Date of dream: Sunday, May 27, 2007
Level of Lucidity:
Level of Cohesiveness:
This dream has been viewed 4050 times.
It late at night time and I find myself at the heart of a quiet city, it feels like it could be London but
something tells me that it is a big city in America. I am stood looking up at the skies, there seems to be
a lot of activity up there with lots of mysterious lights swirling about.
For the whole time that I am viewing the mysterious lights I feel a powerfully numinous feeling, I feel
as if I’m watching something extraordinary and mystifying.
As I continue to watch I can start to make out one craft in particular making fast sweeps of the sky. It
has an unusual rectangular box shape, at certain times it is not visible in the sky due to its matt black
surface. I continue to watch as it accelerates off into the distance at an unbelievable speed, I see three
glowing lights at the rear of the strange craft that are possibly thrusters, the glow being the heat that is
generated by the crafts engine.
It looks as if the craft is heading away back off into space at a speed which is now almost a blur, but
just then way off in the distance I see the tiny speck turn around and come zooming back towards the
direction where I am. I look on horrified as the craft ploughs head on into an enormous skyscraper only
a few metres in front of me. The unidentified vehicle hits the towering building slicing into it two thirds
of the way up with incredible force before exploding.
I watch on in horror as the top part of the skyscraper leans over and comes crashing down to earth. I
rush around to the other side of a nearby building to take cover. I wonder what on earth the craft was,
surely aliens wouldn’t purposely fly their craft into a building? I reflect and wonder if it some kind of
terrorist or military drone most probably unmanned.
(Something about this awful drama reminded me of the terrible tragedy that took place in America at
the World Trade Centre).
Still shocked but moving on I turn around and I’m just about to step inside an elevator which is going to
take me up to a (dream) apartment in a similar tall skyscraper to the one that was destroyed. My wife
heads on inside the lift but I have trouble keeping up as I have an absolutely enormous pile of clothing
heaped outside the elevator near to where I am stood. I realise that I have to get all of these clothes
into the lift to take with me.
The task is near impossible as the elevator isn’t going to hang around forever, I started out neatly
placing the clothes in the lift but as the time passes I become more anxious and start chucking huge
handfuls of clothes into the lift wildly.
In the end I’m actually doing this so haphazardly that I end up flinging clothes behind me all over the
place with the hope that some of them end up in the elevator. The idea is that once all of the clothes
are in the lift I dive in to and take it up to the apartment, its pretty clear though that this is never going
to happen as there is simply too much to do and not enough time.
Additional Comments:
I ticked 'Aliens' in the check box although it wasn't clear to me of what origin the mysterious craft was.
Date of dream: Monday, May 07, 2007
Level of Lucidity:
Level of Cohesiveness:
This dream has been viewed 4599 times.
It is late afternoon early evening and I am being led through the streets of London by an unidentified
female (On waking I think that this person was my wife but she seemed to be disguised, so in the
dream I only had a feeling that it was her). I sense some tension and strictness coming from her, she is
taking me to an oriental restaurant for a meal.
The dreamscape has a kind of unusual business atmosphere about it, sort of like what I imagine
attending a meeting would be like.
We enter into the restaurant it looks as if it is the kind that serves Chinese style cuisine or possibly
Indian. I note some oriental style decoration in the interior that looks a little cheap and doesn’t look as
if much effort was put into its design. We take a seat at a table, I note that the atmosphere is still one
of tension and impending argument.
As we entered into the restaurant I noticed that the woman who brought me here was having words
with a waiter it didn’t look to good either, it was if she was telling him off or complaining about
something (strange as we had only just entered, perhaps they were already acquainted?).
We sit down and a few moments later the waiter returns to our table and slams down two blue and
white Chinese style bowls full of leafy green vegetables. He does this with such force that some of the
clear sweet and sour sauce and a piece of what looks like bamboo shoot or ginger gets flipped out onto
the table.
The woman I am with goes into a rage at the waiter and the waiter in turn starts to get riled too. I can’t
understand why the two of them are getting so worked up and I call on them both to settle their
differences and stop being so aggressive over something so petty.
