008
dreams become real.
June 24, 2005
I had a dream just now. A dream of Cody and I-happy and restored. We hugged, we kissed (but pulled away, apologizing), and we danced. He showed me how, and we slowly danced for hours as I dreamt. What is God trying to tell me? Does He want us to go back to friends? Is it just my worn hope...to be loved and cherished by this man who adored me for so long? Is it never going to be real again? We will never be able to dance again, will we? Why did I have to have this dream, then? In the dream, I asked why he rejected me. He told me he has changed.
Well, in real life, I won't trust his "changed" self. He morphs himself so much-I don't know what to think of him anymore. He is trying, as I too, to follow God wholeheartedly. I wonder if that is why he doesn't want me-along with God's glory and pleasure, he cannot stand how frustrated he becomes with me-how much I really am not worth it. I don't sincerely believe this, but sometimes I stop and think about it. I don't make him happy like other people do. I try.
I had a dream just now. A dream of Cody and I-happy and restored. We hugged, we kissed (but pulled away, apologizing), and we danced. He showed me how, and we slowly danced for hours as I dreamt. What is God trying to tell me? Does He want us to go back to friends? Is it just my worn hope...to be loved and cherished by this man who adored me for so long? Is it never going to be real again? We will never be able to dance again, will we? Why did I have to have this dream, then? In the dream, I asked why he rejected me. He told me he has changed.
Well, in real life, I won't trust his "changed" self. He morphs himself so much-I don't know what to think of him anymore. He is trying, as I too, to follow God wholeheartedly. I wonder if that is why he doesn't want me-along with God's glory and pleasure, he cannot stand how frustrated he becomes with me-how much I really am not worth it. I don't sincerely believe this, but sometimes I stop and think about it. I don't make him happy like other people do. I try.
February 23, 2008
the start
July 23, 2004
"Lord of Heaven and Earth,
You have some explaining to do. How come the past three nights I've seen Cody in my dreams? Last night he was looking really good in my dream. He made my heart jump. I have really mixed up feelings about this guy. When he puts his hand on my back and quickly but gently rubs it, I want him to just hold me. And when he looks at me a certain way, then we just look at each other until we start laughing, I want to look into his eyes more. I think I might be on the verge of something."
"Lord of Heaven and Earth,
You have some explaining to do. How come the past three nights I've seen Cody in my dreams? Last night he was looking really good in my dream. He made my heart jump. I have really mixed up feelings about this guy. When he puts his hand on my back and quickly but gently rubs it, I want him to just hold me. And when he looks at me a certain way, then we just look at each other until we start laughing, I want to look into his eyes more. I think I might be on the verge of something."
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