by Karen J Mossman
When I wake in the morning, I often remember my dreams and the fun part is trying to think what sparked it in the first place.
Take, for example, the dreams of the last two nights. I love the bizarre quirkiness of dreams. Things make little sense or are just wisps of emotions you can’t put into words.
I am always the main character, yet strangely it’s not me, it’s just my conciousness.
Sitting outside a room with no door, I was fiercely protective of the man inside. It was painful to watch him and his demons wrestle each other. He babbled, he wept, and he fell on his knees. Sometimes he even raged at me.
I took everything he threw in my direction without response or recrimination. He didn’t mean it. It was like watching a stranger. This man had lost his mind. He wasn’t the man I knew. He was there somewhere, and I would wait patiently until he returned.
We’d met outside a premises, in which he and his buddies wanted admittance. I was door staff, a trainee. We wore a uniform and were unsmiling as we, my mentor and I questioned anyone who wanted to enter. My man’s companions were just as famous as he was, and although I didn’t show it, I felt privileged to have spoken to them.
My man, was macho and handsome, standing tall in his leather jacket and his chiselled features gained him many fan. I acted like I was unimpressed.
Now I was here outside the doorless room, as he had a melt down. No one else would stand by the monster he had become. He was a far cry from the super hero everyone loved.
The dream was full of strong emotion and loyalty.
When I awoke, it took me a moment before I realised where the whole sequence had come from.
Chicago PD. An American police series about an elite team of detectives led by the charismatic Hank Voight.
One of the team, Antonio Dawson, played by Jon Seda was hooked on pain killers. When he couldn’t get more, he resorted to street dealers. His team knew there was something wrong, as did Voight, but Dawson was too ashamed to admit anything.
Voight, played by Jason Beghe, confronted him. Dawson broke down. Voight comforted him. It was a scene usually reserved for a man and woman, except it was Dawson crying on his boss’s shoulder before pulling himself together in a macho sort of way.
It was beautifully acted as this hard man showed his vulnerable side and Voight, the tough guy, showed him compassion. It moved me, and silently I applauded the actors. Then I forgot about it.
That was when my subconscious took over, weaving a tale of its own.
Then, last night, I dreamt I was driving in a car with my husband when we pulled up near some road workers. Hubby beckoned them to the car window. This particular guy was dressed in typical workman’s dirty jeans and work boots. He also wore a white vest stretched over his chest hinting at the six pack below. The muscles on his arms bulged showing how much manual work he had done.
By complete contrast, he had bleached blonde hair, slightly frizzed, cut in a bob just below his ears. His face was fully made up complete with rosy cheeks and false eyelashes. As he put his big hands on the wound down window, I saw he was wearing dark nail varnish.
Hubby snapped his photograph with his phone, then using his finger swiped it onto another photo showing two other men who all looked similar. He held up the phone to show the guy and the other workman. They were all very impressed. The guy with the make up was particularly was flattered.
When I awoke, I knew exactly where it came from, and laughed. It was a ten second segment on a programme called Blind Date as it advertised next week’s episode.
A man wearing a dress, heels, and full make up, strode into the blind date restaurant and sat on a stool at the bar to await his date – a woman– 10 seconds! I forgot about it, but my sub conscious hadn’t.
It’s a fun game matching my dreams to their origin, you should try it, too!