Things seem to cool off so I start to tuck into the bowl of leafy greens, I take a mouthful but am
immediately disappointed, the food is extremely bland with little or no flavour whatsoever. I find it
really strange as normally Chinese food is quite flavoursome and spicy or tangy.
I decide to get up and head off into London by myself to seek out some food with more flavour, besides
I have the urge to leave the tense atmosphere behind me. I realise that if I head down into the
underground (subway) then I’m sure to find a small magazine stand where I can buy some chocolate.
As I leave the restaurant I realise that I must have spilt some strawberry sauce on my clean white t-
shirt, it’s a bit embarrassing but there is nothing to do but to walk along with my hand raised trying to
hide it. It looks a bit conspicuous and obvious what I am trying to do but my urge to find flavoursome
food is more pressing than finding somewhere to clean the stain.
I take some steps which lead down into the underground but I don’t really find a sweet shop I
eventually give up searching and decide to try and leave the city and head over to a modern style glass
elevator that sits in one cavernous corner (this corner was most unusual in that it looks a little like it
had been hewn out of the rock face underground).
There is a large group of people all stood hanging around waiting for the lift to arrive at the level we
are on, as we stand waiting I look up to a bronze plaque which is fitted just above and to the right of
the lift. The plaque has a relief moulding or etching of a map of how to exit or leave the city.
I see from the map that leaving the city involves crossing a long bridge (London bridge?) and
traversing three lanes, all of this is to be done almost at the same time with the three lanes beginning
on the bridge.
I realise that the bronze map or sign is extremely important if I am to find my way out of the maze like
city so I focus all of my attention on it and stare at it deeply. Just then I notice one of the people stood
waiting turns to look at me, she thinks I am staring at her as she is stood just below the sign.
I apologise to the woman but indicate with a nod of the head that I was actually staring at the map just
above her. The woman is roughly my age and has slightly tanned skin with long straight brown hair,
she wears dark mascara and I get the impression that she is from India. She smiles when she realises
I wasn’t being rude.
The elevator arrives and we are taken to the surface and streets up above. The next thing I know I am
travelling as a passenger inside a very exclusive vehicle something like a Bentley I feel. Inside the car
a bold headed man in his late 50’s drives, a women sits to the right of this man who may possibly be
my mother but its is difficult to ascertain, in the rear of the car is a young man who is the son of the
older man that is driving.
For my part I seem to be located at both the front and rear of the car at differing times (a bit difficult to
explain this one but it made sense in the dream). I realise that we are all travelling across the bridge
that was indicated on the bronze relief map.
A brief interlude and flashback takes place and the driver begins to recount a tale, as we enter the
story in my minds eye we find ourselves travelling along a road close to where my Mum lives (and I
used to live) not far from another bridge that we are heading toward.
The older man explains that he had a twin brother called Reg who was older than him (???) he adds
that all of his younger years were spent caring for this brother as he was mentally troubled or ill. I
explain to the man that I can relate to his story and his older brothers situation (this was strange a
strange thing to say I guess as in reality I don’t have any mental troubles).
(The next part was also very odd) I have the urge to say something but I am too embarrassed or
ashamed to mention it in front of everyone, I feel that it is relevant to what we are discussing. I sense
everyone knows I have something to say (they may even know what it is too) I sense them all
mentally urging me to get whatever it is I want to say of my chest (this mental urging is very strong, I
almost say what I wanted to say but I can’t bring myself to do it).
What I had in fact wanted to say was simply how difficult a time puberty is when one is growing up, this
seemed relevant to both me and the older mentally damaged brother.
The flashback ends and we are back in London crossing the large bridge, suddenly the younger youth
at the rear of the car calls out trying to warn us to get into the correct lane in time in order to leave the
city, but the father of the boy who is driving appears to have left it to late to get into the right lane to
take the exit.
We are in the far left lane completely out of place facing the oncoming traffic his car is almost scarping
the walls of buildings and other cars, there are three lanes to our right and we needed to be in the far
right one in order to take a right turn and leave the city.
