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One of those Mother Dreams

4 Jun

I had a dream in which I lived in what looked like a large and spotless house with my mother. I woke from a nap and i didn’t know where she was; I didn’t think she was home. I went to the living room–a very large and modern living room I think with white carpet–seems to me like the room was white and black in its color scheme. I lounged on a couch and munched on Oreo cookies while watching a quirky show about two young women living with their mother. The decor tended to change slightly depending on what projects they were working on. For instance, their kitchen had strings of onions hanging from more and more things–such as draped over the fridge and hanging from each side of it.

Though I assumed my mother was out, she appeared walking down a hallway to the living room, and I think another woman, a friend of hers, appeared, too. My mother (who didn’t look anything like my real mother, more like one of the beautiful and glamorous Indian actresses in this show about the Buddha I’ve been obsessively watching). She didn’t say anything or smile; her facial expression seemed aloof, and I felt ashamed of being caught idle on the couch and munching on junk food while watching tv. (I suppose watching tv wouldn’t have looked so bad if it had been a documentary.) She wore something glamorous that included a leopard print, and she looked like she had just taken a shower.

It just occurred to me that the Oreo cookies matched the black and white color scheme of the living room.

Since my parents passed away–my dad in May 2014, my mother in March 2016–I continue to have dreams in which they are still alive. My sister said, with considerable relief, that she no longer dreams about our parents.

Today it sounded like aliens were trying to communicate through the toilet, before it sound was singing birds. Perhaps there’s a nest in the attic. (That actually wasn’t a dream.)

Warehouse Dreams

6 Apr

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(The above is a photo I took at the Grimm warehouse sale. That is an Anubis-shaped mummy at a Trimet bus stop.)

In one night, I had two dreams involving living in a warehouse.

I had a dream in which I had recently moved into a large apartment or condo that was actually a warehouse. It had high ceilings with rafters and hanging lights like you expect in a warehouse. Portions of the large space were divided into rooms with walls that were more like partitions than walls. Along outer walls were large wooden shelves, spaced well apart, reaching to the ceiling and covered with various items, like coolers and whatnot.

My parents began to move in with me, and this meant figuring out who would have what bedroom. While this was under discussion, I was looking at the bedrooms, and one of my parents pointed out that I had the largest room, so I decided I would let my parents have that bedroom and I would move all my stuff into another bedroom. Meanwhile, I realized I’d better have less clutter, so I pulled random stuff off one of the high wall shelves and realized that these were items I had no trouble getting rid of (most of that stuff was probably there when I moved in); these items were a rusty metal rectangular tub or something like that, not a full-size bathtub but something white and metal and rusty that might have been used for hand-washing clothes; inside it was something else that was rusty and metal and at least partially white, and I think it was perhaps a baby stroller, though an abnormally small one. There may have been a big garage door, and I may have carried these items out that door and placed them outside for the time being.

Now that I’m writing this, it seems like the dream was more focused on clutter and rearranging and organizing stuff…and my parents were rather in the background.

I had another warehouse dream the same night, or rather early morning. I had just recently moved into a warehouse with a bunch of friends, communal-style, but they were also my co-workers of some sort—probably performance artists. The décor was much like in the other dream—a large, high-ceilinged warehouse with wooden partitions/walls. There was a very wide hallway, and along the left of it you could see these black wooden walls.

I hand-made lots of banners that were all on the same theme and I think looked Art Nouveau, and they were all part of a performance art piece that my colleagues and I were working on. One day I came home to find that they were all gone. I was shocked and confused and hurt…and found out that the stern landlady took them down because hanging large banners in these apartments was not allowed. We were very flustered (or at least I was!) and didn’t know what to do. I felt especially hurt because I had put a lot of effort into those banners. They were art, not garbage.

Wondering about the possible significance of warehouses, I looked it up on an online dream dictionary and learned that it has to do with storing up your untapped resources, such as skills you haven’t used (which I think can extend to skills you haven’t been using lately). And why do I keep having dreams in which I move in with my parents or they’re moving in with me? I suppose that’s part of the grieving process, but it could manifest in other ways, not specifically moving in with and living with my parents.

Of course, I did live with them for nearly two decades, and during the last few years of their lives, I visited because of their health problems—and was with them when they died. So I did return to my childhood home in this reality.

A House and a Swimming Cat

1 Apr

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I dreamed that I was buying a huge and elaborate Victorian Queen Anne mansion that the entire family was going to live in (both my parents were still alive in the reality of the dream).

