Note: The beginning of this dream is foggy- I think I slipped in and out of it a few times, but I get the sense that it was long, and I am missing quite a bit of it.
There was a small brown/black haired boy with blue eyes playing with black pipe cleaners and blue puff paint at a table in a spacious L shaped room. One wall of the room was filled with tall windows with light brown window panes. The boy had a darkness in him- something he had to overcome, perhaps a demon in his soul, something tragic in his past. He was making a gift for his mother- it was a black pipe-cleaner butterfly decorated in blue puff paint. It was spindly, grotesque, and probably the loveliest thing that could come out of his dark soul. Vile curses spew from his mouth as if he were possessed as he molded the crooked pipe-cleaners. My aunt came in- his mother- and they had a small discussion [can’t remember] I knew she offered him all the love and lightness in her heart- hoping to save him from the darkness that seemed a part of him. She smiled- a rather forced smile, and picked up the twisted mass of pipe cleaners. She tried to like it- but he knew. And he left.
I laid down on the floor, against the wall on the door side of the craft table. My cousins were making another craft item. It was a flower and the center was made out of a handful of wires that had pastel baubled tips. I thought they were rather pretty, odd, but I liked odd anyways. But I don’t like pastels. I thought about painting some dark and decorating with them. I envisioned the beaded heads of the flowers painted with a dark burgundy shiny paint. And I thought of other colors, and how the paint would work, it would drip down the stems/wires or maybe it would look fake. I remembered I didn’t really like the look of houses crammed with crafts- so even this nice dark oddity would not make me happy. I sat back against the wall. I listened to the people in the other room.
My dad stood in the doorway. Something happened with paintbrushes, and my cousin Stacey comes in with, basically, a broom dipped in paint. It seems they were having a contest, who could make the biggest brush. Stacey painted my cheek with the blue paint on the brush. My father laughed. I got up and walked past him- through the kitchen, and out the door. I was outside on the covered patio. There was a shed to my left. My father was with me. The shed was open, and he started to clean it out. There were four flowerpots in there, with a picture of one of us sticking out of each one. I was the second flowerpot. I explained to dad how me and my cousins each made ourselves one when we were kids. We would play with them but when we got older they became garbage bins- and we each had our own.
Dad started taking them out of the shed and emptying them into the garbage can. They smelled horrible. They had been sitting in the shed for years, and rainwater had gotten in them and with the rotting garbage, made quite a smelly concoction. I grabbed my pot, and was filled with memories. I was a little girl again, wearing my Easter dress. My sister got the dress for me when I was four or five. It was light pink with lots of ruffles- and a full skirt. I spun around in it- it was so pretty. I grinned up at my father. And he grinned back at me. He could see me as my memory depicted me, and was thrilled to see me as a little girl again. But I went and poured the garbage out of the flowerpot, and it seems the memory flowed into the garbage with it. I was me again. And I was filled with sadness as I remembered I was dead; nothing but a ghost. Though I could enjoy this time with my family-they could see me as a ghost and could interact with me- I couldn’t continue to grow, live my life, have love, a career, or have children. I don’t think I could even leave the surrounding area of the house.
My aunt came up to me and said she might be able to bring me back. So had to sit in a sunning chair next to the side of the house- the shed to my left. She sat before me and placed two tubes on the table. One was milky white and had a needle on the end. The other was a clear but very dark reddish brown [kinda looks like the de-wormer I give my kitten]. She had me lay back on the chair. I was surrounded by my family, many faces filled with hope for the return of my life. I wanted it so badly- my head buzzed with it, my muscles tensed. And I was afraid too. There was a darkness inside me, or wanting me, and this would leave me vulnerable for a time. She told me to relax, and to lay back. So I laid back in the green and white lawn chair. I knew the procedure. I had done it before, I was brought back to life before- when I was a child. I suppose it wasn’t fair for me to get yet a second chance- I knew it wasn't allowed. But I didn’t remind anyone, I thought they might not want to try again. Maybe there was more danger in bringing someone back a second time.
She picked up the milky white tube thing, it had a needle on the end- like a big syringe. I looked as she leaned over the flesh of my belly. I looked at the ceiling- the overhang of the porch, as she quickly inserted the needle into my belly. I looked down as she finished injecting the last of the milky white liquid. All the people around me were dead silent. Next she had me sit up, she poured the brown liquid into a glass, and handed it to me. She told me to drink. And I did. I drank down the ugly liquid- I don’t think I could taste it, just as I couldn’t feel the needle earlier. Must be the being dead thing. Once it was down, I handed her the glass. I suddenly felt unsubstantial. I could feel that I wasn’t alive, I wasn’t real. I felt cold, deep inside me, as if a dozen ice cubes sat in my gut. This is what it feels like to be dead, I thought. Cold and empty and unsubstantial.