It’s too late now and we have to make a left turn, we are heading back into the centre of the dense
city. There is a strong feeling of disappointment and slight despondency (shared between all of us) as
we were so close to leaving and now we are going to have to go back through a lot more trouble (In
the dream I had the parallel feeling of being close to discovering something or bringing something to a
close if we had managed to exit the city).
Feeling quite down and disheartened at the prospect of having to go back into the depths of the city I
look down and note the gear stick that the drivers hand rests on. The gearbox would appear to be one
of these older sequential style gearboxes where the gears are pushed up or down rather that up down
up down etc, it seems significant somehow.
Additional Comments:
The last part of this dream really was disappointing, there was definitely a feeling of having to go back
and do something all over again. It was surprising as we actually managed to cross the bridge but it
was the missing of the exit or turning that caused all of the trouble or more exactly not getting into the
correct lane in time.
Date of dream: Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Level of Lucidity:
Level of Cohesiveness:
This dream has been viewed 4787 times.
This dream had the quality of being a movie or film about it, in the beginning of the story I am playing
a character portrayed by the movie actor Jim Carey. Sometimes in the role of the main character and
at other times I am observing and witnessing the drama as a third person or even all at once, it’s very
difficult to describe and put into words.
I am actively involved in this dream even when I am merely observing too. I can tell that the dream
seems to be about me even though there are lots of characters. It’s a bit of a long one so good luck to
anyone who decides to tackle it! It definitely has something to say but I need a bit more time to
decipher and ponder what it could all mean.
I find myself in a large ominous prison, it seems that I have been an inmate here for some
considerably time. I am in a large indoor open area close to the cells which is possibly used for
recreation with seating for chatting. Just ahead of me I can see that the area is restricted by a wide iron
barred for wall, this appears to be the entrance into the prison.
I stand about doing nothing in particular, I am holding a sandwich or savoury roll in my left hand and a
Snickers bar in my right. Just in front of me coming in through the security gate or entrance I see the
prison governor walking towards me with a small boy. The governor is the actor Richard Chamberlain*.
Normally I like Richard Chamberlain but here he is playing the role of a nasty religious character I
recall seeing in one of the made for television movies my wife watched in the past. He is dressed in a
black suit which almost looks like the kind of thing a priest or clergyman might wear, he has a bitter
spiteful expression on his face.
The governor and little boy are still some distance away perhaps a hundred meters or so but I realise
that the little boy is my son (in reality I don’t have any children). I feel over the moon and delighted
that my son has come to see me and I hurry over to meet him. As I reach the governor the little boy
vanishes into thin air like a mirage.
I feel such disappointment and despair that my son has just disappeared it was almost as if he weren’t
real or a dream. The governor approaches me and instantly lays into me with an abusive verbal
outburst. He says viscously “Do you think its right to neglect and disappoint your son the way that you
do?”
And with that he aggressively knocks my sandwich flying out of my hand and to the floor with a blow
from the back of his hand. I start to become panicky and afraid as I sense that he could be quite
vindictive or malicious if he wanted to be. He then goes on to reprimand and tell me off about the way I
have neglected my son.
He then reaches out and in a very gentle but oh so authoritarian kind of way plucks the Snickers bar
from out of my hand. This act of relieving me of the chocolate bar is too much and I start to become
extremely stressed and frightened, I can’t take any more of his verbal attacks or his threatening
behaviour so I run off into the prison.
I run and run deeper and deeper into the prison, at first the prison looks quite clean and normal but as
I try to get away and hide further in the prison things start to take a turn for the worse. The farther into
the prison I get the darker and more terrifying it becomes, walls are covered in graffiti, litter is strewn
about and cells and furnishings vandalised.
The whole environment takes on a feeling of what I can only describe as a hell, I can see flames licking
up from inside some of the cells, howls and screams of some prisoners who are in a tortured state and
horrid laughter of others who sound as if they are meting out punishments, I keep running through the
dank miserable maze regardless.
