June, 200613 14 23 27
Image of a person being blown to pieces by a bomb or by artillery fire and realizing it is somewhere in Iraq, accompanied by the surprisingly detailed thought that estimates of the dead among civilians and combatants on all sides in the conflict, since the latest invasion of that country, now range from an official 30,000 or so to 3rd party speculations it could be significantly more than 100,000 (that range equivalent to perhaps 400,000 to over 1,000,000, if a proportionate number of our population had been killed following an invasion here). I recall in the dream clearly thinking that if in 5-10 years the Iraq totals have gone up to 300,000-1,000,000 dead, as a result of our fighting, insurgent attacks, and greater sectarian violence, it will be interesting to see if people still think it was a good thing that we attacked that nation, though with no direct threat against us, and if they continue to feel it best to "stay the course." [In reality, I see the issues as of greater complexity than this and believe the Bush administration has gotten us into a circumstance from which we have no positive options, for to stay will almost certainly mean the situation will become worse, yet a departure of our forces could lead to conditions in that unfortunate country further "going to hell in a hand basket," and even faster than if we remain.]
I'm crawling on the ground, downhill, at night. I have, as I write this, no understanding of why I am there and doing this. I recall in the dream having known much more about it and thinking that this has been a really keen sequence of images, so I should definitely write it all down when I wake up. [But then, in reality, the phone rang, and after I had awakened and jumped up to get it, I could remember nothing else about the dream!]
6/14/06 - Title: "An Apparently Unenviable Position to Be In"
It is the 17th or 18th century, in colonial or even pre-colonial America, and I along with just a few others are at the mercy of the Indians or perhaps of them and the British, though the impression is it is before the American colonists took on the latter. Nonetheless, we may be leery too of the British. Our situation is almost utterly precarious. There are no palisades, very few provisions, and almost no weapons, yet a sense that at any time we could be attacked. Our enemies, who are also the means by whom we survive, yet they could at any moment decide to withdraw their sustaining support and attack instead, have very temporarily withdrawn from the immediate vicinity, perhaps on a trading venture or a hunting party. We have, before their return, seemingly just instants in which to find slightly defensible positions and hand tools with which to defend ourselves, maybe in an improvised ambush. There is also a sense of destiny, as though we know we are to succeed, as though we were cast back here from the present, 21st Century, and so know somehow we are bound to survive this episode, upon which so much of a then momentous future for us, a burgeoning new set of colonies, a fresh independent state, and ultimately even the present circumstances in the world and much more yet to come, depend. One of our small number, a man or woman in quite old-fashioned clothing, grabs up an empty metal flask, hoping, by using the edge of it from hiding, to inflict harm on the returning enemy. I find something longer with which to strike a blow or cut and pierce. My associates, just two or three in number, and I do our best to find momentary concealment behind a ledge or case or some other bit of furniture, but sense the imminent return of those whom we fear. It is a black and white scene, unclear as to the time of day except that there is at least dim light in here where we are, a place open to the outdoors and yet partially inside, as if in some open-ended shed or small barn or livery or a make-shift camp area, with only a fragile or flimsy roof, but still with several large and small artifacts assembled. There is not even so much as a small town nearby, merely these few things, more or less our own, between us and the native population which outnumbers ours and is far better equipped and supported. We have not even a single firearm between us. They may not either, but with bows and arrows, knives, spears, and tomahawks they would be able to dispatch us easily if of a mind to do so. The phrase and book title, Waiting for the Barbarians, comes to mind, except that it is apparent our enemies are vastly better adapted to the "primitive" surroundings than we, who are in a real sense the true intruders or invaders. It is thus we who do not properly belong here, in a way, except that it is vaguely felt to be our future to in a fashion establish a tiny foothold and prevail. There is worry but also determination, that we shall be tough and do the best we can in difficult circumstances. [Am aware that in dream interpretation it is at times believed that all parts of the dream are aspects, at times disowned or unacknowledged ones, of the dreamer. With that in mind, this dream presents an apparent conflict between parts of myself. Also, the following descriptors would seem to be in one degree or another applicable to me, whether I like them or not: quite old-fashioned, both sharp and dim, both long and short, piercing, leery (and leering?), merciful, rough, fearful, determined, withdrawn, almost defenseless, lacking any gun yet well equipped and provided with hand tools (crudely Freudian?), a survivor, destined for greatness, well supplied yet lacking provisions, a trader, a hunter, barbaric, fragile, precarious, timeless or of several times at once, cutting, open, sustaining, attacking, hopeful, receptive (flask-like), improvising, an ambusher, fresh, independent, concerned over less vulnerable positions, successful, momentous, burgeoning, dependable, black and white, concealing, grabby, striking, given to blows or blowing, both comfortable with a small number of associates and larger numbers, flimsy, inner as well as outer (directed?), unclear, supportive, coming, waiting, vast, primitive, adaptive, intruding, invading, improper, not belonging (rejected? outcast?), vague, tiny, prevailing, best, and difficult.]
6/23/06 - Title: "Another Precarious Situation"
[I recall just a short sequence from last night's dreaming in which] I am concerned over the spread of the deadliest bird flu virus, now quite contagious and deadly among humans in the US. We, Fran and I, are taking what precautions we can, but people by the thousands or millions are coming down with the disease, and it feels as though all our measures as well as the government's may well not be enough to save us or a large percentage of other citizens. Our fates seem out of our hands. We can but wait anxiously and hope.
6/27/06 - Title: "What the... ?"
I recall thinking, apparently in my dream, "Oh good! This is a fine dream to take to the dream group." Then the fan caught on something and so began an alarming, repetitive sound reminiscent of a soldier's M-14 rifle being cocked over and over, and once I had corrected that situation, lest it wake my wife up as well, the fine dream had been utterly forgotten, except for this.
Of course, in thinking of the dream and fan situation, the word "cocked" kind of stands out, so to speak. I remember a student health center psychiatrist when I was about 19, and during a period of depression and obsessive-compulsive difficulties, when I was angry at my father, anxious over the loss of an intimate girlfriend, and also being overwhelmed by my studies, which had fallen behind. His line of questioning at one point was direct concerning if I had had any homosexual experiences. I truthfully told him no and that I was aware of no desire for any, but I thought, since he was the expert, maybe he was asking because I seemed gay to him, so I just asked him if he thought I was gay. He hesitated and then said I might be about 10% homosexual. It was a great relief to me, as I certainly had no wish to see myself or be seen by others that way, and I had just heard a piece on the radio in which a psychologist said that, on average, everyone is about 10% homosexual and 90% heterosexual, though of course there is much variation along the spectrum.
But later I recalled that, though I could not remember the incident myself, my mother had told me that, when I was about 5 and we had a room-and-boarder boy, Richey (about 6), staying with us, Mom overheard him telling me, as we were taking a bath together, to put his penis in my mouth, and that she had entered the room just in time to see me do this. She tended to dwell on anxiety-provoking things, and had worried afterward, she said, that I would be gay as a result. She had terminated the arrangement of looking after Richey soon afterward and, in the meantime, had allowed no further unsupervised bathing of the two of us together.
There were no subsequent even remotely gay incidents of which I'm aware, either in childhood or as an adult, but dreams do occasionally bring up the possible issue, in this sort of punning way. I never sought homosexual experiences or wished to. Just once, a much older man had tried to "pick me up," when I was walking alone on "the Drag," but I turned him down. (I was also never interested in cross-dressing. That ["the Drag"] is just what Guadalupe Street, which borders one side of the University of Texas in Austin, was called. Honest.)