So this is my blog and if I want to digress once in a blue moon I shall choose to do so. Hence the following blog about a recurring dream.
It starts with my late wife Linda and I traveling in a car toward Mexico. First we have a rough time getting from place to place through California. There are strange hotels and all kinds of other random dreamy experiences to distract from the main purpose. Which is somehow unknown other than we’re trying to get somewhere.
Then we cross the border and fill out a sheet of notebook paper that somehow serves as proof we’ve come from America.
Once across the border, my kids want to get to the ocean, which is conveniently lolling up on a beach in the middle of some unnamed northern Mexico town. You can hear the waves and see some people rolling around in the surf. It makes no sense.
Now I’ve never actually been to Mexico. It exists as this “other” place in my head where “other” people go on vacation and hide out in all-inclusive resorts. That may explain why I actually lose my family in the dream. They cross back over the border without me and I’m left without a “passport” (that piece of notebook paper). The border guards in that cheesy little dream booth want nothing to do with my excuses.
Then, suddenly I’m something of a George Clooney-looking character in my dream. Now, knowing that I have to make it somehow in Mexico I apply to this weird little business where they give me some nicely tailored but tight-fitting clothes. The two guys working there are sympathetic to my situation, but they warn me not to get too close to the business owner who apparently is a shady character.
Thinking that I might be better off finding “other” employment I wind up working for this paper company where the manager is quite Dwight Shrutelike. I get in his face and try to convince him they’re marketing their product all wrong. I try to conceive a system for the salespeople to incentivize people to buy paper more frequently. But then I learn that the entire company is operating on a less than 1% profit margin and the entire outfit has barely enough money to buy the punchcards I propose to use as “sales passports” for customers to earn a “trip” to additional discounts. Or whatever. It’s a bad idea.
The whole thing devolves into sort of a hazing session where the suddenly big and quite cynical sales staff gathers on overstuffed chairs to chortle and laugh at the sales manager trying to motivate his crew. I get caught in the verbal crossfire as well.
Then, in the distance, we hear the start of a series of explosions. Things are blowing up along the border and I sense it might be my time to escape. So I keep my eye on what’s exploding but realize that I might be caught if I show up wandering around some American town just across the border with my cheesily tight Mexican clothes on my body.
And then I wake up.
So there’s lots of shit to analyze in that dream.
Instead, I would much prefer to dream the dream I once dreamt in which I ran effortlessly to a 2:26 marathon. The feeling of joyful movement in that dream was just like flying. And given that flying in a dream is supposed to be connected with sex, perhaps my sexual desire was running my head in that marathon dream and it all came out good in the end. Because I woke up happy and satisfied the race went so well and I really didn’t care if it had happened for real or not.
That’s sort of how life works.
It was forty years ago last weekend that I raced one of the best races of my life at the Frank Lloyd Wright 10K in Oak Park, Illinois. I ran 32:00 to win the thing in 1983 and repeated in 1984. Both times they gave me a big silver cup for winning. I still have that award in the basement. It’s all tarnished and dark like the visions you have in dreams. It’s hard to clean those up because you don’t exactly control your mind when you’re asleep.
It all makes me wonder what’s real and what is more realistic, the land of dreams or the memories of what we once did in our lives. It’s one of the tarsnakes of existence that we must dream our reality into being. Then our dreams choose to ignore those rules.
Recurring dreams. They really make you wonder what’s up inside your head. They put you on the run even when you’re asleep. When you awake the dream world sometimes feels more real than the world you’re now forced to encounter.
As John Lennon once wrote in the song, “I’m only sleeping…”
Everybody seems to think I’m lazy
I don’t mind, I think they’re crazy
Running everywhere at such a speed
Till they find, there’s no need
Please don’t spoil my day
I’m miles away
And after all
I’m only sleeping