Dream the Dream or Let the Dream Dream You…

Last night I dreamed.  Well, every night I dream, but last night it seemed that my dreams were very memorable.

Dream package of hot sauce: Dat'l Do It!

Maybe it’s because I woke up every two hours.  With Macy.  Who had IBS or some sort of explosive planted within her bowels.  I think she ate some TNT
or the stuff they use in NYC to blow up skyscrapers.

Where oh where are those bomb-sniffing dogs when you need them…

Oops.  Better deal with the explosives another way.  Macy hates it when other dogs sniff her rear, so bag that idea.

But that’s another story for another time.

So.  Back to the dreams.

They were not Martin Luther King Jr’s,   “I have a dream…” type of dreams.  They were more like ones directed by David Lynch or Tim Burton.  With quirky characters  and lots of unanswered questions.

Who was that Japanese woman?  And why did I have to go to her husband’s funeral?  Why wouldn’t she talk to anyone but me?

Why did Zill go swimming in a dirty pool with algae, leaves and bugs in it?  She couldn’t wait to slip into the slimy water, though usually she is quite finicky about icky things.

Why was everyone fighting over who would drive the car and sit in the front seat?  And after the ensuing argument, which I must have won, because I wound up driving…  why did I not realize that I took off on the car trip without my husband until I got to the destination?  And why was that so funny?  In my dream, even he laughed, though in real life he would have been quite perturbed.

How did I fit my car through a needle eye to park in a garage that had barely enough room in it for an orange?  And how did I get out when the doors had barely enough space to open?

And then there was the freeway dream.

Was driving in a slow moving clump of traffic.  But with ease, I maneuvered around the slower than slow vehicles.  The road ahead was clear, and I was driving the speed limit free of obstacles and limitations.  What a relief!

Just then, a woman, driving in the wrong direction appeared on the freeway.  She was headed right for me.  I deftly avoided her, but she continued to speed in the wrong direction.  I looked through my rear view mirror worried that she would hit the people behind me.

She seemed intent on doing just that.  She slipped into the tight configuration of slow vehicles and slammed into a truck.  Head on.

All the people in the truck perished.  They were bleeding, but it wasn’t blood.  It was hot sauce.  It was a movie.  And nothing really happened.  The dead people all got out of the truck, and the director yelled, “Cut! That’s a take.”

So are dreams really like movies?  Is life just a series of films that we direct?  Then feel free to re-write your scream play into something more palatable.  That’s why God inventing Craig Shoemaker who gave us the Love Master routine… Erase!  Erase!  Erase!  And then Re-write!

Fun Your Way out of the Box!

break free · clearing obstacles · Dat'l do it · dream gestalting · hot sauce · rewrite the script of your life · swimming in dirty pools · the sky's the limit