Dream Date

I had a dream last night that I met a guy who wasn’t at all my physical type, but was really funny and clever and kind. He was in charge of planning campaign events for a low-level political character, like a county sheriff or judge. The candidate wasn’t getting reelected, and so this event weekend was the last in the guy’s current career. But he was plucky, and very sure that he’d find his next campaign in a week or two, so now was the time to let his hair down and enjoy the party. The party in question was at a hotel, but I don’t think I had anything to do with the event or the property – I was just there by accident, and stayed because I felt drawn to the events of the evening. He was tall, with dark, curly hair. He was overweight, and was a little too hairy and sweaty for me. He had a bulbous nose, and expressive eyes that crinkled at the corners. He was in his mid-40’s, I thought. Maybe he was younger, but looked older because of the extra weight. He was also magnanimous, bubbly, genuine, and concerned with my comfort. Right in that moment, he wanted to take me out on the town, and I decided to just roll with it and see what happened. I felt like I’d become his right hand person, and it would change our worlds. Who knows why I dream what I do?

 

Dreaming in Danish

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I had an interesting dream last night. I dreamt of a word in Danish, a language that I do not speak and of which I have no real knowledge. What’s more interesting is that the word made absolute sense in the context of the dream (though I didn’t know it at the time).

First, a small background of waking life: I work as an event planner at a hotel, and we often provide catering for events. We have a head chef at the hotel, and though we’re not exactly friends, I do respect him as a colleague. He’s quiet and focused, which comes across as stern and commanding in the professional environment. He’s got a good sense of humor hidden just under the surface, though, and like most kitchen professionals, he loves to feed people. You can’t go wrong with that combination.

All this being said, I don’t really think about Chef when I’m not standing in his kitchen or working on a menu for a client. That’s the first weird thing about the dream – that he was actually in it.

***********

I’m eating dinner at a fancy restaurant. There are eight seats, but only seven guests. The host, my old boss, disinvited one of the intended attendees at the last minute. It’s very like her, so I’m not at all surprised.

Champagne is served. The label is beautiful – yellow and pink, with gold foil accents, illustrated in an Art Nouveau style. The name on the label is HAVARI, in all capital letters, in black, with the second “A” in gold foil. The wine is crisp, and tastes of pears. I’ve never had anything like it, and I love it.

The meal ends. Chef appears, in his whites, wearing a fancy chef’s hat (he never wears a hat like that in waking life). He pours more champagne for everyone, taking time to discuss the unique pear flavor a little more with me. I am concerned I won’t remember the name of the wine, so he turns the bottle towards me to let me read it again: HAVARI. I need to remember HAVARI, I remind myself.

The scene changes. We’ve been told there’s a terrible storm on the way, and Chef is concerned about his family. The dinner party has dispersed, and I’ve gone home with Chef so that he can collect his wife and children. (I think in waking life, he only has the one child, but in the dream there were more.)

Chef’s house is on the edge of a body of water, with a solid wall of windows that look out onto a pier that juts out into the waves. I am in the house, watching the pier. Chef and his family have already left for safety, and I am relieved for them. I didn’t see them go, but there’s a feeling that he has gathered them to him like a mother hen, protecting her brood. I know that because of his instinct to stay calm and remain together, all are safe from harm.

I watch the storm outside grow wild, standing witness as the waves batter the pier. The sky and the water are the same color; it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends, especially with the waves so intense, and spray filling the air. The pier stands strong at first, then starts to shimmy, and finally is washed away as the pilings give way and collapse from the relentless power of the water.

At no point am I afraid. I am safe in the house, and the storm doesn’t seem to belong to me. I am just here to witness it.

*******

I woke up with two distinct thoughts:

  1. HAVARI
  2. Chef will have his foundation washed out from under him, but as long as he gathers his family to him when crisis comes, all will be OK in the end.

I got dressed and left for work. On the way, I wondered if I should tell Chef about my dream, or if he’d think I was crazy. Besides, how did I know that this was really a dream about him, and not just another vivid dream? But at some point in the morning, it struck me that I should Google the word “havari” to see what it was. I didn’t expect anything; in fact, I thought that it would help prove that this was all just jumbled bullshit from my subconscious, and let me move on with my day.

