Did you ever have one of those dreams? I often don't remember my dreams, but when I do I find few things, which relate to the ideas of Sigmund Freud. I have heard many people talk about how dreams predict things, or how they tell about our subconscious self. But, as for me, I find little correlation between my dream worlds and the real one we seem to live in.
I say, we seem, to live in because the endless debate as to which world is real continues. Do we live in what we perceive as the real world while our dreams are simply dreams? Or, is the, so called, dream world reality while what we believe is our waking world is, in fact, simply a dream? As my own dreams exist mostly unremembered somewhere inside my head, and the few which I do remember bits and pieces of are very strange. I devoutly hope that what I perceive as reality, truly is, reality.
Take, for example, my dream of last night. I don't remember all of it, only the strange ending. I do know that it was the last of my nightly dream state which was in progress just as the alarm called me back from my usual not too deep slumber. I am as sure that there is much more of this particular dream extending unremembered back into my subconscious as I am that I am currently engaged in sitting at the computer writing this.
I was standing at the counter of a strange building, and the female clerk was smiling across the counter at me. The building was square with windows on all four sides and a single door in one corner. Inside the totally open building, about six feet inside the dirty windows were the low counters which seemed to surround a mass of desks cast every which way in the square area confined by the counters. With a smile, she handed me several receipts and a flat box which held what I somehow knew to be paperwork. The box was about two feet by two feet. On top of this was another box about the size of a shoebox. Somehow I remember that I had come, to pay a bill. "You'll need this," she said as she handed me a small silver key on a medium size key ring.
Somehow I knew that this small key was to allow me to turn the power back on in my apartment. I remember thinking about how strange this was because this was definitely not the way any power company I had ever heard of turned off the power. What was worse, I was sure that I was not late in paying any bill, so the power should never have been turned off in the first place. I simply stood at the counter, realizing just how much of a robotic bureaucrat she was. While I don't remember the argument about the bill, I do somehow remember that it had been long. In this reality, the power company had the right simply to take the money out of my bank account without my permission. I had no recourse including a lawsuit against them. They seem to have taken out a late penalty which seemed to be over a hundred times the amount of my bill. My only choice was to pay the bill willingly or have another hefty penalty taken out of my account.
Resignedly I paid and walked out of the building. Somehow the strange dream got stranger at this point. As I left the building, I realized that I was standing at the corner of the building. Across the street was a police station. There were no vehicles parked in any of the parking spaces. I started to walk along the side of the building, and when I reached the corner, I turned left and continued to walk. For some strange reason, I continued along the side of building. At the next corner turned left again. Continuing my walk, I arrived at the third corner once again I turned and walked along the side of the building back to the corner from which I had exited the building. There sat my car.
The car was a white Lincoln Town car. Strangely it looked almost like a car which I owned over twenty years ago. I say almost looked like my car because it seemed to be sitting up on blocks and the doors were open and the trunk, but not the hood, was up. Without even seeming to move, I was standing at the open drivers side door. I looked in to find not only the seats missing but also all of the carpeting, dash and everything else other than bare metal. Both hands were still full of the packages which the functionary in the building had given me, and I simply sat them in the empty bare shell of a car.
Now the unreality of the situation increased as I pulled out my cell phone and pressed nine. I say unreality as the car was from the 1980's while the cell phone was from 2010. Back when I had that car, I did have a cell phone. It was one of the original brick type cell phones. They had just come out. I got one because I needed to stay in touch with my office in Dallas, and perhaps just a bit because I was a gadget head. In my dream, though, I was not holding a brick but a BlackBerry. Those few of you who remember the old bricks also remember that there was no mobile 911 system on them. While you could dial 911, the results were decidedly unpredictable. For one thing, there was no GPS system connected to the phone to tell emergency services where you were, and it was even unpredictable just who you could end up talking to.
In my dream, the call was answered by another bureaucrat who gruffly informed me that it was a felony to make a false police report and hung up. About this time, a couple of female cops, which I recognized from a TV reality show, as Dallas cops, pulled up and started to ask me what was wrong. It was at this point I realized I was sitting on the curb beside the stripped car and laughing. It was not the funny kind of laugh. While they waited another cop, this one male, ran up pulled his gun and yelled "get your hands up."
Without moving from my seated position, I simply looked up and said "just go ahead and shoot me," and I continued my insane laugh. It was at this point that the alarm on my phone went off, and I opened my eyes wondering if that cop had shot me or not. If the old saying is true, then the answer is obviously not.
One thing I do know about dreams is that sometimes, when we are very lucky, they can hint at, a story we may attempt to pen. Recording for others to pursue for their amusement. Is this particular dream, such a dream? Probably not, but who can truly say what the future will bring. After all, even Jean Dixon was wrong far more than she was right. Why do you think they named the Jean Dixon Effect, after her.
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