Since restarting this blog, I have been keeping a journal on my computer. Within the journal, I have four sections that I try and fill each day. One is a table which contains a checklist of daily tasks and projects I want to accomplish. Another part contains my initial thoughts for the day and a record of how well I slept. I call it "Meditations". The third section, which gets filled in before retiring to bed, I have labeled "Reflections", and it covers noteworthy events that transpired that day. Finally, nestled between those two categories, is "Dreams". That is where I collect any dreams I can remember from the night before, and write them out in detail.
While that section does not get filled daily, many a dream has been collected there over the past nine months. So far I have shared four of them on this blog (Dream 1, Dream 2, Dream 3 & 4, and Dream 5). Today I am going to write about another relevant and timely one that I experienced last Thursday morning.
Certain themes have emerged among my dreams. There is the "runaway car": I lose control of my vehicle, and it begins to accelerate to the point where I am flying over a road or terrain, and careening towards a broken bridge, or oncoming cars (recently it was a crowd of first responders). Less frequently, but no less powerful, the ones where my former boss and mentor, who has been dead these four or five years, recovers from his stroke and demands to know why his school has changed. Then there were the dreams that seem to have ended with the birth of my first child: moving through a maze of rooms within a house, chasing or being chased, and then stopping suddenly to face the elusive force, grabbing for it, only to wake up, empty handed. And the always enjoyable, urination dreams, where I am struggling to find a place to pee, but find myself constantly being interrupted by people (and once by a cat), until I finally wake up and go to the bathroom.
Well, this past Thursday, I endured another category of dreams, which has afflicted me several times before. It is the ever exciting tsunami dream.
It began, just like the others, with the sight of an impending wall of water. But, for the first time, that I can remember, I did not spot the wave coming from a beach, nor was I standing there alone. Instead, I witnessed it cresting a ridge of mountains, and my wife and children were beside me in a car heading down a highway. We were on our way to a museum or historical park. The road ran parallel to the stretch of mountains, but our destination required us to make a right hand turn, straight into the oncoming tsunami. Not quite panicking, but still with urgency, I commanded everyone to get out of the car. Sensing hesitation, I warned them that I would start grabbing them. That was enough motivation. We began to move in the opposite direction.
Another first, I was fleeing with people in tow.
Now, in my typical tsunami dream, I find that once I begin to move away from the oncoming wave, its presence recedes to the background: I can feel it, off to the side, but never quite hanging over me or at my heels. The urgency is still there, though. And I end up becoming entangled in a series of obstacles.
Always by myself. Except for this time.
With my wife and children behind me, I struck a path away from the tsunami, and directly into... a restaurant. And not just any kind of restaurant, but one of those large, open air ones, like you find at a resort with an assortment of buffet tables. There were people sitting and eating, and I was forced to weave between the tables, searching for an exit. When I finally spotted one, I realized that my in-laws had appeared. And they were very grateful that I was doing something about the situation (i.e., moving away from the tsunami). They did not say anything, but I could feel it emanating from them. So, together, we made for the exit.
Sigh. And now I know why my previous tsunami dreams never contained companions. I reach the exit first, and turn a corner, only to discover my in-laws had disappeared. My wife tells me to go on with the children, and she will turn back and look for her parents. I hesitate, convinced I could find them and still save everyone. However, she insists that I move on.
The wave is not visible, but it is still there, in the background. So, I move forward, down a passage, my two daughters behind me, my wife wondering around the restaurant looking for her parents.
As I travel along the hallway, a good friend of mine shows up, with her two daughters. Like my in-laws, she is grateful that I am doing something about the situation. She does not say anything, but I can sense her gratitude. But that good feeling passes as I realize the hallway is not taking me outside to higher ground. Instead it is becoming long and narrow. And, to my frustration, it emerges in the lobby of a museum that is closed. Yet, at the entrance, a guard sits behind protective glass, reading a book.
Then two things happen. I see an exit to my right that leads directly to the outside world, and our daughters are now standing on the other side of the locked gates, further inside the museum. The guard is annoyed, and I am frustrated, and a bit frightened. The tsunami has not arrived, but it is still there, somewhere, behind me.