Now here’s the weird part – lately I’ve been contemplating Norse magick, specifically the practice of seidr, or weaving the lines of fate. I’ve been feeling a soul stirring for some time. The hows and whys are a whole other blog post, and I don’t have the energy for that right now. Let it be enough for now to say that when I found out that “havari” means “accident” or “emergency” in Danish, I realized I was being given a message to pass on.

Just because I knew the basic message doesn’t mean I knew the meaning, though. Maybe the lesson is for Chef in the distant future, when he has more than one child. Maybe it’s more of a metaphor than it already appeared to be. Maybe it was actually meant for me, and I misinterpreted it (though I strongly doubt this, for some reason).

I asked Chef for a minute of his time, told him the dream, and explained that I felt that I was supposed to tell him not to lose faith when things go awry. I told him to hold his family close. Even if the dream means nothing, I hope the thought of love still gives him strength if and when a dark time comes.

Being Chef, he was customarily quiet and thoughtful when I gave him all of this information – but when I finished, he assured me that he’d never leave me behind in a storm – and that he did have a wall of windows in his house. I was too weirded out to ask if he lived on a lake.

 

Midnight Drive

Granddaddy came to visit me the night before last, in a dream that felt like real life. I wish I could say with certainty that it was a visit from the man I so adored, rather than just wishful thinking and misfiring synapses, but I will always be a hopeful skeptic. It felt good, though, and gave me something to think on. So I’ll treat it as it felt – an important message, spoken by my long-dead grandfather, here on a soul-business trip.

We were driving to a wedding. I spent countless hours in the passenger seat of Granddaddy’s truck as a child, when he was alive, so we were back to places that suited us best. He was younger than I last remember him. He was in his late 60’s when he passed away. In the dream, he was around 50, his face still plump and a little shiny, his hair not quite thinned out, and still some black strands here and there. I was my present age. Neither of us remarked on the age differences, and I don’t think it even struck me as odd in the dream.

The wedding was being held at a church that was also a part-time warehouse and granary. Why I know this, I have no clue. We didn’t discuss it. But as the truck got closer to the building, I could clearly read the block letters on the side of the building, and the church was named “Gods Colors” (no apostrophe). I exclaimed, “Oh, I’ve been here before! I love this church!” He made a noncommittal grunt – a characteristic I’d forgotten – more on the positive side than negative, the kind of sound someone makes when they’re barely listening to you, but still want to appear polite.

Instead of stopping at the church, we rounded the corner and kept driving. On the right was a railroad depot, and ahead of us, the road changed from a country highway to a long, stately street, lined with straight, tall trees. The looked like birch trees, perhaps. As we drove towards this long line of tees, he looked over at me and said “You’ve always been so forgiving.” The subcontext was that I was forgiving to a fault, and he watched me being hurt as a result, and didn’t like it. But he wasn’t angry, or sad. He was studying me, and praising me, and it all came across in this simple sentence, and the way he looked at me, hands on the wheel, love in his eyes.

I don’t remember exactly how I responded. Something like, “I have to,” or “It’s my job.” We kept driving, and never reached the trees. Eventually I woke up.

Two things stand out to me from that dream: the church, and the message of forgiveness. Where was the apostrophe? Was the church to multiple gods? What are their colors? And was Granddaddy reminding me that I keep forgetting to forgive myself? I think so. I never see myself so clearly as when he shows up to look at me. In real life (and now sometimes in my dreams) he always looked at me with pure love. How to ever match that? But the truth is that it’s my job to do it. I’m the only one left to do that for myself. I deserve to see myself the way he saw me. I deserve to look upon myself with love and tenderness. I deserve to be forgiven.

Dream Diary: Witch Tableaus

The last time I dreamt about C, we were at the French Market. He and my friend K were playing drums, and there was a group of dancers/mummers dressed as mechanical breasts milling around in the background. That was maybe a month ago.

Last night I dreamt about C again, which is strange, since he’s a person who often doesn’t cross my mind for half a year or more. I always worry when I dream about him, because he’s always rather stoic and sad. It was also strange, since this dream had another very vivid reference to performance art – and again, very weird performance art. Man, my brain is a very interesting place.

