vogelein

Dream of: 10 January 2014 "New Clothes"



unravel the twisted threads of pride

I'm in Portsmouth and am getting ready to go to school. I remember that something special is going to be happening today at school so I decide to dress better than normal. I'm wearing a couple tee-shirts, but instead of wearing blue jeans and a tee-shirt, I decide to put on a pair of beige pants and a long-sleeved white shirt.

When I arrive at school, I'm met outside by a woman (around 60 years old) whom I know. She's well dressed and she compliments me on my attire today. I'm satisfied until she and I walk inside the classroom of 30-40 where everyone (all probably in their early 20s) seems to be dressed in brand new clothes. I'm surprised and intimidated by how well everyone else looks and I feel self-conscious about my clothing which isn't new. At least I'm glad that I didn't simply wear blue jeans and a tee-shirt.

The room actually seems more like a restaurant than a classroom and seems to be located in downtown Portsmouth. I sit down at a table with a couple fellows sitting across from me. I continue to feel self-conscious about my attire, especially when I notice that many fellows in the room are dressed in new suits. The two fellows across from me are wearing identical new bluish-gray sweaters. I wonder if they planned to dress that way or if they simply coincidentally bought the same sweaters. Then I notice that yet a third fellow wearing the identical sweater is sitting across from me.

One of the fellows is Babcock (whom I first met in 1967 when we attended 10th grade together in Portsmouth). I look intently at Babcock's face. I recall that I had become slightly acquainted with Babcock when we first met in high school, but we never hung around. I remember that he seemed to be in the upper echelon of Portsmouth society. I could have gotten to know him better and moved more into the upper society, but I hardly ever spoke to him through high school. I know his father was an optometrist and that he himself latter became an optometrist. He and the other two fellows all look snazzy sitting there in their new sweaters.

I wonder if anyone else in the room didn't dress up today, or if I'm the only one. I reflect that I wasn't even told that I was supposed to dress up today, so I wonder how everyone else knew. I feel shabby and I simply stay to myself without talking to anyone.

Everyone finally stands up and walks outside so we can head down the street to another location where something is supposed to happen. We walk on the crowded sidewalk in downtown Portsmouth. It seems as if everyone is dressed up in new clothes, a phenomenon very unusual for Portsmouth. Many females are walking along in their brand new clothes. It seems so strange for Portsmouth. Finally I do see one fellow wearing typical Portsmouth blue jeans. He's carrying a baby and seems to have his girlfriend or wife with him.

We arrive at a building which seems to be the old Columbia movie theater. We all walk in and stand in a line. My father shows up, stands right beside me, and looks me over. He seems to think I'm dressed acceptably, but he doesn't seem proud of the way I'm dressed. I wish I would have at least worn a tie. As I walk past a mirror, I notice that I'm still wearing those two old tee-shirts which can be seen around my neck under my white shirt. Now I really feel self-conscious. I think I might anyway slip into a restroom and take off the two tee-shirts. They really look shabby.

My father mentions something about some kind of pin which I'm apparently wearing on my shirt. I just wish this whole affair would end, but I'm stuck here now.

Dream Commentary

Although Dream Views specifically prohibits a profile-link to Facebook, numerous people on the Dream Journal web site link their profiles to Facebook. I do not know, however, of any of my fellow dream-writers who link their Facebook page to a dream journal. Surely there must be some other dream-writer on this planet who has thought of linking their Facebook account to a dream journal. Or is this a completely unchartered frontier?

These thoughts are brought to mind by the appearance of Babcock in this dream, someone whom I have not see in 43 years. A link to my dream journal from my currently shabby and dormant Facebook account would open up my dreams to the hundreds of people whom I have known through the years, many of whom would be surprised - dare I say startled - to see that they are still a part of my life. I can see how that would make me more self-conscious of what I write. Yet without pioneers, unchartered frontiers remain ... unchartered.

The 1948 painting above is by Frank Hunter and shows the exact area in Portsmouth, Ohio where I was walking in this dream. The Columbia theater marquee is on the left of the painting with the black letters on the white background.