I come to a point, which looks like a lift, or elevator I hurry inside as I’ve just seen a woman I urgently
want to speak too. The inside of the lift has a totally different appearance to the rest of the prison and
has a very corporate business like feel to it with lots of contemporary brushed aluminium and modern
patterns and designs.
The lift is peculiar in that it seems to be a minuscule never ending square corridor arranged around a
central square column (possibly the lift itself, this part of the dream seemed to defy geometric logic
although it was very lucid). I rush around the paradoxically small square loop hoping to catch up with
the elusive lady.
I realise that the woman I am chasing after is my (dream) wife. I call out to her pleading for her to wait
for me so that I can speak with her. I sense that she might be able to help me somehow (perhaps to
get out of the prison?). She doesn’t slow down though and frustratingly I can never seem to catch her. I
give up and fall despondently to the floor.
Suddenly the walls of the lift begin to close in on me and very quickly too, I start to become petrified
realising that I’m going to squashed. I push my hands and feet out in the hope of stopping the walls
crushing me. It seems to work but I am demoralised to see that the cramped cube like space is now
more like a flexible cube shaped sack or bag.
I push and shove and try to claw myself out of the terrifying, suffocating situation, as I struggle the bag
seems to disappear and I find myself rolling around and fighting with myself on the floor. Something
tells me that the horribly confined claustrophobic elevator room was a prison of my own making
(probably like the larger prison?).
I look up from the floor and find myself in an area which looks like a foul, filthy communal shower area.
Feeling nerve wracked and exhausted I breakdown and collapse in a heap and start sobbing. Suddenly
and as if from nowhere I see a shadowy figure dart out from my right, this shadow runs over to me and
swiftly kicks me three times in the stomach before running off.
I begin to lose (dream) consciousness as I lay rolled up in an agonising ball on the filthy floor of the
hovel or squat like prison amongst the dark and grimy pistachio green coloured walls, eventually I pass
out. I come to and realise that I am now witnessing a flash back scene into a much earlier part of my
dream life.
It is daytime and I find myself out in a large recreation park I immediately note that I am a small boy
again, I am here with my father who happens to be Clint Eastwood. Clint really doesn’t appear to be his
film self here and actually looks quite unattractive and scruffy, almost unkempt or nerdish with his
greasy hair combed tightly over his head.
Clint’s mossy green clothes also look very moth eaten and shabby and they don’t even seem to fit him
properly either. There is a large fairground ride in the middle of the park that my (dream) father takes
me on, it looks like one of these huge horizontal spinning circles that tilts as it picks up speed, it has
little carriages arranged around its perimeter.
I think that in reality this ride is often called a Mexican hat or UFO, this one is covered in dingy peeling
dull red matt paint, it looks slightly unsafe and not very inviting. It looks like Clint and I are both going
to go and have a ride on the rickety looking eyesore.
My father Clint takes a small car by himself and I also take a separate carriage by myself (even
thought there is the space for a couple of people in each carriage). If Clint is sat at 12 O’clock on the
huge wheel then I would be located at 3 O’clock. I look to my left and see a large group of maybe 7 or
8 little girls all crammed into another car at 6 O’clock.
The fairground ride starts up and begins spinning around in an anticlockwise direction accumulating
speed rapidly. I soon realise that this old ride hasn’t been kept in good condition at all and is extremely
unsteady and wobbly. I become very frightened and want to get off immediately (this feeling was the
kind of reaction I might really have had as a child).
I am very distressed and frozen with fear, I look over to my Dad pleadingly as if he were the only one
who could stop the horrible ride. He just sits back with his arms stretched out reclining in the large
bucket like seat. He has a self satisfied expression on his face and I sense and know that he thinks that
this ride will make a man of me somehow.
Suddenly the shabby old ride lurches and tips forward, the carriage with the little girls in digs into the
ground violently bringing the whole ride to a grinding halt. I am really worried for the girls safety and
rush over to see if there is anything I can do to help them. I see that some of the girls have been
thrown out of the car and onto the grass of the park.