Last night’s dreams, as a whole, were pretty interesting. In one dream, I realized that my elderly landlady must be going senile. I came home to find that she’d taken every piece of furniture in our house out into the front yard, and was letting people take what they wanted. The house was full of antiques and really funky mid-century mod stuff, so I was really worried for her. I started hauling stuff back inside, but since she insisted she didn’t want any of it anymore, I outfitted my own bedroom with the pieces I knew she loved the best, just in case she wanted them back. Since we’d always agreed on what things were the coolest, it was a win for me, too, but I was still heartbroken that she appeared to have lost her faculties over the course of a single morning.

In another dream, I was with a friend that reminded me a lot of my mom. I couldn’t figure out who the person was, but she did a lot of things that made me think of Mum, so maybe it was actually her. We broke into a house together and fed a cat. I don’t know why we broke into the house, but I do know that most of the dream involved getting out of the house before the owner came home, though we were trying to be sneaky and have the front door locked and climb out of a window, and we weren’t agreeing on how to do it. I don’t recall us ever getting out of the house in my dream.

The next dream was the one with C. I was at a charity event where there were all these live tableaus (real people) set up to represent specific scenes in the history of witchcraft. I don’t think that we were in this reality, because the scenes depicted Harry Potter-esque magical events – scenes of great bravery and sacrifice in war. They were very important for the viewers, like war memorials. Many people who passed were brought to tears. At first, I thought that the garden with many of the tableaus was going to be mostly abandoned all night, and the event wasn’t going to make any donations. But the garden was full of tables, and as I passed around and looked at the tableaus, the tables began to fill up with people drinking and talking. There were fairy lights overhead, and people were in sparkling ball gowns and other fancy dress outfits. It was a beautiful event.

My mom and dad were there at some point, and we all decided to sit down to have a drink and discuss some card game. I was explaining the rules, but getting irritated, because Mum kept interrupting to ask for details that didn’t matter at all in the game, wasting time dissecting the items of least importance. Then I looked up, and saw C and his brother. They were sitting at a table across from my family, and a waiter was delivering their drinks. The waiter called them “Golden Bourbons” – but it was an actual cocktail of some kind, obviously containing bourbon, but a rich, milky chestnut color, served in a tall glass with ice. C looked pleased to be there with his brother, but also presented as caged and uncomfortable, whether from the event, or interacting with the brother, or possibly from realizing that I was there. I did end up talking with him later in the dream, and it was a perfectly innocuous conversation, though I can’t remember what was said, only that it was light and pleasant enough.

After that dream, I had one last one where I was a waiter at a fast food restaurant, and I sneaked away from the party that I was catering (which, who knows, might have been the party I dreamed about before) to pursue a suspicious guy who looked a lot like Patrick Wilson. It turned out that the suspicious guy was a government agent, and perfectly nice. He found me hiding in the back seat of his car during his stakeout and the rest of the dream was a poorly-sketched-out buddy cop movie with a romantic thread (of course, lol).

Dream Diary: Garnished With Garnets

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Isn’t this the most gorgeous pendant you’ve ever seen? It’s not from my dream, but I ran across it in SilveryLake’s Etsy Shop, and fell in love. Check out her work – so many drool-worthy pieces!

I had the weirdest dream last night – or at least, the weirdest portion of a dream. I can’t remember most of it, other than having the impression that I was visiting my parents, who lived in a metropolitan area in another part of the United States. Maybe Portland? It felt hip, but also relaxed, with a little bit of a coastal vibe. (IRL, my family lives in rural North Carolina, so wherever my dream family lived, it was pretty much exactly opposite of where they are now.)

Some of my Chicago friends were there – I think Nate, John, and AJ? It was all guy friends, all people with whom I feel absolutely relaxed and loved. We went out shopping at some point, though that was a fleeting portion of the dream, just the impression of leaving a multistory apartment building to go shop for something vaguely artsy or architectural. When we came back from the trip, I had a new garnet necklace, a really big gem that I was very proud to show off.

