A while back, I had a dream about a man that I did not know, but had seen several times as a fellow customer in the grocery store. I dreamed that he was going to win over a million dollars in Lotto, and the point of the dream was for me to tell him this (I guess so he would keep playing).

I felt somewhat like an ass, but next time I noticed him in the store, I went up to him and told him, “I know this sounds strange, BUT the message in this dream was insistent, so …”

Turns out that he was indeed a regular Lotto player and he took my dream seriously, nodded, and thanked me.

This falls under the category Strange, rather than Lucid, dreams…

I was taking a Greyhound bus trip down to Key West, Florida. From where, I don’t know, but it was a LONG trip. It seemed, in the dream, that I had been on the bus for untold days.

There were Russian women and children on the bus, and at some point we pulled over, in order for them to go foraging. Foraging for what? Apparently, the very delectable eggs of the bird Loon. We all fanned out, and I followed a few of the women and their kids on the mission.

They gathered quite a few of these mysterious loon eggs, and we headed back towards the bus.Then they began eating some of these loon eggs, RAW, just as is, and offered me some. Since it was a dream, I gave it a try, and these acidic-tasting eggs were a horrible dream experience! Their nastiness of taste seemed SO real, it turned my dream stomach, and I began spitting them out! After that I began handing out the ones given to me to some of the women and children, and they were very grateful, and began scarfing them down as a true delicacy.

I was stunned, and a little sick from the taste and witnessing of it all.

This dream was, in a word, YUCK.

On my previous posts, I spoke about having strange dreams. In one of them, my grandfather appeared and informed me that he wanted to move. I am not sure if it was because in the dream I was being burglarized, or the stress of my life at the time, but he did mention that he wanted to move to another state. He showed me a piece of paper. In that piece of paper he had written two states: Iowa and Virginia. Well I had long guessed that my husband’s next duty station would be Virginia, since there are no ships in Iowa, and this dream confirmed it for me. Plus, Iowa was never on the table as an option. Funny….It is strange that many of my dreams are prophecies for me, or are they?  Maybe these dreams are just repeating what I already know very deep within my soul.

So, yes we are moving to Virginia. The news came to no surprise. However, it was bittersweet to my ears. The first time we moved to VA, I will admit I was not happy there. I was going through a difficult time with my husband being deployed, planning a wedding for our families, working 12-hour shifts, and driving to NJ every weekend. I was also going through a terrible time at my job at the time and was applying for Grad School. This time, I am still not a fan of where we are going, but I do have friends there that have recently moved to the area where we will be stationed. I also have some old friends I made while living there, so I am very hopeful that I will enjoy residing there a bit more this time. I am not planning a wedding or big event, and I can focus on my school work while my husband is deployed. This should definitely be a plus. I have also matured more and have a better understanding on what it takes to be a military spouse.

On the other hand, I already know that this semester is going to be a nightmare. My semester started yesterday, with one computer programming class and two Bioinformatics classes. They are advance, graduate level classes. They all require tons of reading, home work, midterms, and finals. So, not only will I be stressed out with the level of work, but I will also be hyperventilating while thinking about these tests. I am a terrible test taker!!!!

Wish me luck!!!!

Comments and Suggestions are always welcomed!!!

Happy Reading!!!

*** Image obtained from: http://cores.montana.edu/uploads/images/misc/Fxnl%20Genomics%20Core%20Facility/bioinformatics.jpg

Beginning to process and input the last year-plus of dreams, the first of note was this one… from September 15, 2010

Walking up a mountain, dry with pines, I suddenly saw something move quickly out of the corner of my eye. Following the mysterious animal into the bush, a clearing soon opened up. Atop a rock was a squirrel-esque being, unfamiliar to me, with pointy ears, stripes like a chipmunk, and a striped and bushy tail.

I had a squirrel field guide with me and started flipping through the pages. Finally, there it was: The Mount Wasson Quail Squirrel. That had to be it. Right there in my handy field guide.