Fear gripped me again. Then I choked, and coughed, and some of the brown liquid came up. I know I didn’t like this part the first time around. I threw up- I think she held out a pan or something, since none of it landed on me. In all the brown stuff coming from my mouth was pearly white mucus- it held it form, like a string. My aunt grabbed a hold of this. It was as if it was pulling the brown liquid out of my body, along with the coolness and emptiness. It pulled the death itself out of my being. She tugged on the milky white mucus string, and kept it coming. At times it would get really thin, she said it all had to come out, it couldn’t snap because it fit did we couldn’t get the rest of it out of me. And I’d still be dead. Steadily she pulled, I felt the mucus pulling from deep inside me, it had that horrible unnatural feeling of something going the wrong way in your throat.
My family stood quietly around. Then I felt warmth inside, life, deep in my body- I realized that all that was left of the darkness was in my chest and it was quickly being replaced by warmth. Then the sound of something falling, we all looked to the door at the side of the building. A box of photos fell- spilling its contents. On the top were photos of my mother and father, and in almost all the pictures, I realized, there was another man, in the background, looking at them. And just looking at him brought me fear. I had no idea who he was, but somehow I knew he was suddenly present and meant me harm. And then the mucus cord snapped. I looked down, and there were blue papers on my lap, stapled at the corner. And the string of mucus was threaded between the papers. My aunt frantically grasped at the end of the mucus line, but it was no use, the line had been broken- and what was left started to dry and harden- the string no longer came from my mouth either.
I tried to pull at the bits that were stuck between the sheets of paper, thinking that if I could just get a hold of them I could keep pulling, that I could keep pulling and save myself- I guess I hadn't realized that they were no longer attached to the mucus now receding down my throat. I could feel the cold and darkness starting to gain strength inside me, and pushing at the warmth that had just entered. My family looked at with sadness. My aunt felt as if she failed. I looked over at the picture- and I did not want to have been defeated by him. I turned to the left, sitting sideways on the chair, people around me moved. I retched, a drop of what looked like blood hit the concrete. I realized it was the brownish liquid. This was encouraging. I sat there, my chest against my knees and focused on bring the stuff up and out of me- I thought on it, focused on what muscles to tighten. I heard my aunt quietly tell me “yes, keep trying.” More brown liquid came up. Then a lot, and in that came a think line of the milky mucus. I grasped it, and pulled. Slowly it came out. It felt horrible, but wonderful at the same time, knowing it was coming out of my body- I would be free of it.
My family’s eyes shone- and the silence was heavy. No one had ever been able to continue this process after the line had snapped. This would be considered a miracle. My aunt whispered encouragements. I kept pulling, and then gagged. A large glob came out- about four mucus strings wrapped around itself. It left my throat and hit the concrete with splat, amongst the red brown liquid. I couldn’t believe it. I was free. My family cheered. My aunt was thrilled, this was the first time anyone was able to do that. I felt warm, I felt life returning. I felt happiness. I looked over my shoulder, smiled, and woke up.
The theater was large, wrought mostly of dark polished wood. Most fitting for the epic fantasy play we would be performing. It was somewhere between Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Obviously my subconscious mind is not unsusceptible to advertisements. There was a main stage, and the dark wooden seats wrapped around the room creating a large rectangle. The actors, when not onstage, were able to sit in the seats on the sides. This is where I was. Apparently this was a practice run; the environment was informal, the audience was small, and prone to giving many suggestions. Indeed they said there was not enough explanation of the events taking place before the start of the play. I suppose that is a problem with acting out the second in a series of books. So we agreed to discuss the previous events in the story line.
The setting now changes to outside, at night - I am still seated to the left of the stage, sitting on a swinging seat with Khara. This is a much more intimate setting- and we can talk without raising our voices. A dark haired woman in front of the stage begins speaking of the story. (Unfortunately I can no longer remember what the story was- thought I remember being able to re-tale it to Tegmine when I first awoke from the dream. He doesn’t remember either) In one of her sentences she said “alien powers” instead of “magical power” and everyone- who of course adore the story, have read it many times and are quite loyal followers- jumps to correct her. She is rather annoyed by this, and the telling of the tale moves on to another individual. I am also desiring the opportunity to prove my knowledge of the story- I keep trying to go next. Indeed- I am playing one of the main characters in the story- I’m playing Ardwyne- who later becomes Ceridwynne- and later changes her identity yet again (to one I cannot remember after I awoke and the dream began to fade) and the man speaking players opposite to me- his character is...is....damn- I forgot. How embarrassing. I grab my copy of the novel out of my bag, which is hung behind the chair. It’s something with a “C” ...C and it has an ‘h’, and an “ain”. Hmmmm I can remember what it looks like written but the actual name just does not come to mind.