Towards the end of the dream, it was revealed that my dad had another house guest coming to visit, but hadn’t wanted to tell me because he didn’t think I’d be pleased. The guest was my real life (and dream life, as it turns out) ex-boyfriend. I’ve had many ex-boyfriends over my years, but this is the one that I dated for the longest, whom I assumed I’d marry before things went awry and I realized it wasn’t going to work out. We’ve both moved on, and it sounds like he’s really happy with his new lady, which in turn makes me happy. I do miss our friendship, as I got the big freeze and he’s never spoken to me again, but to be fair, I knew that would happen, and that’s just how life goes. C’est la vie.

Anyway, in the dream, I felt betrayed that my dad would invite the ex and not let me know. My parents always loved him, though, so it didn’t surprise me in the dream (and honestly wouldn’t surprise me in real life). But I resolved to just go with the flow and be a gracious and hospitable hostess. It felt like my dad was far more excited to have the ex visiting than to have me visiting, which was annoying, but I played it off.

When the ex showed up, he was happy, and dressed more casually and fashionably than I’d formerly seen him dressing. It was obvious that his new relationship was letting him be happy and free, which in turn made me feel relieved and glad to see him (instead of stressed or anxious, as I was feeling towards the end of our IRL relationship). I decided to show him my awesome new necklace. My dad was also there, and since he’s never happier than playing one-up, he showed off his own new piece of garnet jewelry, a bolo tie or something similar. It was only then that I realized the ex was also wearing garnets – a LOT of them. He held out his hand, and I could see that every finger was adorned with a big, rough-cut garnet ring. That’s the last thing that I remember before waking up. Overall, the dream was on the positive side of neutral. I woke up feeling inquisitive, but not upset. It made me feel like the world was a little bit mended, if that makes any sense.

I looked up the dream meaning of garnets today, since this was such a specific symbol. I like garnets, but I don’t typically go for them in jewelry; the only ones in my collection are a pair of garnet earrings from when I was a kid. DreamMoods says that garnets symbolize “loyalty, vitality, and devotion” as well as “overcoming negative feelings.” MyDreamMeanings.com says that:

“…dreaming about a garnet is indicative of your passionate and understanding nature. This crystal is symbolic of clarity and control so seeing one in your dreams conveys the notion of you feeling enlightened and in control of your life…Garnets represent strength and the power to overcome difficult situations at hand.” 

During my research, I also found out that garnets are sometimes called “Arizona rubies,” which is rather ironic, given my latest obsession with moving to the desert. But more than this, they are also associated with the root chakra, overcoming trauma, and grounding one’s dreams in reality (see more about them on Crystal Meanings & More). Looks like it’s time to go garnet shopping 🙂

 

 

The Nightmare

After a few good, calm weeks, this morning I woke up with that familiar feeling in my chest. The anxiety is back. Maybe it’s because of the nightmare.

It was one of those ones that wakes you up and sits there with you, daring you to try to close your eyes again. You won’t like what you find, it says. You won’t, but I will. Nightmares like that just leer at you from their ephemeral hiding spots, somewhere between dream and waking, like the nearly invisible monsters that creep into their corners when you flip the light switch in the closet, or go searching under the bed for that box of sweaters from last winter.

My nightmare made no sense. It wasn’t even scary. But it did its job. I awoke with dread, and it’s grown throughout the day. Now that it’s time for bed again, I find myself near tears. Of course, it’s Sunday, and Monday morning fills me with much the same sense of dread, so it could just be the work week that makes me hate Sunday nights. Who knows?

I dreamt of elevators going up, and escalators going down. There was a painted owl, stolen from a thrift shop. Decrepit old ladies in kimonos danced their way through some odd version of a tea ceremony on the sidewalk of my dream city, spitting hot tea like fire breathers. A man kept a house of feral cats, supported on the donations of passersby. I brought them a giant bag of food, and some litter. For $28, I could have my fortune told, but the woman I visited was trapped in a hospital bed, a sheeted corpse in a wheelchair to her left. She said I had no future, that it was invisible through a wall of gray smoke. I thought that she wanted to kill me, to steal my soul. So I woke myself up and lay there in the bright light of early afternoon, heart pounding, stomach churning.

