Groundhog Dream #2

One of the most in­ter­est­ing things about dreams is how we can hold them ful­ly un­der­stood in our minds but, when we try to write them down, the struc­ture col­laps­es. This not on­ly il­lu­mi­nates the im­per­fec­tion of writ­ten or spo­ken com­mu­ni­ca­tion, but al­so, more sub­tly, in­di­cates the nat­u­ral il­log­ic and un­rea­son­able­ness of our minds. A dream with that kind of clar­i­ty would be in­dis­tin­guish­able from re­al­i­ty.

I’m call­ing my newest re­cur­ring dream the Groundhog Dream, be­cause it’s a bit like Groundhog Day, in that the gen­er­al me­chan­ics stay the same while the specifics al­ter with each rep­e­ti­tion. First the dream, then the in­ter­pre­ta­tion.

The dream al­ways starts out in a place like Whiskey Island but much larg­er in scale, with many oth­er peo­ple. We all trav­el to the shore to hear a rous­ing speech about fight­ing some kind of Evil. The Evil caus­es a shift, or glitch, in re­al­i­ty and every­thing is chaos. In the first in­stances of the dream, I was al­ways in a waste­land with­out food and with com­pan­ions who were just as con­fused as I was. The rest of the dreams would con­sist of wan­der­ing around look­ing for sus­te­nance. Kinda OT Biblical.

In this lat­est ver­sion, my lu­cid dream­ing kicked in a bit and I made sure to pack some food be­fore go­ing to the speech. This time the glitch still af­fect­ed me, but Neil Gaiman was al­so aware that it was go­ing to hap­pen and had me and a few oth­ers fall in­to an al­ter­nate re­al­i­ty on­ly tan­gen­tial­ly like the Harry Potter uni­verse. It was more like Harry Potter by P.G. Wodehouse. We end­ed up in this or­rery where Neil Gaiman ex­plained what the Evil had done, if not why (no one re­al­ly knows why). The solv­ing of the glitch in­volves help­ing as many peo­ple as pos­si­ble find their way back to their prop­er place and do­ing it your­self in a cer­tain amount of time. This is a bit like a video game.

We go to a train sta­tion where the on­ly way to sum­mon a train is to lie down on the tracks (kind of like how the eas­i­est way to get sick is to men­tion how you’ve not been sick) Tootle the train shows up and hauls us to an­oth­er sta­tion, where, in pre­vi­ous re­cur­rences, I know that we’ll learn that one of my com­pan­ions will die. So does Neil Gaiman, so we all take a bath­room break be­fore walk­ing past the mu­ral that de­picts this death.

Meanwhile, I find a pile of col­or­ful con­struc­tion pa­per cards and de­flat­ed la­tex bal­loons, and ex­cit­ed­ly call every­one over to eat. These are sort of like the cards we’d have to make to send to nurs­ing homes when I was in grade school, but were sent to us as sup­port in­stead. We have to eat them be­cause the longer we’re away from our right­ful world, the more pale and life­less we get, and the more we hunger for col­or and joy. We’d be­come un­wit­ting joy vam­pires. When we eat the­se bright­ly col­ored stuff we be­come more hu­man for awhile.

Paper and la­tex aren’t easy to eat though, and I find the bal­loons too hard to chew and get nau­se­at­ed. At this time a new group shows up and joins in our feast. A girl I had a crush on in col­lege ap­pears, ob­vi­ous­ly with an­oth­er man, who turns out to be an al­ter­nate uni­verse ver­sion of me (though we look noth­ing alike), which is con­firmed by the fact that he had the same web­site URL. This makes me feel lone­ly and I re­al­ize that my son Abraham has been af­fect­ed by the glitch too, that he’s out there alone and needs me, and I re­al­ize just as there are mul­ti­ple ver­sions of me, there are mul­ti­ple ver­sions of Abraham and even if I can’t find my par­tic­u­lar son, may­be I can find an al­ter­nate uni­verse ver­sion to care for.

That’s it. I woke up and it was time to get ready for work.

There’s all kinds of stuff go­ing on here, and I feel that I can iden­ti­fy both the foun­da­tion­al feel­ing and re­al world ref­er­ences to ex­plain most of it. The foun­da­tion­al feel­ing is one of search­ing for a place I be­long and be, in con­fi­dence and still­ness. The train stuff is be­cause Abraham talks about trains con­stant­ly, but it’s got a lit­tle bit of Stephen King Dark Tower go­ing on as well. I can’t iden­ti­fy the rea­son for Neil Gaiman’s pres­ence, but the bal­loons and con­struc­tion pa­per is re­lat­ed to Abraham again. Alternate re­al­i­ty stuff is due to The Man From Primrose Lane. The game-like na­ture of avoid­ing im­pend­ing traps and the re­cur­rence are prob­a­bly re­lat­ed to the fact I’ve been re­play­ing Dragon Age 2. The crush is due to a crush.

I think this dream could be turned in­to a fair­ly good tale, but I’m cer­tain­ly not the one to write it.

2 thoughts on “Groundhog Dream #2

  1. I of­ten wake up from dreams and think they would make an amaz­ing nov­el or short sto­ry, but the fur­ther I get from them, the less I’m able to grasp what it was that should make a sto­ry. I did man­age to catch one dream in­to a short sto­ry, and I think it’s one of my best pieces.

    Have you seen the Simpsons episode with Neil Gaiman? It’s awe­some. Also, if you don’t al­ready, you should start lis­ten­ing to Moth Podcasts.

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