The only problem was… it was a dream, and I certainly had not discovered a new squirrel species. But I DID think it interesting that my dreaming mind used “Wasson”, since my ONLY connotation to that word is the last name of Gordon Wasson, a mycologist who, early on in the 50s and 60s, brought to America the wisdom of the shamanic and healing uses of mushrooms as practiced in Mexico.

Bizarre.

First and foremost, I did not buy travel medical insurance. My health insurance ‘covered’ emergency visits, but I learned not to trust Aetna with my soul. As a future doctor, I’m going to be bitter enemies with insurance companies. I also did not want to pay for the $80 MedEx travel insurance that covered medical visits and repatriation in case disasters hit. I was already embittered that my insurance did not cover preventative measures, like the Typhoid Fever vaccine, Anti-Malaria medications, and antibiotics. My stupid insurance only paid up if I got sick and needed treatment. How stupid is that?!

Here was my hefty pre-India medical to-do list. Most of the precautions are due to the poor hygiene and sanitation habits in underdeveloped countries. Let’s say I was drugged up for my trip to India:

• Polio booster shot
• Hepatitis A vaccine for travelers: There’s a risk of infection through contaminated food. If someone did not wash his hands after the bathroom and touched the table, especially in a nation of hand-eaters and no toilet paper, then there’s the route of infection transmission and happily festering viruses and bacteria.
• Typhoid Fever vaccine: I did not get this because my insurance did not cover the hefty costs (>$100 out-of-pocket). This is contracted through contaminated food and drinking water that has come from feces infected with Salmonella. I’ve been warned again and again NOT to drink the water in India, likely for this reason and other obvious ones. Hence, I should’ve been more careful with all the fruit drinks and milkshakes because there could be ice and blenders washed in water.
• Travelers’ Diarrhea, or Montezuma’s Revenge:  The main culprit is entertoxigenic E. Coli in contaminated food and water. I hear it’s the worst feeling ever, because you make a home on your toilet all day long. And it’s like a monsoon out the other end. Additional symptoms aside from watery stool include nausea, vomiting, bloating, abdominal pain, fever, and malaise. I came prepared with azithromycin to fend off the diarrhea in case it happened.
• Malaria: I was in the malaria belt. It’s a parasitic infection, the Plasmodium bugger, that is transmitted via mosquitoes. It’s a very ugly and disgusting disease, a medical emergency actually, with flu-like symptoms, significant anemia, high fevers, and shaking chills. I came armed with OFF! bug spray and an expensive anti-malarial drug, Mefloquine. I had to take my medications once a week at the same time. A good way to remember was MMM, or Malaria Monday Mornings. Even though I was equipped with bug spray that made me smell like oranges, I was still a buffet feast for bugs and mosquitoes. One night in bed, I came down with almost numerous bites. After my beach trips and evening strolls, I suffered more bug bites on my feet, legs, and arms.

I had my share of health issues.

• Halfway into my trip in early July, I started feeling symptomatic. Around July 1, that afternoon I was visiting neighboring East Fort. On the way home, I started feeling sick… headaches, fatigue, mild fever, dehydration. I felt dizzy and hot. I was not sure if it was the weather affecting me, but the sun’s heat and the ambient stuffiness did not help. My body inside felt feverish. Throat pain began a few days ago, and continued unabated. I got home super tired. I took a cold shower and went to sleep at 6:00 pm. I skipped dinner and slept until midnight, when I woke up and rolled around, until I fell asleep again. All night, I was disturbed by the heat and crying dogs outside. The last few days I’ve been having dreams, strange and random ones I can barely remember. To listen into the night and hear moaning dogs made me wonder, Am I crazy?

