Chat
03-04-2015, 04:22 PM
Since November 2014, I have been having a recurring dream about getting ready to move to Australia where in lived in the late 80’s and 90’s. I am living in this Santa Barbara apartment that has been part of my dreams since the 70’s, that doesn’t really exist anywhere except in my dreams. Each time the dream occurs it is reminding me to get rid of my stuff in this apartment so that I can move. At first, I consider leaving some things in my parents garage, and then it comes to me that they are both dead, and thus there is no place for the left overs. Each time I have the dream, about 8 times since Thanksgiving, there are less and less things in the apartment, and less personal details to deal with, such as buying a ticket.
Last night, I heard a voice telling me today was the day to fly. It is the same voice telling me to get rid of my stuff. I was surprised because it was the 3rd of March. Why hadn't I been given a week's notice of the moving date? I hadn’t given my landlady of the mythical apartment notice of leaving. I hadn’t stopped the newspaper, the LA Times (I don’t live in California). Couldn’t I go in a week? I still had an ironing board, a pole lamp and 2 boxes of personal affect to get rid of. As a walked around town, people were either saying to me, “I can’t believe you are really leaving”, or “Shouldn’t you be at the airport?” I finally decide that I need another week, but know I probably can’t delay the ticket by a week, and will probably have to buy a new one for 2 to 3 weeks away to get the best price. I resolve to myself that I will lose the money on the current ticket. I realize that I haven’t even packed a suitcase. So, I drive to the airport to deal with the ticket issue. I arrive to see my name flashing on the board to check-in. I think that is strange because usually names are called at boarding time if someone who has checked in hasn’t made it to the gate. The usual check-in counter is closed. I wander to a smaller kiosk for those trying to fly standby. The gate agents see my ticket and tell me that they have been waiting for me. I wonder how that can be, because my flight isn’t due to leave for 6 hours, and I hadn’t done any advanced check-in. I tell them I can’t go because I misplaced my passport and it will probably take a few weeks to get a new one.
The gate agents cancel my current seat and try to see if I will get any credit toward a new ticket. The computer screen freezes. The gate agent prints the screen and looks for a pre-addressed envelope for me to mail in my request for a refund. Two yellow envelopes are found in the back of the drawer, their edges torn and worn. I am given the one least torn, and told to put tape on the edges to fix the torn areas. No one has had to use the mail system for years. The agents then try to schedule a new ticket. They look at their screens with a puzzled look. One is still trying on his screen to get me some type of credit. He looks over to the woman at the other screen, and tells me her screen has gone fuzzy, like TV sets used to between stations. They turn the monitor for me to see what is happening. As they do this, I look behind them and see everything is shaking to pieces. The current terminal is still. I am seeing the future as it relates to this screen. The screen is fuzzy because the future date of my flight is occurring during a massive Earthquake and no electricity is available to run things!
I ask my mind, “Where is this earthquake?” It can’t tell me if it’s the west coast of the US, or Australia, or Hawaii, where flights prior to the 1990’s stopped to refuel on their way to Australia. A voice also tells me to republish my dream on the Santa Barbara tsunami since so much of the detail was edited out when published last year. The voice in the dream also tells me, “Well, you missed it. That was your window to return”. I awaken at 4 a.m. to write notes on this dream. I fall back to sleep, to be awaken abruptly by a phone call. The phone call interrupts a dream where I am at work and have ordered a series of brochures about public health. All of them are free, except for one which is $3.45 due to it’s weight to mail. I open up the package of brochures with a patient in front of me. They all seem to be useless except for the $3.45 one dealing with fires. It appears I can get them for free as long as I pay for the postage for a box of 50. I decide to order a box of 50 because the information is so important. In the meantime, I photocopy a few of the important pages from this document for the patient in front of me. However, the ringing phone removes from my memory what was the information that was so important on those pages. I just remember a brown haze in the atmosphere as I noted the important items on the page. I have no idea where the fire is.
Last night, I heard a voice telling me today was the day to fly. It is the same voice telling me to get rid of my stuff. I was surprised because it was the 3rd of March. Why hadn't I been given a week's notice of the moving date? I hadn’t given my landlady of the mythical apartment notice of leaving. I hadn’t stopped the newspaper, the LA Times (I don’t live in California). Couldn’t I go in a week? I still had an ironing board, a pole lamp and 2 boxes of personal affect to get rid of. As a walked around town, people were either saying to me, “I can’t believe you are really leaving”, or “Shouldn’t you be at the airport?” I finally decide that I need another week, but know I probably can’t delay the ticket by a week, and will probably have to buy a new one for 2 to 3 weeks away to get the best price. I resolve to myself that I will lose the money on the current ticket. I realize that I haven’t even packed a suitcase. So, I drive to the airport to deal with the ticket issue. I arrive to see my name flashing on the board to check-in. I think that is strange because usually names are called at boarding time if someone who has checked in hasn’t made it to the gate. The usual check-in counter is closed. I wander to a smaller kiosk for those trying to fly standby. The gate agents see my ticket and tell me that they have been waiting for me. I wonder how that can be, because my flight isn’t due to leave for 6 hours, and I hadn’t done any advanced check-in. I tell them I can’t go because I misplaced my passport and it will probably take a few weeks to get a new one.
The gate agents cancel my current seat and try to see if I will get any credit toward a new ticket. The computer screen freezes. The gate agent prints the screen and looks for a pre-addressed envelope for me to mail in my request for a refund. Two yellow envelopes are found in the back of the drawer, their edges torn and worn. I am given the one least torn, and told to put tape on the edges to fix the torn areas. No one has had to use the mail system for years. The agents then try to schedule a new ticket. They look at their screens with a puzzled look. One is still trying on his screen to get me some type of credit. He looks over to the woman at the other screen, and tells me her screen has gone fuzzy, like TV sets used to between stations. They turn the monitor for me to see what is happening. As they do this, I look behind them and see everything is shaking to pieces. The current terminal is still. I am seeing the future as it relates to this screen. The screen is fuzzy because the future date of my flight is occurring during a massive Earthquake and no electricity is available to run things!
I ask my mind, “Where is this earthquake?” It can’t tell me if it’s the west coast of the US, or Australia, or Hawaii, where flights prior to the 1990’s stopped to refuel on their way to Australia. A voice also tells me to republish my dream on the Santa Barbara tsunami since so much of the detail was edited out when published last year. The voice in the dream also tells me, “Well, you missed it. That was your window to return”. I awaken at 4 a.m. to write notes on this dream. I fall back to sleep, to be awaken abruptly by a phone call. The phone call interrupts a dream where I am at work and have ordered a series of brochures about public health. All of them are free, except for one which is $3.45 due to it’s weight to mail. I open up the package of brochures with a patient in front of me. They all seem to be useless except for the $3.45 one dealing with fires. It appears I can get them for free as long as I pay for the postage for a box of 50. I decide to order a box of 50 because the information is so important. In the meantime, I photocopy a few of the important pages from this document for the patient in front of me. However, the ringing phone removes from my memory what was the information that was so important on those pages. I just remember a brown haze in the atmosphere as I noted the important items on the page. I have no idea where the fire is.
