I was having fun browsing a lovely flea market run by gypsies, but I also was a gypsy myself, as apparently was my mother-in-law, who sent me off on an errand. I passed several covered stands, one of which specialized in cheeses, before returning with my sister and settling some dispute having nothing to do with us. Then it was not a flea market, but a train we were aboard, and we were not gypsies but at least my mother-in-law and her family were rich and powerful. Think: the Orient Express. I was still running errands between the dining cabins, etc. Then we had to evacuate the train which was now a hugely impressive manor house and which may have been on fire. We waited out on the wet grass, with the rich passengers in their fine dresses (mostly ladies, as it were). That was soon settled, however, and as I came back up the steps I realized I was not at the front door but at the service entrance, itself being grandiose, and I was looking in on the servant kitchen and dining area curiously.

Next thing I saw was the train roaring away on the tracks. I was deep inside the manor house now, which was not a manor house but a prison. A stone castle, really, a fortress used as a prison. I was not a prisoner myself per se, but I was in boot camp and we were not free to go. The instructor/big beefy drill sergeant had us run up the stairs of the tower. I was in the lead and did not realize that they had all stopped on a previous level. I came back down immediately (after almost reaching the top), but the instructor had already declared that the group was to be punished for not stopping me, and I was to be punished for not noticing on my own. This punishment was for me to pick someone out of the group of fellow boot campers and beat them. They were all very cheerful about it and the smallest ones, who were ostensibly my cousins, volunteered first. (I think perhaps they were the students of Gunnerkrigg Court, and the drill sergeant did somewhat resemble Mr. Eglamore.) I had serious reservations about punching a girl half my size, but I decided I didn’t want to find out what the drill sergeant would do otherwise, so I just punched her very lightly. We then proceeded to prepare for some sort of mission, and in the background another train passed by on the tracks.

Well, a market is available opportunities, and a flea market is putting old skills or ideas to new use- learning from the past. Me being a gypsy, seems to be me wanting to be free to follow what course I want without the usual restrictions of day-to-day life (although I have to say that traditionally speaking, gypsies don’t get much respect). I may want to be free from the restrictions of normal life, but I am still running errands (although they do appear to successfully resolve diplomatic issues). I have no idea what my mother-in-law is doing there (except she’s Egyptian, which is where someone came up with the word Gypsy in the first place), though the archetype says this means pleasant results after initial animosity, and that makes sense in regards to these mysterious diplomatic issues.

Then I am on a train- going from wanderlust and wishing there in camp to my life’s journey in motion. Of course, the subconscious is wonderful when it comes to puns, and I think this train is also a symbol for my being in training. I want to change my life, especially this position I’m in where I am always serving others and overly submissive, but I have doubts about my abilities. Probably it will all work out in the end- the track only goes one place, after all- but I am worried about it. The train is as elegant as the mansion it becomes, which symbolizes achievement and personal accomplishment, even if my self-esteem is still so low that I’m running around in a faded yellow t-shirt and jeans. I’m in a rut, not drawing from or living up to the potential I have. The mansion being on fire signals that I need to transform but that I might not be ready to do so yet- why, I can hardly go in the servant’s entrance and explore the kitchen, where this fire comes from, without the scene changing altogether.

As the train speeds away, am I left behind? I am being held back, restricted, censored. By whom? I am not a prisoner of the state. Did I sign up for this boot camp voluntarily? Also, I am in a veritable castle, climbing the stairs in the highest tower. This means I will be recognized and honored, that I am making significant spiritual progress. It means too that I am avoiding real life again, and I do get called back down from the top of the tower in the clouds to a more reasonable level. The drill sergeant seems to be part of me that is a tyrannical task master, probably my perfectionist tendencies of which I have been trying to rid myself. On the one hand, the drill sergeant calls me (as Me and as my other Gunnerkrigg camper avatars) on being responsible for paying attention, communicating, and sticking with the matter at hand. He also prompts me to deal with frustration and anger when it happens. That’s well and good. On the other hand, he encourages self-blame, self-punishment, and self-aggression, which is not healthy at all. That I follow the drill sergeant instead of standing up to him may indicate the key issues I need to face in order to reach my potential.

