Dream – September 18, 2006
Through the thin veil of sleep, I could feel his arms around me. Gently. Tenderly. Sleepily. He was behind me, pressing against my back, and in his sleep, he accidentally kissed me between my shoulder blades. The feeling of him being so close was magical — our fingers intertwined, and it felt as though I was waking up and his hands were melting into mine. And then I woke up.
He was there.
So familiar, so mine, so magical. He was smiling. And I asked, “Oh, how did you get here? I thought I was dreaming you!”
He said, “I don’t know how I got here. I’m just here,” — and he stretched sweetly in my bed.
It was unbearably sweet and wonderful.
I still had that feeling of our fingers intertwined and the tenderness between us. I was so happy that he was beside me. That he was real. And that he hadn’t been just a dream.
September 21, 2006
Nighttime adventures in lucid dreams, or “The Fascist’s Plaything.”
Just two days ago, I reread a piece about lucid dreaming, and today I got to experience it again. And what’s interesting — I didn’t even try to trigger a lucid dream, it just happened. That’s encouraging; looks like I’m a fairly aware human after all.
It started with another full-length cinematic dream — not just random fragments thrown together, but a true dream-novel, with a storyline, intrigue, and well-developed main characters. Even in the dream, I thought: when I wake up, I need to write a book based on this. And, by the way, this wasn’t the first time.
The setting was World War II. I was one of the ringleaders of a group of young people who sometimes helped the Resistance. Most of the time, though, we were just a lively, noisy bunch to keep up appearances. We lived somewhere in Germany. I often went on missions with my male friends.
This time, we had just pulled off something, and we had to flee. The guys ran faster than me, and as they sprinted away, fascist officers began chasing us. I lagged behind. Suddenly, an officer grabbed me by the shoulder. At first, he was the wrong kind of officer — small, boyish. So, in the dream, I swapped him for a tall one, with big, beautiful eyes. Right then I thought: he needs to let me go. I said something like, “Please, don’t,” and he, charmed by me, let go — and even fell for me.
Naturally, the story developed in a funny direction.
He sent me a box of chocolates and chocolate pastries. I wanted to share them with the children of our group. Nobody asked where the treats came from — not a single question.
Later, on another mission, it was just me and some girl. She managed to slip out of a room just before the fascists entered. I simply crouched behind a desk. They shone their lights around — saw no one — and we escaped through the back door.
Soon after, there was a raid at our meeting place.
And as I played through the next scene in my mind, I “wrote” that the German officer would rush in to warn us, people would think I was sleeping with him, call me “the fascist’s plaything,” and I’d explain that he loved me and that we could use it for Resistance purposes.
But that scenario never played out.
Instead, something else did.
Someone I trusted led me to an open area, where several fascists were waiting. My officer wasn’t among them. Apparently, they had learned about his feelings for me and decided to extract information — and eliminate me — to prevent him from betraying his homeland.
I saw a board — probably for torture, I thought — and realized they were preparing to tie me down.
I asked, “May I ask what for?”
They replied sincerely and seriously, explaining that they’d torture me until I talked, maim me here and there, and then kill me.
I didn’t like this turn of events.
I was young, beautiful, my whole life ahead of me.
Timidly, I asked if maybe they could not?
They barked: “Lie down!”
I refused.
Then I thought: “Wait — this is a dream. I’ll create an earthquake.”
A concrete slab crashed between me and the fascists. The ground shook. Chaos erupted, even a hurricane started up — I saved my life from the fascists.
I don’t remember anything else from this nighttime “movie.”
October 26, 2006
Today I dreamt of a terrifying giant cannibal.
He was a water spirit — a monster entirely made of water.
There was a way to paralyze him: he’d turn transparent and red like jelly. But nature quickly restored his strength — the jelly turned green — and from his “head,” a greedy, evil eye watched me.
While he was green, you could still run. Once he turned blue, like the color of water, it would be too late.
So we ran.
My friends ran fast. I couldn’t keep up.
I cried.
We climbed to the top of a fortress where we found a surprisingly decent restaurant.
We decided to have lunch there, thinking the monster wouldn’t find us.
Earlier in the dream, I had gathered a huge stack of paper money, now stuffed in my denim jacket’s chest pocket.
The menu took forever to arrive. As we waited, everyone rushed to the open windows — water was rising around the tower.
Everyone was thrilled by the “entertainment,” but I was uneasy: if we flood, then what?