• I was most concerned I contracted a disease like Typhoid Fever, which I was not vaccinated for. I could have had other serious tropical infectious diseases pestering me, but I did not know for sure. Then it dawned on me, I was taking anti-malarials, which entailed side effects. Mefloquine side effects include *mental disturbances, unusual dreams, fever, chills, dizziness, muscle aches, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, stomach pain, appetite loss, and sleepiness. More serious ones include seizures, anxiety, depression, mood changes, panic attacks, confusion, hallucinations, and suicide. Ouch… When I read the drug sheet and saw the note on potential mental disturbances and other symptoms, I had a light-bulb moment. Because I was adjusting to the drug, I experienced the various complications, especially the weird dreams and noises. Maybe they were real or they were in my head, but I believe it was drug-induced.

• The next day, I woke up at 8:00 am and ate my healthy breakfast of milk, fruits, and cereal. I went back to bed all sore. Not sure if it was due to how much I slept and rolled around in bed or because of my mefloquine. I had terrible back pain and jaw aches. On top of all that, I was still warm and tired. My throat hurt a little still, but slightly better. My eyes still felt swollen and feverish, especially when I blinked. The head was still achy and dizzy. Overall, though, I felt much more improved after a long night’s sleep. Because I did not feel as sick as last night, I was good to go on my weekend excursion…
• Regarding diarrhea… I got lucky. I don’t think I got hit with the E. Coli bug, but I had some bowel issues. A few mornings in a row, I woke up in the morning with severe abdominal cramps and a sense of urgency. Needless to say, I hit the bathroom with loose stool. Because I was careful with my drinking water, I did not catch TD. I did believe I ate something funny, since my bowel issues came after eating Indian food at this place called Kabab. I’d eat spicy, saucy dishes that were too good to resist, only to pay for it the next morning. One of my last days in India, I ate at a vegetarian place called Ariyajoythi, some coconut fried rice and mutter paneer and chenna patoora, and suffered the gurgling and cramping consequences at the airport and on the plane to Abu Dhabi. Better to stick to the burgers and pizzas in India if you can afford it! Beware of Indian food… it’s a fire to the ass.

Beware of hardcore Indian food

“Bad Sushi”

20 August 2011

9″X7″ journal, vintage image, paint, tape, black gesso.

Have you ever had one of those nights… totally bizarre dreams?  Odd visions, disjointed, meandering, strange flashes of the past, or is premonitions of my future?  I had one of those nights a while back.  So I decided to turn it into an art journal spread this weekend while playing in the sun.  Perhaps it was all just remnants of a bad piece of sushi from dinner?

I’m not sure why we worried about safety.  It’s a police state.  You have the city police everywhere.  The federal police are also on the streets.  And the state police come through the area.  We saw a few impromptu checkpoints on the way to the church.  They said they were looking for drunk drivers, but at really strange times.  Either way, it is disconcerting to see police with automatic weapons asking you to stop.

The Night Before

I think Wednesday was another hot cakes day.  The breakfasts were starting to blur for me.  My back was feeling better, but my foot wasn’t much better.  When there was an opportunity to take a ride to the hardware store, I took it.  I was wearing my old Ace t-shirt and I thought I’d compare stores.  But along the way we were pulled over.  The policeman had to have great eyes.  He pulled us over because Esteban, in the passenger seat, wasn’t wearing his seat belt.  He never does.  But the officer saw this while driving in the other direction.  Could be he saw 2 Americans riding with a Mexican and wanted to make sure we weren’t up to no good.

It is amazing how much quicker you pray when the officer who asks the driver to step out is heavily armed.  Soon our driver was back in the car, without a fine.  When told we were helping a church, and doing a Backyard Bible Club, he asked if his son could come.  My prayers were answered.

The hardware store reminded me of an auto parts store.  There were big ticket and hard to steal on the floor.  But most things were behind the counter.  It was fun poking around.  Now we had locks for the exterior door and could keep our tools up there at night.  This eliminated the twice daily caravan from the sanctuary to the work area.

More progress was being made on the sheet rock.  We were going over budget on construction supplies.  Our pace had slowed, but we were still doing well. For devotionals we talked about the tongue, and ended with an affirmation exercise.  Not quite Dan Velker’s hot seat, but it was a refreshing time together.