The train passing by again seemed to underscore the fact that I was training, apparently for an important mission, the nature of which has not yet been revealed. (It did not feel as if life were passing me by- actually, it seemed to reassure me that there would always be some train or another to catch whenever I was done.) Since the dream started out with me on a mission, and ended with me on a mission, and was filled in between with me on errands galore, I’d think this idea of a mission was pretty important. I wonder when my subconscious will fill me in on just what it is.

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In this entry, I refer to my real-life daughter as Brigid, which is not her actual name.

Sometimes I have dreams that I have a son named Tully. This has been going on for years, and these dreams about Tully are very realistic. I used to dream just that he was my son, my youngest, and the dream never really got into where he came from, but in the last few dreams (over the course of the last year or so), it was more like he was adopted.

I wanted to share this dream with you because it was so… potent. All the details were there, and no weird dream-stuff or anything out of place. I didn’t even realize I was dreaming until I woke up.

I sat in the hallway right outside my daughter (“Brigid”)’s preschool classroom, waiting to pick her up from school. Tully sat next to me. We had just adopted him, he’s roughly 4-6, and he’s autistic. which is new to this dream. And god, who cares if he’s autistic, he’s my Tully and that is just a minor detail to me. But he is autistic, and he’s never been there before, and he’s tuning everything out because he’s a little overwhelmed. Brigid’s teacher sees me there, and comes out, talking to me, and says, “Oh, who is this?” (because we haven’t told anyone about Tully yet.)

I say, “Who is who?” pretending that I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You know who I am.”

She’s amused and says, “No… who’s that?”

I say, “What are you talking about? I’m the only one here.” I’m doing this as a game, because I know if I try to introduce Tully the ordinary way, he will zone out and hide away because he is feeling overwhelmed. I’m trying to get him to speak up for himself on his own, on his own decision to do so. Then maybe he will feel more in control and able to handle it.

She catches onto this game, and says, “Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw somebody else.”

“No, there’s no one else. Just me,” I say. “Perhaps you saw a ghost.”

Tully starts to laugh and says, “It’s ME!”

“See, now, I just heard something! Didn’t you hear something just now?” she says.

“What? No. No, I didn’t hear anything,” I say, grinning.

Tully is laughing, giggling now, and he says, “No, it’s ME, it’s ME!”

I say, “Oh my goodness, where did you come from?” More giggles. “Are you the ghost?”

He jumps up. “I’m not a ghost! I’m Tully!”

“Are you sure? How do we know that you’re real?” I say.

He says, “I’m Tully I’m Tully I’m TULLY!”

I give him a playful yet extremely skeptical look, and say, “Is it okay if I make SURE you’re not a ghost, then?”

He’s giggling and says ok and I very carefully reach out my finger as if to touch him. Then I act all scared and snatch my finger back, because I can see that he loves this game. Then I reach out my finger slowly slowly and then I bravely kind of poke him-

and he disappears. Just disappears. Just *gone*.

I look around shocked, and the teacher looks around shocked,

And I wake up.

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A young girl, who had long, dark curly hair and was wearing a deep green dress that set off her fair skin and freckles, picked up a dime in the parking lot of an apartment complex. As she stood up, holding the dime between her thumb and forefinger, it shimmered and became a circular portal, and she became a very young woman, standing in a lush green park. The perspective changed, so that it seemed that the portal was closer now somehow, and apparently larger. She let the portal go, and it floated up and joined six other such circular portals in the sky, in a formation reminiscent of the Olympic rings. In the dream I thought of them as Circles.

I do believe Mary Poppins was singing in the background, and the young woman was able to access the power of the rings, especially to create beautiful art, with the understanding that the rings could also be used to destroy. It was late evening or early night, with the stars bright overhead, and the feeling of the dream was one of profound freedom (with no undertones of morbidity regarding the whole power to destroy). Through the sky overhead sailed a dirigible airship, steered by Agatha Heterodyne in prime comic form, and I thought to myself, that must be from the new upcoming Girl Genius movie (which, as far as I know, is only in production in my head). I’ve always thought it was interesting when comic and cartoon characters inhabit the same space as more realistic people in my dreams. I think it’s interesting after waking up of course; during the dream it seems quite normal.

