• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views

    View RSS Feed


    injured mom and cars; art historian monkey researcher; gangs of kids

    by , 04-02-2011 at 02:09 PM (366 Views)
    Good morning, everybody.

    Dream #1

    I was possibly with my brother and sister at night. It was pitch black outside.

    We may have been driving a car around, possibly a black SUV. But we may have needed another car, which my mother may have had. We may have been angry or impatient with our mom because she wasn't bringing the car.

    We got some call from or about our mom on one of our cell phones. Our mom was either sick or injured. I suddenly felt very worried and sad, but also ashamed that I could have been so impatient about my mom when she had actually been injured all along.

    Dream #2

    I was with my friend H. We had been attending some kind of lecture. Now it was over. We were standing in some side room, off to the side of the lecture room.

    The lights were mostly off in the lecture room and the side room. A little bit of fluorescent light seemed to be coming from somewhere else. The lecture room was kind of big and square, like a dance rehearsal area, but with low ceilings and full of folding chairs.

    The side room was much smaller. It had something like two workshop tables in it. On each of the tables, long sheets of paper were rolled out, more than one sheet per table.

    H and I stood in the side room with a white man with red hair and a red beard. The man was something like a professor. The man's hair was kind thinning back from his forehead. He may have worn blue jeans and a sweater with dull green, yellow, and red striped and designs on it.

    The professor had given a lecture on something like Buddhist mandalas. The papers all rolled out on the table were Buddhist mandalas. But they were all laid face down.

    H was talking with the professor, asking a few questions about Buddhist art. I got a little distracted from their conversation, and I was wandering around at the other end of the side room.

    At some point H and the professor decided it was time to go. They started heading out the door and told me they were ready to go. For some reason I told them that I would just be a second, that I just needed to put my shoes on.

    As he walked toward the door, the professor began telling a story, apparently directed toward me, about how he did research on certain monkeys using certain chemicals. The chemicals might often create certain blood conditions in the brain, like hemorraging.

    The professor said, "Of course, the monkeys run around and play all happy. But they have no idea that if the chemicals make the blood conditions in their brains, I'll have to make them fall asleep." The professor then explained that he would then sell the affected brains to the researchers.

    The professor and H had walked out a door, into the next room (a stairwell exit?) which was lit with fluorescent light. I stood there for myself for a second. For some reason, it took me this pause to realize that the professor was purposely infecting these monkeys, then killing them, cutting open their skulls, taking out their brains, and selling their brains to interested parties.

    I may have tried to get the professor's attention (he and H were still within earshot) to ask him if this was really what he was doing.

    Dream #3

    I was possibly walking back home. It was late afternoon and a clear day. The air was cool and pleasant, and the sunlight was dim, pale gold.

    I turned left and walked down a sidewalk bordered by lawn. It seemed like I was either at the boundaries of some park, or possibly the lawn of a complex of very tall apartment buildings. The road, to my left, was wide, but it wasn't very busy.

    The whole setting seemed very clean. But I wasn't familiar with it, and it didn't feel like my neighborhood at all.

    Somehow I now needed to cross the street to get to the sidewalk on which I had already been walking. There were two black boys, about ten years old, one of whom may have been sitting on the metal housing for a transformer.

    The kids saw me crossing the street. I passed the kids. One of the kids stayed where he was. The other kid kind of followed me. I had a feeling that the kids were going to try to jump me or steal something from me. But I wasn't too worried. The only thing I had with me was a CD version of Philip Glass' opera Akhnaten (why?).

    The kid who was following me kept edging up, as if he were going to walk in front of me, then falling back. I just kept ignoring him.

    But now I saw a big group of black kids walking down the street. The kids were maybe in their late teens. There were seven or eight of them -- enough to block up the entire walkway and small strip of lawn by the curb. The kids looked like trouble. So I decided to just cross the street right away, to get out of their range.

    But, crossing the street, I saw a huge fence, maybe 6 meters tall, possibly bordering another lawn-type space. On top of that fence there sat an even bigger group of black kids. They were already looking at me, and they looked ready to jump down from the fence and attack me as soon as I passed them.

    I veered to the right, to head back toward the road I had been on before turning onto this road. I could tell that that road was much more populated, and that a lot of cars ran down it. I figured it would be better for me to just hang out on that road and avoid these gangs of kids.

    But, for some reason, I was really flustered that I had to do this. I felt like things hadn't been like this before, or like in the neighborhood I thought of as my neighborhood things weren't like this. I wondered why things were like this now or here.

    Submit "injured mom and cars; art historian monkey researcher; gangs of kids" to Digg Submit "injured mom and cars; art historian monkey researcher; gangs of kids" to del.icio.us Submit "injured mom and cars; art historian monkey researcher; gangs of kids" to StumbleUpon Submit "injured mom and cars; art historian monkey researcher; gangs of kids" to Google