Turnout for BBC was a little low since the Pastor had been out of town for a meeting.  The van had not gone to pick up other kids.  But we still had about 25 to learn about Jesus, the Light of the World.  Dinner was an unusual dish for us.  Whole fried fish.  Some people didn’t want that guy staring back up at them.  But it was delicious.  We spent more time talking around the table, but weariness was setting in.

It would be a long night.  I woke up after a few hours and my brain began to work.  I was thinking about previous mission trips, and my mind settled on 1998.  As I pondered what was one of the roughest years of my life- I once described it as a tornado had run through my life.  One of the main themes was “power struggles”.  I lost one at work and was out of work for awhile.  The trip had been marred at various points by power struggles.  One relationship recovered and the other was never the same.  I remembered my most difficult client during my counseling internship that year- power struggles each week.  I failed miserably in bringing this up as how I experienced him.

Finally I went to sleep again.  I think this was the night of the freaky dreams.  In one we had adopted 2 more kids and had a house full of guests.  CavWife was nowhere to be found as I dealt with crisis after crisis.  I would awaken, unprepared for the next day.

For the past couple of months, something has called out to me. Something has brought my (past) outright and in my face. Lost letters suddenly appearing in-between the pages of a forgotten journal.  The review of an old manuscript that brought up “old” questions. Strange dreams and even stranger phone calls. New meetings, new people, new advice and viewpoints, and new lessons.

Whatever it was that was beckoning me, demanded my attention. For days, I began reading me.  I read through over 10 complete journals. I read my scribble on loose paper tucked away in drawers. I went through my websites, posts and drafts. My one liners, poetry, and short stories. My rambles, photographs, and even artwork.

What I saw was painfully heart-breaking and tearful. There was a constant, resounding, wailing cry in my writing. I found out was that (I) was sad, angry,  hurt, and bitter. Yet, convincingly content with my feelings. I realized that I  had protected hate within me. Hate became my friend and confidant. Hate was my defender yet my baby.  I even gave it a name (The Jackal) which will be premiering in short-story form hopefully in a couple of days. I became so crafty with my defensive techniques that I honestly believed that I had to nurture my hate to be a complete and whole person.

I’ve always spoke openly about my duality, my personalities (not clinical), my day and night. It has never been a secret about how my life transitions and slips in-between the good and the bad. Actually, I’ve somewhat embraced the differences because I believed that it made me more of an interesting person. But, most importantly this beloved hate of mine, does something simply intriguing to my writing. My hate has given to what I love the most (my work) an undeniable twist.  Therefore, believe me when I say that I have more than a bit of fear now. I’m petrified about what this fast approaching (change) may do to me and my ability to write. Which could be why I’ve ignored (it) for so long.

But, the CALL. This Call wouldn’t wait any longer. In a sense, the Mirror that I had eyed myself in (my Bipolar Mirror/Bipolar Mirror Skits) suddenly crashed and a new one appeared.  This other mirror had been hidden behind the first mirror.  Imagine me.  Imagine this. I freaked out!  WTH! Here, I thought my dress was already hiked and panties proudly displayed. Only to find out that there are ruffles, and layers upon ruffles, slips and petticoats, garters and stockings, layers upon layers before you/I can get to the goodies.

I’ve come face to face with the fact that I have been a hypocrite. Pointing fingers at others and their mess or lack of, just to make “My Mess” more acceptable. Holding on to a dreadful past and saying I’m moving forward because I’m confronting it and knowing with all my soul that I’m lying to myself and everyone else who loves me. I haven’t confronted anything. Because if I truly had, there would be no need nor want to hold on to it. It doesn’t make sense and hasn’t for years.  I’ve written about it often and shamelessly.