There’s so much to accomplish tomorrow, but I can’t remember any of my tasks. They’re all a jumble, swooping through my head, crowding the space around my heart. The dread hangs on. I’ve taken a couple of sleeping pills, just so I can relax enough to get past this and get a little shuteye. I should probably close the laptop so my brain can start to power down away from the backlighting. But I can’t handle the darkness tonight.

I need someone to hold my hand and tell me it’s all going to be alright. I don’t think it is. I try to peer into my own future, and there’s nothing but that smoke.

My Weirdest Dream In Quite Some Time

Like this pic? Click through to be taken to Cami Trinh Faulkner's YouTube channel, DemonHiccups.

Like this pic? Click through to be taken to artist Cami Trinh Faulkner’s YouTube channel, DemonHiccups.

This may be the first time that I completely ignore the point of a Daily Post prompt and write something related but off-topic, instead. However, it seems odd that the prompt today would be to describe the last time you were moved to tears by something beautiful, and this morning was the first time in years that I was moved to tears by a dream. Even though the dream was not beautiful – it was sad, and cruel, and extremely strange – and I only remember a snippet of the entire thing, I still feel compelled to share it here.

The dream happened sometime this morning, probably around 8am, but definitely long before I was ready to get out of bed. I know that it was daylight out already because when the dream woke me up, I was wearing my sleeping mask, and it was soaked with teardrops. I lifted the mask to let more tears roll out, and saw that the sun was already strong in my room.

The dream was a conversation with my Nana, the wife of my dead grandfather, Granddaddy. It was a family gathering of sorts, and we were standing in a kitchen with a freestanding kitchen island between the two of us. She had her back to a large bay window. It’s a room that doesn’t belong to any house in my family, and I can’t remember having seen it before.

My mother was on my right side, and behind and around us were family members from my father’s side of the family. Other than my great-grandmother, Nana’s mother, who was somewhere near her (you know how you sometimes don’t see something in a dream, but you still know it’s there?), I don’t know who any of them were supposed to represent; they weren’t faces I know from real life. I just know that they were supposed to be related to Nana and my father, and it was some kind of family reunion or get-together to celebrate a holiday or happy situation.

I came to the gathering under rather benign circumstances, but the dream escalated pretty quickly. In real life, since dreams only take seconds, it might be that the dream was only the conversation, and everything else was backstory that my brain used to fill in the blanks. I dunno.

I was paying my respects to Nana, just a little ‘Hi, love you, glad to be here’ kind of thing, and she started to pick me apart. She started insulting me, and my life choices, and my intelligence. I don’t remember anything specific (except for one thing that I’ll get to in a second), but I remember her face was twisted with hatred and malice. It was frightening, and obvious that she didn’t love me at all, and never had. The only thing that I remember very clearly from what she was saying was that she was calling me a liar – for an answer that I’d written down on a test in undergrad. The test question was ridiculous, and definitely not real, but I remember it, so here it goes:

“Two WWII-era American submariners went missing, and were presumed drowned. Their bodies were later discovered at _____________.”

In college (in this weird alternate reality), I’d answered that they were found at the zoo (the flash of scenery that I get tells me that I meant the Lincoln Park Zoo, in Chicago). However, I got the answer wrong because I failed to calculate the age of the park in relation to when the two men had died. They were actually found at the Ice Capades stadium on the other side of town.

Yes, completely random and really weird.

In the dream, Nana somehow knew that I had written the wrong answer on my long-ago test, and was making the assumption that writing the wrong answer when I’m typically a pretty smart girl meant that I was a despicable, no-account liar. I kept trying to explain that I just hadn’t known the right answer, but she wouldn’t take my explanation, and was calling me a liar to my face in front of this circle of people. It was humiliating, and I was so sad that she didn’t love me, and so angry that I couldn’t get her to realize that what she was doing was fundamentally incorrect.

So I woke myself up sobbing. And if that’s not worth a blog post, I don’t know what is.

If you’re hip on dream symbols, or want to share your own dreams, feel free to chime in in the comments section.