Before waking this morning, I was dreaming and when I woke, I told the dream to Mark while it was fresh in my mind. The dream was in muted color, except for one item, which I’ll mention soon.
I was sitting in a large room with about fifteen British women. The room had a low ceiling, windows to the north, pipes overhead, and each of us seated in a school type chair, with wooden desk top, all one piece in structure. The room had an industrial feel to it. ( I assume we’re in England)
We turned in the seats to see or talk with one another, although I heard no sound. The desks had nothing on them except for some forearms leaning on top or elbows poised. We were dressed in ordinary clothes – slacks, button down shirts. I was the only one wearing a pair of jeans and sat in the last row to the right, closest to the exit doors. To get to the doors, we would have had to step up on a long, narrow platform.
A dark-haired boy of about 14 years old, dressed in grays and black, armed with a shotgun, seemed to just appear. He was facing me, though standing in the middle of the group of women. He was accompanied by a gang of silent young men, all behind him and spaced evenly throughout the room among the seated women. The armed boy was the only one who spoke or even moved.
I stood up and took the boy aside and talked to him. Misguided and frustrated by his family and society and thought he had no value or place in the world, and was angry about it. I don’t hear the conversation, but I know what transpires. In the next moment, threat diffused, I had recruited and mobilized every woman in the room, for advocating and guiding each boy, who were agreeable.
The boys disappeared, and a woman asked me, “How did you do that?” “I was a school bus driver, and I don’t put up with that,” I said. What I was thinking in the dream, was that I could help them.
Time passed, and I had many conversations with the boy. His demeanor softened and he focused on his immediate future. He was interested in the toll booth, where the operator had to commit to memory the names and proper toll amounts of each driver. He liked the idea of challenging and testing his memory.
Sometime later, I was in the car lot, below the building with the industrial room. A woman from the room approached me, accompanied by the boy. He wore a bright green and white broad striped, short-sleeved shirt. (This shirt was the brightest color in my dream) Things seemed fine, and I entered his car as a passenger. (Even though we’re in England, I’m sitting on the right side of the vehicle and he’s on the left, in the driver’s seat)
The boy acted like a punk, and spun his car around in circles in the lot, laughing. I insisted that he slow down and let me out, he ignored me, and I said, “I’m going to open this door and jump out.” He slowed down slightly, and at the right moment, I jumped out and left him, not looking back.
Time passed. He came to me and said, “I don’t need you anymore,” and walked away. His words, absent of malice, left me with contentment and satisfaction.
What do you think, Alex?
Anyone else want to have a go? You know you want to!!
- A Short Dream (pomegranatesnsummer.wordpress.com)
- Dreams About the Creative Instinct: Part I (jeanraffa.wordpress.com)