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Dream of: 07 January 2014 "Guilt Trip"



honesty is its own reward

I'm in a big dirt-floored arena in what appears to be an amusement park. Hanging from the ceiling are long ropes which people can grab and swing on. High ledges (around five meters off the ground) around the perimeter of the arena can be reached by swinging up to them with a rope. I grab one of the ropes, start swinging around, and soon become quite adept. I swing up to one ledge and sit here for a while. Just as I'm ready to swing off the ledge, I notice that a dark-blue billfold is lying on the ledge. I furtively pick up the billfold, uncertain whether anyone standing down below in the arena sees me. I quickly glance inside the billfold and see that it is filled with bills. I see some tens and twenties, then a couple hundreds, and finally a thousand dollar bill. It looks as if there are even more big bills, although I don't look any further.I quickly stick the billfold in my back left pocket.

While I've been concentrated on the billfold, I've let my rope drop to the ground about five meters below the ledge. I'll either have to have someone throw the rope back up to me or hang-drop to the ground. I decide to hang-drop. I grab hold of the ledge with my hands and drop to the ground.

As soon as I'm on the ground, a thin healthy-looking grey-haired man (perhaps 60 years old) walks up to me and says,"Steve."

Uncertain how this man knows my name, I hear him moan, "I lost my billfold."

Feigning ignorance, I respond, "Oh no!"

He says that everything he had was in the billfold. I wonder if he's telling the truth and I wonder why he was so stupid to carry so much money in the billfold.I ask him if he knows where he lost it. He says no, but he says that he was looking through his billfold when he was up on one of the ledges - implying that he might have left the billfold up there. I suggest that he go back up to the ledge. I have the feeling that he suspects me and I want to get away from him. Then I ask him if he gave the people at the counter his name and information about how to contact him if anyone were to find the billfold. He answers, "No."

When he turns to walk over to the counter, I quickly slip out of the arena and mix in with the huge amusement-park crowd of hundreds of people outside the arena. I remember that I came here with some other people and now I don't know how I will be able to find them in this crowd. I might have to wait until the amusement park is closing and only a few people are left.

I want to look through the billfold to see exactly how much is in it.I start looking for a restroom where I can look through the billfold in private. I'm already feeling guilty for not returning the billfold to the man, but I think I at least deserve a reward for finding the billfold and if I had simply given the billfold back to the man, I probably wouldn't have received anything. I'm thinking I might just take the thousand dollar bill and give back the rest. Or I might just take all the money. I know that I will return the actual billfold and all the other identification and credit cards. I recall how I once lost a billfold and no one returned it. I had always thought that if I found a billfold, I would at least return the identification and anything else which I couldn't use.

I could understand why someone might keep the money, but not everything else.Certainly someone who found a billfold like this wouldn't be able to use the credit cards at an ATM machine because of the cameras. I reflect, however, that someone could put on a mask and use a credit card. If I were to wear a mask at an ATM machine, I would have to be careful about fingerprints since I figure that I'm already a suspect. I doubt, however, that my fingerprints could be traced.

Still, I mostly feel bad now about keeping the billfold. It would have been so simple to have simply given the billfold back to the man when he first approached me. Now I'm on a guilt trip. I don't even know how to contact the man. I could go back to the arena and check to see what telephone number he left there. Or I could simply use the identification inside the billfold to track down the man. I dread returning the billfold to the man face to face because then he will know that I had the billfold when he first approached me and that I was dishonest about not having the billfold.

When I think back on the man when he approached me, I seem to recall that he was smoking a cigarette - all the more reason why I should keep the money because he would just waste it on cigarettes. But then I realize that no one was allowed to smoke inside the arena, so I must be mistaken about that rationalization.

Finally I see a men's restroom which has the word "Soldiers" written in bold letters on the door. I think the restroom must be maintained by the military. As I head for the door, I wonder what word is used for the women's restroom if "soldiers" is used for the men's. I plan to find a stall inside and look through the billfold. I hope the old man hasn't followed me and tries to look over the wall of the stall, but I don't think he's following.

Dream Commentary

Publishing dreams on the internet is a bit like performing before an audience on a high trapeze. I think that the height that one can reach and the complexity of the performance is to some degree a function of honesty. Indeed, truthful dream-publishing is to a large extent a spectacle of the power of honesty.
I can only marvel at the thought of two trapeze artists holding each others hands as they fly through the air.

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Dream of: 04 January 2014 "Carniwhore"



use the power of words against evil

As I'm reading an article, I come across a word which is spelled "carni**ore". I can't figure out what this asterisked word means at first, then I finally realize that the dissembled word is "carniwhore". I conclude that someone has been disparaging carnivores by calling them "carniwhores". I like the concept and I think that in the future when I'm using the word "carnivore", I'll say "carniwhore" instead, as a way of expressing my contempt for carnivores.


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