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Dream Journal 12/5/2005 7:38:19 AM
The following is a few pages from my Dream Journal.
If you would like to read more, let me know. April 30, 1999 (End novel with this?}
It's Tuesday morning. I"m walking down a narrow city street. I look at my hands and realize that I'm dreaming. Throwing out my arms, I dive into the air , and begin a steady climb. I lift to two or three thousand feet and level off. Beneath, bathed in the light of a rising sun are the endless streets of a large city. Sky scrappers bunched together stretch up toward me. A surge of power runs through my body and soul as I lift several hundred feet. Beneath, now, and endless rows of suburban houses stretch to the horizon. As I continue to climb, the wind begins to buffet my body. I lower my arms and level off. Below the suburban streets run into open fields that stretch into the foothills. I get a real sense of the distance I'd fall if my engine quit and get a sharp blast of fear. It flashes through my mind that I should go back to the earth and discover more about it.
To the east, a mountain range catches my eye. High white clouds roll south of the mountains over a dark brown desert. I feel an incredible sense of vastness and beauty in the scene below. Another jolt of power hits me. Only this time it's mixed with a taste of fear.
I'm in some kind o meat factory. Hamburger patties are coming down an assembly belt. My job is to take two stacks of a dozen or so and to move them across the belt to a fellow worker. The belt is filled with closely spaced stacks. It's all I can do to keep up. Then, the stacks are more spaced out and I realize it's going to be an easy job. The guy working to my right is a boss. He tells me I 'm doing exceptionally well and I'm due a promotion.
I'm in a school hallway. As the kids come rushing in my job is to my sure they return all the soccer balls. I'm holding out the bag and coaxing the kids to hurry in. I yell at one kids who misses the bag and make him run after the ball. I think I'm doing a great job and might get promoted again.
I'm outside a classroom with a couple of really tough junior high kids. My job is to teach them a little respect. I know I can't be trusted in the classroom until I've brought these two under control. I go after the smallest one and give him a vicious chop to the neck. He falls on the ground choking. The bigger boy raises his arms, but I kick him in the groan before he can react. As he falls to his knees, I kick him right in the face. I turn to the first boy and kick him in the stomach. "I have to teach them I mean business,” I tell myself.
3-18-00
I'm driving on Schilling Road somewhere this side of Bull Creek. The road is dry and kicking up a little dust. I feel very groggy. I'm afraid I might fall to sleep at the wheel. I look out my windshield at a wide expanse of open rangeland. Not a sign of human habitation for as far as the eye can see. All of a sudden, I spot two gigantic brown bears. Only they're not brown. They're a light reddish color. As they rise above the roof of my pick up, I'm both fascinated, and frightened. I slow down to a near stop with one foot on the gas pedal. Behind the bears, low to the ground are two weasels. They snarl and rise on their hind legs more ferocious looking than the bears. A third weasel comes scrambling up and attacks the first two. I feel very frightened. Focusing back on the bears I realize that they are right outside my doot. They couldn tear it right off the hinges if they wanted to, I tell myself as.I ease off the clutch and slowly continue towards the pull off at Bull Creek.
July 15, 2000
It's July fifteenth in the year two thousand. I'm talking with Mr. O., our computer teacher. He's showing me a map of the entire cosmos that one of his students has drawn. As I look more closely, I see that's is more like a watercolor which charts the course of man's destiny on this planet. It describes every detail of the entire evolutionary process in drawings and words. Going up the left side of the three-foot chart, I see, "Buddhism," "Christianity," "The Age of Reason" "Origin of the Species." "The Theory of Relativity" among hundreds of other words and allusions. "Yea, I understand all that," I tell myself.
Then, I work my way down the right side. I see a drawing of a jazz musician, a swirling figure in black ink playing a muted sax. The rest of the page is a lot of formula, math, and computer stuff. "The one thing I regret in my life is that I never learned to play a musical instrument. I never understood music. A friend of mine had to go through a great sacrifice to retain his musical talent. He said it was worth every bit of it," I tell Mr. O. realizing that I haven't mastered any of the skills on this side of the map.
"What you are saying is very true," Mr. O. tells me. I see that he has lost a lot of weight and looks like he has gone though some hard times. I remember that Mr. O. is a concert violinist, and wonder what keeping his music has cost him.
I'm at the front of the computer room waiting with a group of kids for the bell to ring. I look at the clock and think it should have rung at 2:35. The bell goes off, and Mr. O. dismisses the class. I see by the clock that it is 2:43. "They cheated us out’a eight minutes," I tell myself thinking I could have put those minutes to good use. At the end of the hallway, I sit down on a cot and begin to undress. I lay for ten minutes or so, but can't fall asleep. Several students walk by. I'm thinking that I shouldn't be sleeping out here in the open. I get up and start to dress. As I'm putting on my pants, Mr. O. and several students walk by. "Just caught a ten minute nap. Now, I'll be ready to go all night," I tell them not letting on that I'm just a little embarrassed at getting caught like this.
I run into the shop teacher as I exit the hallway. He tells me that there's a new program in effect. As soon as we retire we are eligible to go into the National Guard. "We'll move right up the ranks because of our educational careers," he tells me. I picture the two of us in uniforms with stripes working in a big hangar filled with unbuttoned jet aircraft.
"That wont be bad," I tell Garcia, wondering what we'll get paid.
