Post by karlsie on Jan 22, 2013 20:50:17 GMT -5
We ought to have a box just for our dreams. It seems we record them a lot at this site, which is a good thing, as dreams are the messages of your subconscious. I had a double layer dream last night; the first one involved entirely with symbols, the second, a climate message.
In the first, I was traveling without form with a (male) friend who was also without form in a conveyance that had no definition. We were skimming over a somewhat rocky but grass covered landscape on an unpaved road, when we noticed a hitch hiker. We stopped to pick her up. She was a young woman who looked completely distraught, her hair straggling over her face, very thin, with ragged clothing. Our conveyance turned into a sort of van, with no driver's seat (I suppose it stopped and started automatically) for the sake of giving her a ride.
When she got in, she told me she was my sister, although my male companion said, "no, she is an aspect of your life". As she looked hungry, we gave her some food. She ate ravenously, then asked for more.
The more food we gave her, the more she ate, as though her hunger just couldn't be satisfied. I finally commented on how much she was devouring and she answered, "I had two chickens. One laid only one egg a day, the other had diarrhea." After eating a few more mouthfuls, she said, "do you understand what it means to have diarrhea? It's green! It's horrible and green! I had two chickens. One laid only one egg a day and the other had diarrhea." She repeated this several times until I feared she had dementia.
The dream faded out, and I was sitting in my back yard with two friends, Big John and Barbara. It was a winter scene, exactly as it is right now, and Barbara, who lives in Santa Barbara, California (I know that sounds weird, but it's true) commented on how pleasant snowfall looked. Big John, who lives in Colorado and usually only comes up here in the summer, began talking about skiing.
Suddenly, the snow began melting at an astonishing rate. It melted so fast, that soon there was ground showing under our feet, and rivulets of water began running off in typical break-up form. Surprised that spring should move in so quickly, I asked them, "do you notice what's happening?"
Big John looked around and said, "I have to dig trenches". He began vigorously digging trenches for the water run off, while Barbara gazed around, puzzled.
"If it's spring," she said, "why aren't the trees budding?" They instantly began to bud. Satisfied, she removed from a bag she said she had found second hand and had never really examined its contents, two vials containing gold dust floating in water, and several small fish contained in a plastic bag. Telling me I could have the vials, she released the fish into one of my springs.
I awoke at this point. The dream was so vivid, I had to look out the window. The snow was still there, but the peculiar part is that it was eight degrees when I went to bed, a normal January temperature, but thirty-two degrees when I woke up. This has to be the warmest January on record. The snow is sloughing off a bit, although not actually melting. It did melt down to almost bare earth earlier in the month before last week's snowfall laid down a new cover.
In view of climate change, I'm timid to predict what February and March will bring. They are normally erratic winter months, with cold spells gradually coming further apart, broken by schnooks (warm winds from the south) that keep the temperature sliding up and down until true break-up weather comes in April. Will our ice sculptures melt during the Fur Rendevous? Will we have to cancel the Iditarod because of no snow, or will this warming phase be followed by another plunge in temperatures? We have absolutely no way of knowing.
In the first, I was traveling without form with a (male) friend who was also without form in a conveyance that had no definition. We were skimming over a somewhat rocky but grass covered landscape on an unpaved road, when we noticed a hitch hiker. We stopped to pick her up. She was a young woman who looked completely distraught, her hair straggling over her face, very thin, with ragged clothing. Our conveyance turned into a sort of van, with no driver's seat (I suppose it stopped and started automatically) for the sake of giving her a ride.
When she got in, she told me she was my sister, although my male companion said, "no, she is an aspect of your life". As she looked hungry, we gave her some food. She ate ravenously, then asked for more.
The more food we gave her, the more she ate, as though her hunger just couldn't be satisfied. I finally commented on how much she was devouring and she answered, "I had two chickens. One laid only one egg a day, the other had diarrhea." After eating a few more mouthfuls, she said, "do you understand what it means to have diarrhea? It's green! It's horrible and green! I had two chickens. One laid only one egg a day and the other had diarrhea." She repeated this several times until I feared she had dementia.
The dream faded out, and I was sitting in my back yard with two friends, Big John and Barbara. It was a winter scene, exactly as it is right now, and Barbara, who lives in Santa Barbara, California (I know that sounds weird, but it's true) commented on how pleasant snowfall looked. Big John, who lives in Colorado and usually only comes up here in the summer, began talking about skiing.
Suddenly, the snow began melting at an astonishing rate. It melted so fast, that soon there was ground showing under our feet, and rivulets of water began running off in typical break-up form. Surprised that spring should move in so quickly, I asked them, "do you notice what's happening?"
Big John looked around and said, "I have to dig trenches". He began vigorously digging trenches for the water run off, while Barbara gazed around, puzzled.
"If it's spring," she said, "why aren't the trees budding?" They instantly began to bud. Satisfied, she removed from a bag she said she had found second hand and had never really examined its contents, two vials containing gold dust floating in water, and several small fish contained in a plastic bag. Telling me I could have the vials, she released the fish into one of my springs.
I awoke at this point. The dream was so vivid, I had to look out the window. The snow was still there, but the peculiar part is that it was eight degrees when I went to bed, a normal January temperature, but thirty-two degrees when I woke up. This has to be the warmest January on record. The snow is sloughing off a bit, although not actually melting. It did melt down to almost bare earth earlier in the month before last week's snowfall laid down a new cover.
In view of climate change, I'm timid to predict what February and March will bring. They are normally erratic winter months, with cold spells gradually coming further apart, broken by schnooks (warm winds from the south) that keep the temperature sliding up and down until true break-up weather comes in April. Will our ice sculptures melt during the Fur Rendevous? Will we have to cancel the Iditarod because of no snow, or will this warming phase be followed by another plunge in temperatures? We have absolutely no way of knowing.