I was visiting the house while it was under major renovation; a contractor or someone had insisted that the entire upper floors needed to be rebuilt (I was thinking there may have been a fire). I wandered around inside a bit and heard a couple of male voices and figured they were working on the house and had no idea I was there. I felt like being secretive and, while I was in a second-floor hallway, headed for the stairs to sneak out…but someone who knew me called out to me, and I think it was my brother.

That may have been right before Francis and I were at the edge of a brook or some body of water, and we saw something floating toward us in the water. I was slow to realize it was my fluffy Siamese-mix cat, Virginia, floating on her back. Francis stared at her and said, “She’s purring!” I was anxious that she might drown, but he was right: she really was purring while floating.

She came steadily closer and reached the edge at our feet. That was a relief. He seemed in awe of her, a cat who floats and purrs while doing so.

I next remember sitting on a bench and looking up at the house while it was under construction. There was a brook or mote at my feet, separating me from the house and from several much smaller houses around the one I was going to buy.

Suddenly my mother was beside me in the bench. She wasn’t saying malicious, judgmental things; she was actually behaving. I think we talked about the progress of the house.

I saw something floating in the water toward us, and again it was Virginia floating on her back and purring, and I heard her clearly. I noticed close behind her was her sister, Vita, also floating on her back and purring. They joined us on the bench.

Next the four of us were wandering around inside the house. I noticed several red brocade, elaborately carved chairs and felt that more excited about the house. I thought about furnishing it and figured I’d sell my modern furniture and replace it with used and antique furniture more suitable for this house.

While we were still in the house, and I heard construction workers, I became concerned because I didn’t remember bringing Vita and Virginia in cat carriers. I figured my mother wouldn’t like to be in a car with two rambunctious cats wandering all over it, and I knew she wouldn’t approve. I recalled that since it was a dream, didn’t really come here in a car, and I woke up.

Another Unsettling Dream

23 Mar

I dreamed I was staying at my parents’ house and, in my old bedroom, I was thinking about how lately my mother hadn’t been using her creativity, making crafts, and I thought it was a pity and a waste of time and must be frustrating. I noticed the house was very quiet, and I wondered where she was.

But then I remembered: my mother is dead.

It was a shock all over again. I had to remind myself that I was there when she died, and in my head was an image of her lying peacefully in bed and looking about 20 years younger than she really was when she died.

Unsettling Dream

13 Mar

I woke from a dream in which, although I’m middle-aged, I was moving in with my parents.

Early on the dream, my brother and nephew were with us, and we all met up at a building, perhaps a restaurant. First I was waiting in line with my parents, and then I spotted Francis and Malcolm and we talked about something and they headed out, and I decided to go with them, so I was following. It seems to me like the place had very red décor.

My parents and I, just the three of us, were hanging out together—it seems like we were at a shopping mall at some point.

In another scene, we were all three in the house and doing some rearranging to accommodate my stuff and me. I had to rearrange my bedroom and was thinking as though I had the intention of putting all of my possessions in that room, even though I was a middle-aged adult in the dream, the same age I am now. But I had the intention of taking care of my parents, helping them out in their old age.

A desk space wrapped around the edges of my bedroom, and I started arranging stuff on it, including my dollhouse. From another room, I overheard my dad saying something about my needing to finish up redecorating my dollhouse; he was talking to my mother and added, “You still have [something or other], don’t you?” I don’t know if she replied. I felt aware of having a lot of worldly possessions, a lot of knick-knacks and things I’d collected over the years.

A moment later, I was standing in the doorway of my bedroom, and it was drastically different from the room that really had been my bedroom. It was tiny, maybe the size of what started out as my brother’s bedroom, became the nursery/my sister’s bedroom, and ultimately became the library after I finished college and my sister moved into my old bedroom (which was a lot larger).

Anyway, the bedroom I’d be using now had drab grey-yellow carpet that I realized was rather less than impressive and dingy, and I was wondering how I’d fit all my stuff into that tiny space. I was barefoot and was standing there and, while lost in thought, rubbing my bare toes into the carpet.

It suddenly occurred to me: I thought Dad died. How is it possible we’ve been spending all this time with him? Next I realized that I was drowsy and thought I must have just woken from a dream. I couldn’t hear my dad talking anymore, and I suddenly felt scared, terrified that it was true that he was dead.

Then I woke up…and remembered that both my parents are dead.

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