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    maboroshi

    repeated park scenes

    by , 10-20-2011 at 01:37 PM (400 Views)
    Good morning, everybody. Time seemed to be really weird in this dream. I tried to get it all down as well as I could.

    Dream #1

    I was out in a park on a sunny day, possibly with a small group of people. The park was a long, slightly sloped lawn, an asphalt path, and then another lawn which went up a ridge. The lawns were kind of yellowy, as if the grass hadn't gotten much rain.

    At the top of the ridge was a row of trees. We had to pull out the trees. The trees were all small, and we had to get them out, all the way to the roots. We would then carry them down to a wheelbarrow on the path, where they would be carted away, maybe two or three at a time.

    Suddenly, it seemed like the scene was going to start over again. My view was coming in toward the park, moving up toward the trees. There may have been another row of trees on the border of the park and, now, a row or two of trees lining the asphalt path.

    Suddenly, it was like the scene started over again, and I was coming back into the park, like a disembodied viewer. Then the scene started all over again, but it was like I was watching the view on a little, boxy TV that stood on the floor in some dark room. This experience may have started all over again.

    Now I was back in the park. I was on the asphalt path, which was lined, at least on one side, with trees, making the path shady. My brother was with my, just up the hill from the path. He wanted me to take a picture of him. I tried to take a picture of him, but my view was all blocked by the leafy branch of a tree, like a poplar or a callery pear.

    I tried again to get a good shot of my brother. But now my view was of the hillside -- with me on it. I also saw my mother and her best friend, and possibly my brother. We were all standing kind of far apart from each other. I was walking down the hill. I was in shade, but a greenish light hit the underside of my left cheek, as if somehow reflecting the light of the green leafs in the sun. I managed to get a photo of this, as if I were also outside the scene.

    I was now outside the park again. But this time I wasn't coming in. I stood on the outside, hiding behind a border of trees. I had, apparently, been sick for a long time, and I was just now coming back. I was afraid of the boss of whatever project this was that I was working on. But someone, maybe in my head, told me not to worry, just to approach the boss and be honest.

    I was now going with my brother and a thin, old, kind of intelligent-looking man into some place which was supposed to be my office. The place looked like a storage shed, like in some dirt-lot complex of sheds that might be seen on the outskirts of a city.

    We had to walk up steps to get into this trailer-like office. But there was no front wall. We just walked right in. Everything seemed to be made of wood: the floors, desks, walls, everything -- and the same kind of wood, like pale wood from an old backyard deck.

    I had perhaps lost my job, possibly because the company I worked for had gone under. I was here with my brother and the old man to get my stuff. The old man seemed to know a lot more about this whole process than I did.

    We went up to the right wall, where, as I was grabbing something, I may have passed out. I was then walking back up the steps and into the office. It was like I had been sick for a long time, and this was the first time I'd come back to the office since I'd gotten sick.

    The old man and my brother were there to meet me. My older brother was looking around the office. The old man stood by the wall. I walked up to the old man. We were supposed to be doing something regarding cleaning up the office after my sickness.

    I remembered an old man giving me some kind of little wooden box, which was like a matchbox. The old man had been sick, maybe even dying. I had been caring for him somehow, almost as if I were a doctor. I had been standing by the wall, and the old man had been laying on the floor. The last thing I remembered before getting sick was holding the box. Then I passed out.

    The old man in the present time knew my memory. He told me we had to find that box. We found it instantly. It was a little wooden box about four centimeters in width and length and maybe 7 millimeters tall. It had a little interior which pushed in and out like a drawer, or like in a matchbox. But it also seemed not to do that, but to latch open and closed, like some kind of folder or briefcase.

    The old man took the box from me. He told me we had to burn it. I had gotten sick and passed out, the old man said. But other people had died. There had been a plague, all through this office and in other places.

    This box, the man told me, was the source of the infection. We needed to burn it. And we were going to burn this whole office down, too.

    The old man and I, and possibly my brother, may have continued talking as we walked toward the other end of the office. We may have been planning to leave the office.

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