The symbolism and the mood of this dream are remarkably empowering to me, and I woke up feeling energized and renewed. The young girl at the beginning is in a parking lot, which is a sign that one is feeling overworked or caught up in routines and the artificially fast pace of life (since when was a parking lot ever relaxing?). Coins represent missed opportunities, but she finds this dime and picks it up, so she reclaims this opportunity and gets a second chance. In doing so she matures while still retaining her youth and vitality, in fact her potential ripens as it were, and now she is in a park, away from the man-imposed structure of the world and back in touch with nature and with her sources of replenishment. The coin upon becoming a circle represents completeness; upon becoming a portal (door) represents new opportunities and new stages in life, and new connections to others, which lead to other opportunities, connections, and levels of growth (the other circles). The coin being a dime instantly brings to my mind “Destiny turns on a dime.” I would like to say that the Olympic rings reference (which was explicit in the dream) signals working towards excellence, and since 7 is a spiritual number, this dream bodes very well for healing, personal growth, and self-awareness. Especially since there was so much green everywhere, and green is for healing and growth too. The power to create and to destroy is the same power, and the girl has access to it and uses it be creative and express herself through art.

Mary Poppins? Well, I haven’t watched that recently. I’m going to lean towards her having mostly to do with watching the girl grow into a young woman (since MP was a nanny) , with not conforming to the “rational adult” view of everything as simply mechanical and without magic, with being a supportive guide who (in the dream) was there but behind the scenes. The singing is wonderfully optimistic and communicative of all these things.

A dirigible is like a balloon, and can mean rising above troubles; it is also steerable, so you are in control and not at the mercy of the elements. Or, perhaps Agatha Heterodyne is in control, and that’s interesting as she is a very smart, powerful girl who never thought much of herself growing up but is now becoming confident and finding her way in the world. Also she is a bit of a mad scientist, but we’ll let that pass.

The fact that I was not actually in the dream is probably a bit telling. I was not the girl or the young woman or Agatha; I was not even there at all- it was all third person omniscient. Plus I referred to part of the dream as actually being part of a movie, which makes it even more detached. This tells me that the potential is there, and the opportunity is there, and I need to engage personally, instead of allowing that it is possible for some archetypal or fictional character but not for me.

(Although, Girl Genius just won a Hugo and it has been on my mind a lot. And it would just be awesome if they made a movie.)

See also: About remembering dreams.

(The two mice and cages are from a separate dream.)

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My dreams are quite vivid, but I would forget most of them automatically and not even realize it if I did not cultivate certain habits. For example’s sake I thought I’d take you through the writing up of today’s dream (Portals in the sky).

Before I go to sleep, I remind myself that I want to remember any dreams. It is a mere statement of intention, but it can be quite a powerful help, especially when you are first starting to practice. I set the alarm to go off an hour before I need to actually get up- to catch myself during a deeper level of sleep. As soon as I wake up, I jot down key words of the dream, and then usually keel back over until I have to get out of bed as I am not a morning person. I used to try and write out the dreams in their entirety, but that takes up too much time and I usually am falling back asleep as I write. Later on in the day, I am able to use those key words to jog my memory and relive the dream in my head as I write it out in detail.

The most important part of remembering a dream for me has been to realize when I am dreaming and to pay attention.

The key to realizing you are dreaming is to look out for things that would not happen in reality. Waking Life discusses several techniques such as flipping a light switch or trying to read a clock. A technique championed by the works of Carlos Castaneda is to look at your hands. In dreams, controls often do not work, the hands of a clock may spin strangely, numbers and letters may move around independently, and you might not even “be” in your own body, much less have the control of your normal hands. For me, it is usually obvious that I am dreaming when the park rangers announce the rhinos are about to perform synchronized ballet, or, in today’s dream, when circles appeared in the sky and opened magic portals to other worlds. (On better days I would have realized before then, I’m sure, but I was very tired when I finally got to sleep early that morning.)