Luckily, we managed to escape.
Next, I and a small group of friends kept fleeing from the monster, who now shifted forms — from flying plastic bags chasing us in a bus to fully human-like giant cannibals.
It became clear: no one would escape. We would be breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
The most inspiring part of the dream:
When the bus driver realized he missed our stop, the bus soared into the air and turned into a plane.
Of course, the monster also ended up on the plane.
While he terrorized my friends in the main cabin, I snuck into a tiny balcony cabin (!), thinking what to do.
And I figured it out.
I approached the cannibal and, using some “scientific arguments,” convinced him he should eat sugar instead of human flesh.
In the end, I even decided to sacrifice my finger, offering it, dusted with powdered sugar, to a second — much more charming — cannibal who had appeared.
He loved the idea — though I did pity my finger.
Naturally, I woke up before the sugar experiment took place.
What crazy things dreams cook up after a glass of watermelon margarita and an hour-long conversation with a conductor…
November 16, 2006
I dreamt that I met a man — a tiger. Or a lion.
He was almost white, with light orange stripes.
They brought him to me so I could pet him.
As I did, he began to slowly transform into a man.
Throughout the dream, he kept transforming.
At one point, he had strikingly outlined eyes, like they were drawn with a black pencil.
By the end, he looked like a completely ordinary man — but still, it felt eerie being near him.
I also dreamt that I had a huge jeep — big enough to live in.
I was just getting ready to sleep there.
In the dream, I found two baby girls, one after the other.
Since I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) take responsibility for raising them, I found people to adopt them.
There was also the sensation of the Conductor — not him himself, just the feeling of his presence.
I woke up.
Outside, it was damp and overcast.
The sky was milky white.
Inside, I felt strange — like I wasn’t really living, just pretending, following a poorly written script I drunkenly scribbled myself, full of spelling and grammar mistakes.
Only the image of the cat came out beautifully.
Because she brings me more joy every day.
She follows me everywhere — like a little tail — and the moment I sit or lie down, she settles next to me: on the couch, my desk, the floor — or right on me, purring contentedly, nudging me with her nose to be petted.
She talks to me.
Now this is what I call a cat. A friend. Maybe even… family.
A little daughter.
Maybe I am already starting to crave family and children… who knows why, all of a sudden.
December 23, 2006
Last night, I was transported into a strange corner of the space of possibilities…
First, for some reason, I dreamt of Adam and his new girlfriend — who, unlike his real one, was breathtakingly beautiful.
Tiny, fragile, delicate — a blonde with huge blue eyes and a kind heart.
Adam and I discussed the possibility of getting back together.
I said he should move out from his girlfriend’s place first.
He said — no way.
He also said he wouldn’t live with me while I was living with my mother.
And in the dream, I was still living with my mother.
I even tried calling her on my cellphone — but couldn’t get through.
And what did I do about Adam?
I started telling his girlfriend nasty things about him.
Her huge blue eyes widened.
Something dark took root in her soul.
Adam rushed to leave before she heard more.
As they hurried away, I shouted after them, “You’ll see!”
Even in the dream, I felt awful about what I had done.
Why had I been so mean? I couldn’t even understand it myself.
Next scene:
I wanted to go to the beach to read.
Or rather, take a trip.
I boarded something — which turned out to be a plane.
Below, I saw Long Island — a big island, surprisingly far from Manhattan.
We were flying toward Manhattan.
I also glimpsed a piece of Florida’s Cocoa Beach, with Highway 520 running through it.
Except, unlike reality, the highway didn’t end at the beach — it continued north onto an island called Parta, inhabited by people.
Beyond it was another island — Sparta — uninhabited but of similar size.
In my head, it clicked: “Ah, that’s who Athens went to war against — Parta, Sparta.”
Meanwhile, the plane turned into a bus, drove through gates into Manhattan, and stopped to let me off.
I knew I didn’t have much time — it was already after 9 p.m.
It was a day trip, and I didn’t even know where the return bus would leave from.
I asked a mustached man selling excursion tickets nearby.
He said the trip was 15 days long, and the return bus would only come in two weeks.
I protested — I hadn’t brought money for food or lodging!
I tried calling my mom again. No answer.
So I wandered through rows of street vendors, trying to figure out how to get home.
There was another dream episode too, but it was marked with an “R,” so I’ll leave it out.