I stand in my front garden. In front of me are the three peach trees in a row, ordered in descending height. It’s quiet and still. The light is sparse as if it’s twilight or near dawn, I can’t tell which.

Here the dream diverges. Either three horses come galloping down the street towards me or a red, gleaming sportcar with a deafening engine (only the car appears in colour so it’s very striking). The horses seem to be heading for me but veer away the last minute and ride away.

The sportscar always jumps the curb and pushes the largest peach tree down on top of me. Trapped as I am under the car, I can’t stop the large black and white dalmations that bound up and try to attack me. At this time, I had an intense fear of dogs.

This dream was recurring for many years.

ZZ

Roy orbison

A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
“go to sleep. everything is all right.”

I close my eyes, then I drift away
Into the magic night. I softly say
A silent prayerlike dreamers do.
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you.

In dreams I walk with you. in dreams I talk to you.
In dreams you’re mine. all of the time we’re together
In dreams, in dreams.

But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone.
I can’t help it, I can’t help it, if I cry.
I remember that you said goodbye.

It’s too bad that all these things, can only happen in my dreams
Only in dreams in beautiful dreams.
In Dreams

ben
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clZNwja8M3A
the big O
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1opB5j-y-9I

In my dreams, I saw someone kill someone, I killed someone, and on the third night, I killed myself in that pool. When I woke that third night, I finally started to get freaked out. And the dreams stopped. I’ve never had them since, but I always remember that state of fear, shock, and vivid depth of the water.

—————–

A reoccurring dream I’ve had since childhood is one that is somewhat lucid. My field of vision is a beige straw canvas with a single black line and faint buzzing sound. The whole dream consists of my eyes following the line’s movement across the canvas. It travels up down, straight, and and often tangles itself in a ball, and I fight to unravel it.

As I grew older I was able to control the line, restrain it, and set it free. It also didn’t scare me anymore became almost a liberating experience.

Huge waves, where I sail along the top of them, yet they never seem to break… they just sweep me along for miles and miles. It feels like I am flying and I am so happy.

—mo

the dream :

i am a small child again. a motley group of other children crowd around me, and we start to race. we run on dirt roads and streets, entering a building still undergoing development. we climb onto the iron bars that are the strength and support of the building.

as we run, climbing up higher and higher up the building, a construction worker appears. he is angry and chases after us, but we run.

we are fast. we are quick.

we have suddenly landed upon the ground and race against each other.

“who will the bad man catch first?” we sing.

no one, or nothing but the wind we create as we scamper past his grabbing hands.

we escape the worker, and playfully skip about one another.

time rolls on, and we reach an area in which there are rows and rows of rice paddies. i jump across the shallow little streams of water, stamping onto the rich soil the pattern underneath my shoes.

the other children run behind me, their laughter filling my head.

i run. i dance. i join in their laughter.

we are as young as we were before. we are full of the air that instills us with life.

we grab at freedom and take what is ours.

fin.

so that’s it!

My mother and I had moved to a rocky island far, far from any mainland. It was formed from the junction of two jutting mountains that poked above the waves. The sea about it was shrouded in an impenetrable grey mist, and a cold rain was perpetual. There was a kind of small valley between and to one side of the two mountains, with terraced rock and carved stairs that led from either mountain down into the vale. The only vegetation on the island was a patch of tall grass at the very top of those terraces, and two tall pines that sheltered against the sheer rock.

Both mountains were practically hollow, and riddled with caverns. There was evidence that both had been lived in, though one had been emptied and the other had only a few material remnants of the former occupants. My mother and I were the only ones on the island now, and it had been deserted when we arrived.

We had moved into the caves that still contained some furnishings, scant though they were. There were a few beds, covered in damp sheets, and a great portrait on the wall of a middle aged man with white hair. There was no food on the island, and no apparent way to get it. I searched extensively through our caves, for anything that might have been left behind. I discovered what looked like a pantry, but all that was in it was a much-folded and hand drawn map. It was of the opposite cave system, and though I had explored it as well and found it entirely empty, the map showed an icon shaped like a purple vial in one of the long galleries there. I went to investigate once more, but found no trace of any such object.

The food situation was getting desperate. From the limbs of one of the two pines, I fashioned a kind of trap. I was hoping that some traveling gull might fall afoul of it somehow, though I had nothing to use as bait and so this hope was really quite pathetic. I was descending the stair one day, to check the trap (I had set it in that protected spot near the pines) when I looked up to see a full grown female boar standing in the lee of the pines. With each step I took closer, though, she faded, and eventually was gone altogether. The trap had been sprung, though, and in it I found two baby boars, both sound asleep. Overjoyed, I reached in a took one of them, waking it. It looked at me with big, dark eyes, shivering, and I was unable to bring myself to kill it. My mother was more pragmatic, however, when I showed it to her. She seized it by the chin and slit its throat cleanly with a knife. My job became cooking it. I set up a small collection of firewood and grass, with the piglet spitted above it. The cold wind and rain worked against me, however, and I failed entirely at my attempt to get a fire started.

Despaired, I wandered back down the steps to where the second piglet still lay. It was awake, and upon seeing me it slid out through the bars of the trap and approached.
“Hello,” it spoke. “Have you seen my sister?”
I was dumbstruck. The image of the other little boar, spitted and hanging over my failed fire, hung in my mind. I felt too guilty to say anything to her, and only sunk to my knees. She climbed into my lap, small and furry and brown.
“I guess she must have wandered off somewhere.” I did not reply. Settling down, she began to tell me her story.

The island had originally been settled by a great and beautiful Sorceress and her followers. It was no more plentiful then than it was now, but by her powers they made do. The unique geography of the island had forced the group to split into two parties of eight people each. The Sorceress had settled in the entirely empty caverns with some of her disciples, and the rest had settled in the one in which we now lived. Among the ones in that second cavern was the white-haired man of whom the portrait was painted. As time advanced, he had begun to think of himself as sort of a co-leader of the group. Eventually, he even felt that he should be the logical choice of consort for the beautiful Sorceress.

The Sorceress had taken for herself the long gallery I had seen marked on the map. In it, she kept a long row of enormous purple vials, at least two or three dozen. Each contained, suspended and inanimate in violet fluid, a creature. There were all manner of birds and fish, mammals and monsters and a few that looked much like the Sorceress herself. All she needed to do was climb into one of these vials, and she could travel away from the island in whatever form was held within. There was one that appeared very much like her, but with the delicate hooves of a boar instead of hands and feet. It was in this form that she had met and fallen in love with a man on a far island, and with him made her two girls.

The unrest on the island had grown. Knowing how dark and jealous the white-haired man had become, she had hidden her daughters from his knowledge. But one day, the white-haired man sneaked into her chamber whilst she was traveling, and saw in the vial an image of her embracing her lover. What exactly happened was not clear, the little boar girl had not been there to see it. All that she knew was that she was utterly alone now on the island.

“Except for my sister,” she said. She looked up into my face. “She’s very quiet, and shy. Are you sure you have not seen her?”

That was my dream. I still get this cold, guilty feeling in my gut when I think about the poor little boar-girl and her sister.

Looking through it, I was shocked, but fascinated, to see that the outside view was entirely black and white and grey… And instead of the Albert Park shopping centre, I was looking out over an enormous, steamy, muddy, prehistoric landscape populated by giant dinorsaurs! A past of long ago, thrust into my present. So vivid was the dream, I’ve thought about it for over ten years.