At first, it is common to be so surprised or excited about realizing that you’re dreaming that you wake yourself up. With practice, that becomes less of a problem. Then you can focus on what is going on in the dream. The more attention I can pay to the dream as it’s happening, the better I can remember it later. The more I can fully accept and immerse myself in the realm of the dream, the more vividly and potently I will recall small details. In today’s dream, once I saw those magic circles, I tried to remember what happened before then and how exactly the magic circles came to be, as well as notice where I was, what time it was, who else or what else was there, and what I was feeling about it all.

When my alarm went off, I stumbled over to write things down. Now, I have a notebook and pen that I keep by my bed almost all the time, specifically for this purpose. However, I was especially out of it that morning, and instead ended up jotting everything in an open JC Penny catalog. I went back to sleep, and later, when I finally found my notes, they consisted of the words: 7 circles, dime, art, create/destroy, park, Mary Poppins singing, dirigible, GG movie, 2 mice, and cages, written in brain-storm type clouds on a page featuring a matelasse coverlet on sale for $24.99. This was enough for me to remember what the whole thing was about.

I do advise writing out the dreams as soon as possible, however, because in a few day’s time, your notes might make as much sense to you as those notes of mine just did. Even if I only achieve some very sketchy outline, I try to fill things in right away or I risk losing it altogether.

Next article up will be about interpreting the dreams. :)

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I just heard about Girl Genius receiving the 2009 Hugo award for best Graphic Story, and I knew I had to find a dream that was somehow appropriate to celebrate. This, my friends, is as close as I could come- in that it involves a powerful, somewhat evil, somewhat mad-sciency family. Enjoy the dream (vintage May 2007, way before I ever came across GG)-

I was not dreaming from first-person perspective, but rather third-person omniscient. It centered around this young blonde woman, having found something in a recently discovered secret family depository, and coming out of this room, she was now wearing a helmet. The helmet was rather Darth Vader-ish except her face was not covered; however, the helmet was not the thing she found, but whatever she found brought the helmet into being. I think rather she found some kind of ancestral relic, or even an ancestor themself, because she seemed a different personality, like she was in communication with the dead. It was slightly evil, but then again, the whole family was. Not quite sinister, but, I don’t know, bent on world domination or something.

As she came out of that room, she met her grandmother in the hall. Her grandmother was fully human but reminded me instantly of Ilisidi (From CJ Cherryh’s Foreigner series) in her manner and authority. The young woman (they had no names! perhaps I should call her Sheila or something) interrupted her grandmother’s stern rebuke (for going missing all morning when there was business to attend) and then there was a pattern of red lights which seemed to come out of the helmet towards her grandmother (red like laser tag), but when Sheila walked away, the repeating pattern of lights was still in the same place, of unknown origin. The grandmother then started reciting something along the lines of an Ave Maria, and simply kept on until she repeated the whole thing, though Sheila was by then gone. Afterwards the grandmother seemed unduly subdued and automaton-ic for the rest of the dream, speaking to no one.

Sheila had gone into a main room, with many other of the family there, cousins et al, and a non-family member came in the room as well, asking if they could perhaps schedule their daily television interview (concerning the family’s stock, I think?, not the stock they own but stock in the family itself, as it was up on the market) earlier in the day from now on. At this point I started dreaming from the perspective of a young man, perhaps Sheila’s cousin. He had noticed the change in Sheila (although it was obvious, others had not) and so, uncharacteristically, asked Sheila if she thought they could get the requisite stock market research done by 9 AM. Sheila, now aided by whatever spectral powers, said of course. So it was arranged.

Then Sheila went outside and the male cousin followed. I guess I’ll call him Gilbert; I have no idea. Sheila asked him if the … insurance?… was paying for that research time, and remarked that it was an unnecessary expense. (I do believe this research involved a chemistry lab, and I’m not sure what they were doing to the stock market in there.) Gil replied that if it were no longer necessary, they could remove that option… he was basically tagging after her at this point, trying to find out what was going on- what the ancestors or powers that be were up to.

When I woke up I had the firm suspicion that the family in the dream was none other than the Brontes. Maybe I should have said Charlotte instead of Sheila, except Charlotte was not a blonde… This dream might definitely end up as a short, insane story someday. ;)

(Truly a great comic.)

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