Thankfully and miraculously the girls all seem to be safe and some are even giggling and have smiles
on their faces. I want to stay with them to make sure they are ok but my Dad gruffly shouts and tells
me its time to go. Knowing that he is the adult and I am just a child I am helpless to do anything so I
am forced to go, we both head back home.
Back at home which is a small dilapidated and pokey old rundown caravan I realise that I am now a
small girl just like the ones from the fairground ride earlier. Clint Eastwood is my father still though. We
both sit at a table where the father figure takes out some bread and jam and proceeds to make some
sandwiches for lunch for us both.
The bread that my father uses is extremely tiny almost like the kind used for canapés or fancy little
starter snacks. He takes a knife and begins to spread the jam or marmalade as thin as he possibly can.
He even says something in a slightly spiteful and malicious tone to the effect as he does this “Hmm,
now lets see how far we can make this jam stretch”.
I split into two in the dream and have two perspectives, the little girl ‘me’ and the real life ‘me’. The
small girl ‘me’ thinks that the little sandwiches are wonderful, just perfect for a small girl and for
sharing with her dolls. The real waking life male ‘me’ on the other hand sees deeper into it and knows
that the father figure is being miserly and tight-fisted.
As the male real ‘me’ I feel revolted, angry and disgusted by the fathers mean attitude to his child it
strikes me as being the height of wickedness and evil as he knows what he is doing and he almost
seems to be doing it with deceitful intent. The scene begins to become foggy and fades, the flashback
comes to an end and I return back to the prison floor.
I am lying on the floor on my side deathly still in an almost brainless paralytic stupor, I stare straight
ahead of me with wide dilated eyes. From my side on view I am gazing straight ahead at two men
stood in the prison about 20 or 30 feet away. I can see that they are road workers and are dressed in
typical gear, fluorescent jackets, hard hats etc.
Still completely dazed and out of it I see one of the workers make his way over to me. He is a huge
hulk of a man really burly and massive, he has a large build, heavily set with a big stomach and
massive arms a real man ‘Man’. He has a big chestnut red brown beard and wavy brown hair. The man
instantly reminds me of a huge Viking warrior.
He strides over to me carrying a huge jackhammer or pneumatic road drill, this immense tool is nothing
more than a mere toothpick compared to the size of this man. He upends the drill and places it down
right next to my head....and then lets rip! I am completely jolted out of my slumbering stupor and sit
bolt up right with head jangling.
I look above me to the huge Viking and everything slips into slow motion in a very movie like kind of
way. The Viking withdraws the jackhammer slowly from the ground, a wave of majestic Wagnerian
fanfare like music accompanies this act, he withdraws the jackhammer with one hand way up above his
head in a triumphant gesture.
Even in the dream it is clear to me that this act is analogous to King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the
stone. The scene holds a lot of power and I like it, and its strange similarity with the mythological story
even gives me a tiny smile. With ears still ringing from the jackhammer noise I look over to my right
and can see the exit to the prison.
The exit is through the shop front of a very ordinary looking Laundromat the kind that is filled with lots
of washing machines. Sharp sunlight pours into the laundry through the shop windows, its so bright it
makes my vision hazy or blurry but I can just make out one or two people washing their clothes
oblivious to me as if the prison was completely disconnected from the shop.
Suddenly I hear a very soothing, intelligent and articulate female voice come over a public
announcement system. The voice’s cool calm air reminds me very much of how in some sci-fi films the
spaceships controlling computer often has a female voice like in the film ‘Alien’ the calming voice also
has slight parallels with those heard at airports too.
The female voice repeats the same message over and over again ad infinitum “Brain functioning
correctly....Brain functioning correctly....Brain functioning correctly....Brain functioning correctly....”. I
feel pretty certain that the message is directed at me or is meant for me, I already feel slightly better
in myself too after the awful prison experience.
Additional Comments:
*I particularly like Richard Chamberlain in a made for television film from the 1970’s of the story ‘The
Count of Monte Christo’, its one of my favourite films. There seems to be some irony in the fact that in
this film he was a prisoner whereas in my dream he was the prison governor. Many thanks to all who
read my really long dream!