I start to swing the chair swing higher- out of nervousness I suppose. Khara notes this, and asks what I am doing. It’s making her stomach a bit queasy, not to mention that it makes the chair squeak and is drawing attention to us. I am trying to slow it down at this point- with some success. (My memory of the dream skips here....) After the play there is a large party or carnival outside. The hills outside the theater (which is not in my view, but in my dream I seem to know it is there somewhere) wrap around to make a natural stadium. Dark wooden benches/seats have been set into the hillside. I am sitting in the top row and the theater is somewhere to my left. (It seems that I am sitting in the north, and the theater is to the west of me, and when I was sitting inside I was again in the north, but the stage was to the east) I am sitting next to an elderly man with a shaggy tan colored dog. I am wearing sandals and shorts and am reading a tattered copy of the book, which we just acted out as a play.
Rory comes up behind me (he is my ex boyfriend- I haven’t seen him in about four years-and it seems he was acting in the play with me in this dream) and sensing him behind me I hold up a hand to him. He takes my hand in his, and I look up at him and smile. The dog sniffing at my feet draws my attention- just in time to see something fall off his nose onto my feet. I look down at it- its dark, and has some tan fur hanging off one end. I look at the dog, and the end of his snout is suddenly very bald and kinda moist looking- and I realize what I saw- I saw the dogs nose- the textured black part with some tan hair blending off the top – fall off and onto my sandaled feet! I start to move my feet away but the dog comes back, stiffs my feet again, and the nose seems to pop back into place. I am really startled by this, and look up to Rory, who is still holding my hand to see if he saw it too. But no, he was looking off at the carnival below. So I squeezed his hand to get his attention and told him that the dogs nose fell off onto my foot and then popped back on when he came back and nudged it again. Disbelief was quite evident on his face.
The elderly man beside me let out a cross between a laugh and a dry cough and told me he made the fake nose- that “those damn buzzards” somehow attacked the dog and disfigured his nose, and so the dog won't be embarrassed when they go out in public, the old man had made a false nose, complete with some of the dogs hair so that it would blend in with the snout. I found this rather ingenious, if a bit odd. And then I wake...
(I forget how it started – typical - so starting mid dream…)-I was out in some field, there was a dirt road that ran along a stream through a clearing. I...had some sort of magical power (this is probably coming from the book I was reading when I fell asleep- kind of an alternate world ruled by the four elements- I think I was an air element in the dream) there were four of us- I was a rather tall male, on the slim side. And there was an evil individual who wanted to consume our power which would kill us (of course- doesn't it always work that way) so the evil powerful ugly guy shows up, and we all split. I head down the dirt road- and somehow in the process I lose all my clothing and my shoes (don't know- my dream didn't explain that part).
So I am being chased down the dirt road by the evil guy, who now is driving a blue truck. I stumble and slide down the bank of the stream and land in the water. I try to get up but a woman pulls me down under the water. For some reason I know her name is Amy, and she is a very powerful water element that we all thought dead. She gives me air from her lips and we wait while the truck passes us by (guess he didn't see me fall in the water). We climb out of the stream and run up the rocky bank (the climate is now really hot and dusty). The truck is quite a ways down the road, but he must have spotted us because he turns around. We try hiding behind a dry sage colored bush, but the truck pulls up the hill beside us- we take off down the road and he gets out of the truck and follows us.
There are now people on the banks of the stream, sitting in the dusty sand. We run past them and ahead of me I see my little nephew Nathan. That must mean my brother is around, sure enough he is close behind holding a fishing pole. I look down, and I am no longer a naked male (thank goodness) but am myself again, I tell Mathew that I am being chased and he directs me to his house (Amy has disappeared at this point- or maybe she was caught). I run down a rather woodsy road lined by close tall narrow Victorian looking houses and Matt points to his. I start running up the front stairs and he stops me he asks if I know how to hide in an old house like this- with the lights off (I notice there is no power on the street) I nod and open the door and go up some stairs.
The inside is reminiscent of a house from one of my reoccurring childhood nightmares. I look back down the stairs at the door, and see my brother walking in (he is now wearing a black Speedo, yuck). There is a knock on the door and I look through the glass panel of the door. It is a duplicate of my brother- I didn't know that the evil guy/creature could change forms, but now I was in even more trouble. I frantically run down a hall way- my brother is tough, but I know he wouldn't last long. Now the house is one that I lived in when I was seven- an old two story with a bomb shelter below I reach the door to the bomb shelter- knowing I can't hide in the house, my best chance is to run somewhere else. I look over my shoulder and he (now looking like my brother) has made it up the stairs and is heading down the hallway.
I open the door and frantically run down the stairs to the basement (which I was terrified of when I was a child, there was a fake wall down there and behind it there was a wall with dried blood on it) I turn right at the bottom and reach the outside- it is no longer the street of Victorian houses, but instead I'm faced with the steep tree filled hillside of my old home with no one nearby to help me or hear me scream. I briefly think of all the places I know to hide in- wishing I had thought to grab some kitchen knives on the way through. I am running down the hill, dodging trees, I can hear my heart beating, pounding in my temples, and I feel a hand close on my arm and jerk me back. I look up into a very angry dark read face and start to scream but instead I wake up.
