maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was on a dark stage with a group of guys. The guys were something like rock stars or performers. I'm not sure whether the stage was in a large or a small venue. Sometimes the atmosphere seemed very small, almost like a coffee shop or a bar. Other times, it seemed like the five guys were addressing a huge crowd, almost like at a political convention.

The stage itself seemed sometimes to be more like a small coffee shop or bar, or even a living room. I could see rugs, tables, and lamps. I might even once have seen a small hallway leading back to another room.

The five guys were going away. This might have been their last performance ever. So, partly for the crowd's sake, but partly for my own sake, the five guys gave some kind of inspirational speech. They each took a turn speaking. As the person would speak, a spotlight would shine on him.

The five speeches were somehow connected. They began in some kind of historical context. They had to do with something like fighting for liberty. Then they moved on to how people shouldn't lose hope, and what kinds of things they could do to keep fighting for liberty.

All the time, while each person was talking, I was touching the speaking person's face. I could see each person just fine. But the way I was touching the people's faces was like I couldn't see the people's faces, and like I was trying to understand what they were like.

The final person, while I was touching his face, began to laugh a little. I got the impression that he thought I was doing this because I wasn't taking his speech seriously. So I tried to touch his face more seriously. I began tapping his forehead and his chin with a fist like a cat-paw, not closed all the way, but kind of flat.

I may have been a little kid at this point, or maybe all through the dream.

Dream #2

I was at a service counter at a FedEx. A pretty woman with olive skin, black hair, and black eyes told me something about whatever I was here to do. She said something like things would be ready for me in a while, so I should come back.

I thanked the woman and walked away from the counter. I was now in a department store. I was walking around some display areas with really nice dark grey or black slacks. The area all around was also nice, kind of dimly lit, with dark green or blue carpeting. All the display stands also seemed to be made of a nice kind of wood.

A few other guys came up around me. There were some tall, white guys and at least one Asian guy. They were all dressed nice, probably in dark blue blazers, pale blue shirts, and khaki slacks. They were all talking with each other, possibly about some kind of business meeting they'd all been to. But they were all hanging around and looking at the pants near me, I could tell, because they assumed, for some reason, that I had good taste in pants (???).

I was back in some line, which, as I faced it, looked like a checkout line for this department or clothing store. The cashier counters looked very nice, all made out of heavy wood. They almost looked like bank counters. I was near the front of the line.

One of the Asian guys was in front of me, talking to some of the other business guys, who were behind me. This guy wasn't as well dressed as the others. He wore a maroon polo shirt and khaki slacks.

They were all talking about something having to do with the military. It was like they had just been to some convention for military scientific projects. There may have been certain aspects of the technology that they either hadn't understood or had been bored by. But there had been a woman there who had really absorbed and processed all the information.

The Asian man was now kind of giggling a little, like you would after seeing some kind of daring feat. He then said, almost looking at me, as if he felt I had been listening to and understanding the conversation, "Well, I guess that she is a HLA." (He pronounced "HLA" as "hullay.") I assmed that "HLA" meant "High-Level Analyst."

I was now up at the Fedex counter, coming to take care of whatever I had been told to take care of. The woman I had come to was the same woman as before. She had been pretty friendly before. But now she was really rude.

She had an envelope, which I knew was for me. But she was kind of angry that this envelope could be for me. She didn't want it to be mine. She didn't want to give it to me. She told me to give her my ID. I did. She seemed to be going through every number on my ID. Then she was going through every number, every digit, on the envelope.

She began tapping her fingernails on the counter, trying to find some kind of numerical reason not to give me my package. She was getting mad that she couldn't. I had a feeling she didn't even want to give me my ID back.