Okay, and now retyped, the serial dreams:
Okay. First a bit of background. There’s a dump in our backyard that dates from the turn of the century. We’ve found all sorts of interesting things while holding our very own archaeology digs-like sterling silverware, neat old bottles, an Art Nouveau pin, and porcelain doll parts.
In the first dream, I was walking in the woods. It was probably springtime; after the melting snow and rains fill the creek and uncover things that have been buried for close to a hundred years.
Let me describe the woods for a minute. Imagine a stand of beech trees, a wavering path up a steep hill, and a creek that bisects the path. A narrow board stretches across the creek; barely adequate to get across.
At the top of the hill, the spring rains and a mudslide had uncovered the corner of a house’s roof. There was a large hole in the roof, and inside I could see cardboard boxes, as if someone long ago had stowed items in their attic, never to unwrap them again. It took me a moment to climb up the hill, and my footing wasn’t very steady in the mud, but I managed to duck under the roof and remove one box. As I unwrapped the items inside, I realized that I’d found a treasure trove of Depression glass, McCoy pottery, and other glassware that dated to the turn of the last century, according to the dates on the newspapers each item was wrapped in.
I lined up the items I unwrapped, and was only on the second box when I realized I wasn’t alone.
The man who perched beside me on the hill wasn’t familiar, but I knew him anyway, if that makes sense. He told me the story behind the house; how the family had boxed up the grandmother’s things just before the house was buried under a mudslide, and therefore forgotten. No one had ever attempted to uncover the house or its contents, and it had been untouched up until now.
I remember the mud sliding under my shoes, and remembered wanting to show Dad what I’d found. And thinking that it would bring a pretty penny on ebay.
And then I woke up.
The second dream, a few months later, about two weeks ago.
Again, in the creek, searching for goodies. Again, in springtime, and the creek water poured into my gym shoes and soaked my socks. I think I’d found a bottle or two and stowed them away in the pockets of my jacket, but I don’t remember the details. As I bent to uncover a promising bottle top from the mud, I found a small gold ring half buried in the mud. I washed it off and picked it up, then noticed the corner of a brown paper lunch bag sticking out from the side of the creek bed. (Note: I didn’t think it odd that a brown paper bag had survived the winter intact. Weird things like this always happen in my dreams.) A tear in one side of the paper bag showed me a glimpse of the contents, but I didn’t realize what it contained until I had the entire thing free of its watery grave.
The bag was full of rings. All gold, all wedding rings, some of them engraved with names (although I don’t remember any names in particular.) The ones I checked were marked 14k gold. I pocketed the entire bag, intending to show Dad as soon as he returned from a business trip, and walked back to the house.
Late that night, someone knocked on the door. I walked downstairs, only to find the guy from Dream #1 standing on the porch, only he had an aura of menace around him now. He demanded that I give him the rings. I refused. And I would have left it at that if someone hadn’t invited him inside. But before he could confront me about ‘his’ rings, I woke up.
And the third dream, last night:
A bit of background… I like to get myself ‘lost.’ Every once in a while, I take a road I’ve never taken before, just to see where it leads. I’ve discovered some really cool houses this way, and neat ways home.
In the dream, I’d decided to drive down a street in Amelia I’ve always wanted to drive down but never have. I passed under an overpass, so I’m not sure where this street was, exactly, or when the dream happened, in truth, but about a mile out of town, the asphalt vanished and became a dirt road
with two deep sets of tire tracks leading off into farmland and forest. I passed a white truck with a government symbol on the door, and an old man walking alongside the road. There was also a small white house, or perhaps it was green. One of those tiny little cottage-type houses, iirc.
I was rather surprised that ‘civilization’ ended so quickly and became the unknown. I said as much to the guy in the truck, who turned out to be an agent of the Bureau of Land Management. We got to talking, and he told me that the BLM was starting a program in which elderly farmers were given
incentives to sell the developmental rights to their farms to the government, to stop the spread of urban decay. When the elderly farmers died, the government would make sure their farms stayed farms, and they would find someone to farm the land or rent it out to other farmers in the
area.
I thought this was such a cool idea that I decided to go home and look up the Bureau of Land Management and see what kind of a degree you needed to be a part of this. And the government guy and I talked for a while longer. He told me that Ed Travis (the old guy) owned all the land on either side of the road, and as far back as he could see. And now that Ed was getting on in
years, he had sold the developmental rights to his land to the government to preserve it. And we talked, and talked, and talked for a while longer. I didn’t recognize him at first; he had braces and he’d grown his hair a bit longer.
Well, after I turned my car around and got back on the road, I went home, but I wasn’t living with my parents anymore. I was either renting or owned a small cottage in Bethel (white, with siding, and I’ve never seen it before in my life) and as far as I know, I wasn’t working.
I went in the back door. As I walked into my living room (and it was a tiny cottage; I had my ‘office’ in one corner of the living room) I saw strangely shaped packages on the floor in front of the mail slot on the door. I opened one, and discovered that the BLM guy had evidently discovered where I lived, and left me a half dozen presents-chunks of quartz and other minerals. We’d discussed the fact that I’m a bit of a rockhound, and he had left me presents. (We’d also exchanged phone numbers, iirc.) I was really tickled, because we had really hit it off. But under the wrapped rocks was a note from a local florist, telling me to look on my front doorstep.
I opened the front door and found a bouquet of roses from my ex. The note attached to the flowers said: “I heard you got a good deal on ____________. Money is tight, and I want into it. 7% should work. Love, _________.”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. I hadn’t heard from him for over a year, and now this.
(I’m thinking I had gotten a good advance or something; I know I wasn’t working, and I didn’t seem to be worried about money all that much.)
I woke up right after I stuck the flowers in a vase and ripped up his note.
And when I awoke, I had the thought that I needed to look up the Bureau of Land Management and see what I needed to do to become a part of that program.
Now. This mystery guy has shown up in my dreams three times. He has sandy blond hair, and probably brown eyes. He’s slightly built, and a little taller than me. Kind of… scruffy around the edges, but nice to look at. He might have had braces in the beginning; I don’t remember looking at his teeth.
I don’t know his name, but I seem to know him in my dreams. I’m not sure what our relationship is, but time seems to be progressing in a vaguely chronological order in these dreams; but I’m not sure how old I am or when they actually occur. They aren’t serial dreams per se; I recognized the guy as the guy from the first dream while having the second dream, but didn’t recognize him until I woke up in the third. And I’d like to know why he’s haunting the dump… and what the Bureau of Land Management has to do with it all.
I’m rather hoping I dream tonight. Will I decide to attend classes to take part in this mythical program? Will I see my mystery man again? Only time will tell…
I just realized that there’s a fourth dream as well, that fits between dream #1 and dream #2. It’s the basis for Trapped in the Spiritworld with an Internet Connection, which remains unfinished. But perhaps I need to finish it and see where it’s going. Hmm… Vicki, he’s the guy locked in the wardrobe.
Posted by jenstclair 
Posted by jenstclair 
Posted by jenstclair 