(4/5/08) the murderer's heroic journey

(Entered in paper journal at 7:42 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

A man, with whom I was possibly identified, had killed another man who had been abusive to the woman the first man loved. This took place in a small town. The killer fled and went on a journey in the woods. Eventually he took on the appearance of an archaic hero. He was engaged in battle against mystical creatures.

At one point the man entered a cavity in a cliff wall. Against the back wall of the cavity was an altar-like structure that was also an oracle or a monster. There was a domed, oven-like structure, atop which were two pots with torches in them. At the back of that was a gigantic sculpture in the image of the top half of a human skull. Inside the oven-like structure was a sword stuck in the floor of the structure and standing before the fire.

The man jumped into the domed structure and somehow managed to defeat the skull. There was a rope before the man. He grabbed it, jumped, and swung down and backward into the oven. He grabbed the sword and tried to pull it out. But he missed.

The man should have been thought of, at this point, as having failed. He hadn't been able to retrieve the sword. But he managed to get another chance, knowing that he was the only one who could pull the sword out of the stone.

The man jumped down into the oven again by means of the rope and pulled out the sword. But this time he couldn't swing himself back onto the domed top. He had to grasp onto an edge and pull himself up very awkwardly. As he did, people could be heard booing him, as if this were all a show like American Idol.

The man stood up, hoping he hadn't been counted as having failed. But he had failed, and he was killed in a strange way -- possibly by being shot out of the cavity and against a tree, and then having some implement fly at him from the cavity and cut his head off.

Through all of this episode, the man had been long-haired, big, and muscular, dressed in a bear-skin chiton or robe. But he now looked much like he had at the beginning, when he had been the small-town murderer: shortish, of medium build, olive skinned, with stubble all over his face and wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans.

The man walked through a particularly beautiful area of the woods, with trees flaring orange. He was heading back to the small town, hoping he could live here, having failed at the heroic test. The man arrived at the outskirts of the town, at an enormous lawn of baseball fields. The man then realized he had left the town because he was a murderer and a fugitive.

At this point I was the man, though at certain moments I still saw from outside the man's body. I hoped that the townspeople would somehow no longer recognize me. But I sat down on bleachers, watching some boys play baseball, with the specific hope that one of the boys, an old friend of mine, would see me and be happy to see me.

The game ended. The boy did see me. But as soon as he saw me, I hoped he would stop recognizing me before he remembered that I was the murderer.

The boy said something like, "You should get out of here or you'll be in trouble."

Another boy, kind of fat, kind of tan, with blonde hair, came up from the other end of the bleachers. He asked the first boy, "Who is that? I feel I should know him from somewhere."

I was now a boy about the age of the other boys. I felt that if the fat kid found out I was the murderer he would bully me and then go tell the police I was in town. But he came around behind me as the other boy said, "Does the name Hanley sound familiar?" The fat boy tried to be mean to me, but he only seemed to be happy now. I was acting defensively and trying not to let on who I was.

But as the fat boy continued talking to me he turned into a pretty girl. Another pretty girl, pale skinned, with pale blonde hair, also walked up toward me. Both girls were so happy to see me that they were hugging each other. The two girls and the first boy were all saying something like, "Hanley's back!"

(10/30/08) caring for great-grandmother; brahms idol lucidity

(Entered in paper journal at 7:55 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

I was in the room of an empty (?) apartment. I was there with a couple other people. It was daytime, and bluish, pale light came in through the windows. The floors were dark wood and the walls were brick.

A woman wanted to do something to open a window. She may have wanted to remove the window entirely. I just stood and watched, as if I were too lazy to help, or as if I were afraid of something happening if the window were opened. Another man came up and helped the woman remove the window. It was now night. When I saw how easily the man had removed the window, I felt ashamed for not having helped.

My mom now sat in a big house, talking with someone I couldn't see. The person was like a member of the family, but also like a nurse or someone else carrying out a business duty. The person was telling my mom that my great-grandmother could no longer take care of herself and would need to have a lot of people living with her to take care of her. They would all need to live either in this house or in the house next to or behind it.

Apparently all the people had chosen what house they would live in. I could imagine that the house of their choice would get crowded and dirty rather quickly. But I thought the other house, which everybody regarded as the "second," inferior house, was nicer and more spacious. I thought about its big living room in particular.

Now I sat across from my mom. My mom said, "They're definitely going to need to live in one of the houses. Which house should we live in instead?"

I said, "The second house."

Dream #2

I walked into a building. I might have come into a hotel lobby. I was going to a cattle call for American Idol. I kept walking through a series of hallways. I couldn't find anything. The hallways were all pretty busy, though most people were walking in the opposite direction from me. One person, talking about the line, said, "People are going to be in that thing for a long time."

I was now following a young man. He was about my height, heavier, pale white, with longish, light brown hair. He wore eyeglasses and a maroon shirt. We walked through what appeared to be a number of back hallways and stairwells. I kept wondering why I'd even wanted to come to this audition anyway.

We mostly walked alone. But when we'd emerge in a more frequented hallway we'd meet with some other people. I saw a couple people I knew. One was a shortish, Mexican, boyish-looking woman. She wore black clothes and a black trucker hat that was cocked to the side. She gave me a friendly nudge on the ribs and said hi.

Finally the young man and I walked down a stairwell to meet what was apparently the back of the line for the American Idol audition. The line seemed like it must have reached down a few more flights before extending even farther through a hallway.

The young man called out, "Is this the line for the Brahms symphony?"

A woman who was maybe in her mid-forties, like a mother, but still attractive, blonde, wearing a white sweater and blue jeans, told the young man, "No. But I'm sure if you wait ten or fifteen minutes, this line will clear out, and you'll be able to find the line for the Brahms concert."

I suddenly thought, Why am I in line for this audition at all? I should be in line for the Brahms concert. I got out of line and walked out a door that was at the bottom of the flight of stairs.

I stood in a desert environment. It appeared to be late in the afternoon. I felt a tremendous sense of peace.

Suddenly I realized I was in a dream. I told myself to focus. I started to float up in the air. The area around me was a desert area beside an industrial area or a place like Los Alamos National Laboratory.

I felt like I was starting to fall back out of the dream. I shouted out, "No! I want to stay here! I don't want to go back!"

I told myself that if I just focused I could stay here. I needed to get back down to the ground first. I was barefoot. I told myself that if I could just feel the gravel of the road, that would make everything real for me. I looked around. There were two old soil-mounds that were now growing white and yellow flowers.

I felt myself being pulled backwards, as if I were being physically pulled away.

The building was white, ridged sheet metal. The sky was deep blue, clear, but with deep grey clouds on the horizon. It was a warm day, but a thunderstorm was looming.

I told myself, If I could just feel the warmth of the day, I could make this real, and then I could stay here forever.