International Association for the Study of Dreams 2004 Psiberdreaming Gallery

04/13/04

#2451

WHAT BLACK BEAST IS ON THE WALL?

I am worried thinking our young collie, Skye, may have been cooped up indoors all day and ask my wife about this. She answers but her answer is ambiguous. Rather than trying to sort this out I head for the back door intending to put Skye out, weather permitting. To check on the weather I look out our kitchen window. Outside it is very dark but in the light spilling from the window I see a short-legged, black dog leaning over the stone retaining wall that stands about ten feet from the side of the house. He is looking up at the window. Suddenly I recognize Impey Brodus, a little, black, mixed-breed of ours whom I know to have been dead for almost two years. He lies with his chest on the wall and his front feet hanging over it. I am happy to see him alive and alert and call my wife, sure she too will be pleased, but in that moment I realize I am actually seeing a very large, black cat. As it looks back at me I suffer a frisson of dread.

04/15/04

#2454

A RACE TO SACRED WATER

I am walking along a road going up a mountain. I know I am in a race to a sacred place that once was owned by my family and that my opponent is someone whom I dislike intensely. Hoping to remember the way I try to recall childhood trips to this place but only isolated scenes, like still photographs, come to mind. Suddenly from above, as if I were flying, I see the mountainside and the little brown road running between wide meadows then with equal abruptness I am at the sacred ground, a wooded place thick with undergrowth. I walk along a narrow path through the tangle until I encounter a short, stocky young man with a big, walrus moustache and light brown hair worn in a sort of soup bowl cut. I know he is the present owner or keeper of this place. I also know I have won the race and am pleased both to have won and to have bested my detested opponent. The stocky man regards me without expression, as though waiting for me to give a password or make some significant gesture. For a moment I feel anxious, not certain what to do, then in my mind’s eye I see a sun-struck body of water through a break in the dark woods. Now feeling confident I say, “Please show me your lake.”

05/27/04

#2480

IN LINE BEHIND THE WOMAN WITH DESIGNS

I am standing on a sidewalk by a city street in a line of people, all of us leaning our backs against a brick wall. The woman immediately in front of me has reddish-brown skin and hair nearly the same color. She has her hair pulled tightly back, bound into a long ponytail just behind the crown of her head. She turns and says something to the woman standing in front of her. This woman is shorter, has dark hair cut in a “Dutch boy” bob, very pale skin and is wearing a yellow short sleeved shirt. The woman in front of me turns back and mutters something. I cannot understand her words but can tell by her expression and body tension that she is annoyed. Suddenly I become aware that intricate designs have been painted on her arms and neck, much like the henna body painting done in India but the designs here are done in olive green which almost glows against her red-brown skin. Fascinated I follow the pattern along her shoulder then am startled to notice she is naked from the waist up. The green designs gracefully emphasize the curve of her breasts and abdomen. I become worried that a policeman will notice her dishabille and arrest her.

09/23/04

(I was trying to have a mutual dream with Beverly D'Urso as part of the PsiCon 2004 when I had this dream.)

#2567

SPIRIT ON RAPID WINGS

Looking up I see the torso and head of an androgynous figure hovering slightly above me. My view of its extremities and pubis is clouded and indistinct. I have the palpable impression of something gyrating furiously on either side of it, this impression ultimately resolving itself into the idea that the figure has wings which, like a hummingbird’s, are moving too fast to be easily seen. This idea is bolstered by shadowy lines which appear briefly across the figure’s torso -- like the edges of wings becoming visible in the instant that they slow to change direction. The figure is within an arm’s length of me but seems unaware of me, gazing steadily instead at something far above and to my left. Nothing solid is visible behind it in my rather limited field of vision and the light has a pale yellow, opalescent quality.

09/27/04

(This collage comes out of Jean Campbell's workshop.)

#2572

OF LEATHER, YOGA AND DOG EYES THROUGH THICK LENSES

I see a line of men on a street corner. The light is bright, no traffic passes by and everything looks very clean, making me think this is a small town street. The men are lined up at a closed, white painted, wooden door in a slate blue building. The door is near the corner of the building paralleling the street corner. I pay little attention to the men at the front of the line, seeing them merely as generic forms dressed in shades of grey. My focus is on the end of the line. Second from the end is a young man wearing an all black, form-fitting, leather motorcycling outfit. His boots come up over his calves and he has on black leather gloves as well, but is not wearing nor carrying a helmet. He has dark blond hair worn long and cut with abrupt precision just above the band collar of his jacket. His features are sharp and his eyes small. * The last man in line is wearing a short sleeved, blue-grey shirt and pale green slacks. He bears a resemblance to Leather Suit ahead of him though he is a little taller and more conventionally handsome. His dark blond hair is about the same length as Leather suit’s but more softly styled. The line shortens as the white door opens and admits one man at a time. Finally there is only three men left. The one now are the door is balding and wears grey coveralls. Glancing back over his shoulder at Leather Suit he says, "I can’t believe I’m waiting in line for a yoga class!" The door opens and inside I see a long flight of stairs. The balding man enters and mounts the stairs but Leather Suit does not move forward. Rather, he stands frozen for a moment, then turns to dart down the street away from me. Before he can take more than a step or two Green Pants at the end of the line, chuckling, reaches out, grabs him by the jacket collar and pulls him back. The door opens and Green Pants forces Leather Suit through. As the door closes I see Green Pants put his knee to Leather Suit’s butt thus propelling him up the stairs. This treatment seems rough to me and at variance to Green Pants’ good-natured laughter. I am inside the building in a sort of anteroom. Through a doorless archway I see a brightly lit room and part of a tall counter. Green Pants is standing at the counter with a young woman. I understand Leather Suit has become this woman, who has reddish-brown hair worn shoulder length and curling under on either side of her jaw. She is wearing tan Capri pants and a floral print blouse. She has a long, oval face, a Barbara Streisand nose and close set, small eyes. She impresses me as rather plain though I consider this may because of her very sullen expression. Green Pants brings her into the anteroom and leaves her at an little shelf that folds out from the wall. Pouting furiously she starts filling out a form. I think I would like to bring Joan to see this woman. I would tell her, "This is what defeat looks like. This is where I spend most of my time." I turn and see a long, folding table behind which sit three women, each with a dog beside her. The woman furthest to my left has dark, almost black, hair worn like the sullen young woman’s. She seems to be in her thirties or early forties with a pleasant face, pronounced cheek bones and bright, dark eyes. The dog next to her is a Golden Retriever. It’s head is encased in a plaster cast. Looking down into the eyeholes I have the impression the cast is loosely formed, almost floating, around the dog’s head. No matter at what angle I look into the eye holes I seem to be looking directly into the dog’s eyes. A man standing beside me in tones both excited and fearful says, "I can see them in all directions!", whereupon I realize there are thick lenses set in the cast and these are causing the swimming effect of the dog’s eyes. I wake with Dan Fogelberg’s Run for the Roses playing in my head.