Fed up, I tell the guard he is free to grab the girls and drag them out into the lobby. I will not stop him. But he is struggling to get up and go after them. So, I start yelling at the children. Screaming in fact, though, within the dream, it sounds muffled. They keep playing, and the anxiety and anger builds. I begin to shake as I attempt to scream louder, spitting out the words, but realizing that my voice is nearly muted. Throughout it all, I am trying to explain why we need to keep moving.
They stop moving, but keep laughing and smiling, oblivious to the impending doom. For a moment, I contemplate turning my back on them, believing it would inspire them to follow me. But I do not do it, worried that my friend would judge me.
Finally, they pass through the museum gates, back into the lobby, and join me. Relieved, I start heading through the side exit door. But I sense my friend leaving me. She will not tell me why, only that I need to take the children out of her, including her daughters. She will join me later. And then she disappears back up the passage that connected the restaurant and this building.
The girls and I are now outside, and I start heading down a driveway, that leads to a road. If I turn left, it will lead me back to the tsunami; turning right will lead me away. Unfortunately, the four girls decide to sit down on some grass. As they begin to talk, ice cream cones appear in their hands. Soft vanilla ice cream. And they start eating. Behind them, standing there, waiting, are a small group of strangers (they remind me of Mormons--don't ask).
I am frustrated; nothing is going right. I am angry (not at the Mormons, but the four girls). And now I am desperate--the threatening wave has not gone away. Again, I yell. I scream for them to get up and move. The Mormons smile and start heading towards me. Now I realize that they were standing there awaiting my orders. Shaking my head, I decide I need to slap one of them (again, not the Mormons). However, I know that I cannot slap my friend's daughters. Even though they are closest to me right now. Eating their ice cream cones. Not sharing any with me (yes, even in such a dream, the thought crossed my mind). No, I move past them, my hand raised, ready to struck my eldest child. But is slow work, like moving through water, and my limbs grow heavy. My movement is cumbersome. Also, despite the urgency, I am emotionally reluctant to commit to this act of violence. Finally, I make contact, but it is clearly ridiculous to watch. My daughter just sat there and laughed. Everyone seemed to mock me. Except the Mormons. They were still waiting for me to take them to safety.
Exhausted and defeated, I begin to walk down the driveway, away from the museum. The four girls also move. They are following me. But not the Mormons. They seemed to have disappeared. We reach the end, and turn right, along a road, away from the tsunami. The road leads downhill, towards a busy highway running parallel to another ridge of mountains, and, what I believe, at that moment, our escape.
Downhill. Speeding traffic. And a steep climb after that. Part of me is convinced our present location is good enough, high enough to avoid the tsunami. Part of me is not, but does not care anymore. And a part of me thinks that some times we need to go a little downhill before we can start going up. Looking down at the highway, cars zooming in both directions, I try and convince myself we can cross it safely. That as soon as we step onto it, drivers will see us and stop. And then I can warn them of the oncoming danger. Finally, together, we would all be safe.
Then, suddenly, my friend shows up, and looks down at the highway. She can tell what I am thinking and says loudly, "Yeah, those cars aren't going to stop when they see us. However, if you think it will work, we can try." I cannot tell if she is being sarcastic, or if she has that much faith in me. She starts telling me that she cannot possible run all that way. I tell her I will carry her.
At that very moment, within the dream, while a tsunami forms up behind us, and cars speed by below us, safety just out of our reach, I begin to daydream (yes, right there inside my dream). I imagine myself running down that road, straight into the highway. Cars begin to stop, and people get out. My friend and the girls are right behind me, following my lead. Together, we stop more cars and convince people that they need to run up the steep hill next to the highway. That is the only way to flee the tsunami. As group, we begin making our way up the incline. And, yes, when my friend starts struggling, I pick her up and start carrying her uphill.
Sigh. I am daydreaming in a dream, about saving people from an impending doom, instead of actually saving people. When I realize it, I stop. Finding myself still standing, looking down, a tsunami on its way, and people waiting for me, I decide to move.
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep...
The alarm goes off. The scene disappears. Desperately I grasp at the fading shadows as I stir from the couch. Getting up, I head towards my laptop in order to record this ominous dream.
And the next day I do something decisively that moves me in a direction that closes one chapter of my life, and opens up another.
(To be continued...)
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