The Box  “I know that I am fragile, a bit damaged, cunningly beastly…. but you don’t…You can’t see it. You won’t be able to recognize it, even if you did… by chance… have one unspeakable moment to peer into me…It’s too ghastly and lurid for you to comprehend.

You are too perfect, so perfect to ever know evil; even when your holding it in your hands.

So, put me back… in the box….quick.

Continuum  …”Itching.. I scratch holes in my skin..
twisting and restless..I pick through my flesh
Anxiously, I scrape; (to get the bad out)
but the drips they suckle

Instead, of watching them go hungry..I feed them
Lest, they thirst..how will I survive.”

I’ve held on to Hate but claimed I wanted Love.  Hate monopolized so much of me that Love would never be able to fit. My life has been a big contradiction and it’s no wonder why I’ve been so confused.

I talk about the Love Movement so much, and how it is fundamental in anything and everything. Yet, I casually brush it away every time it lands on my shoulder.

“The Call” is LOVE.  Love called out to me..and I listened. Not just physically. My soul listened. I heard and felt the sound, clear. Love for me. Love just for me. Not given to me because it’s meant for me to share. I’ve done that. I’ve always given all the love I could hustle up to everyone else. On the surface, that’s what kept me going for all this time. Constantly passing. Passing it on, from hand to hand, project to project, charity to charity. Passing along and making others happy, kept me happy. Only because I felt that it would be selfish and futile to keep some for myself.  My hate and mess could never be conquered; so why bother. I convinced myself that if I ever kept love for myself that it would be “Thievery”. It’s stealing if you take something that you were never meant to have. Giving it all up was the right thing to do.

This time, The Universe,  called out to me. For me to hold on to, for me to keep, for me to heal away the hate; the hate that I thought kept me safe.  LOVE gently and tenderly shooed hate away.  Now, I understand that Love is all I need.  Love without acceptance. I don’t have to welcome the bad as apart of me, because it was bad that was inflicted on to me. I have never been forced to commit. I chose to commit to my hate out of fear. Now, I release it out of love. True love. Love for what brought me here (at this place) and in this state of mind.  Love for the Woman that I am TODAY. But, also love for my past and the girl who was left behind.  Love will tell my story and only with the hopes of retrieving more love…will be my motivation to write it.

Besides, I’ve tried Hate for so long, wouldn’t it be just as sensible to try Love?

My personal affirmations:

Love is my eyes and ears to ward against Hate.. if Hate should ever try to claim another mirror.

I can see myself clearly and without blemish only through the love-filled eyes of the Universe…(I see me just as I am seen)

I just keep having these strange dreams where I am not quite myself.

Every time though I learn a little something different.  (If my mind could actually do the stuff I do in the dreams)

Silliness yet again.

We were on a cruise ship, not surprising given my recent vacation. But this was some sort of bizarre special interest cruise. The cruise ship’s nightclub was a smoky, tired looking place that bore a striking resemblence to an old roller rink. At one point, a flash mob broke out into a rendition of Janet Jackson’s old hit “If” (which had a well choreographed video). Halfway through, Miss Jackson herself busted onto the stage and in an angry fit, put a stop to the folks who were “violating her copyright” and then preceded to show them how it was really done.  And not well. Her iconic dance moves looked more like a grand mal seizure. She was booed from the stage.

At some point, you know how dreams are–fragmented and following no real timeline, a group of two rowdy children made a nuisance of themselves on one of the stairways. I firmly demanded that the little hellions take me to their mother. So they marched me downstairs to what had to be the lowest deck on ship…we entered their stateroom where we found their mother in an obvious lesbian tryst.

“Not now kids! I’m trying to find myself!” she said, and as she got up to slam the door in our faces, her breasts looked like two giant bloodshot eyeballs.

As we moved down the hallway on this lower ship deck, a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing that the entertainment and shows were about to begin. Suddenly, hoards of people swarmed the hall, clammering to get into various staterooms. Somehow, I understood that the shows and entertainment were happening inside the various cabins, and so I started peeking in. In the first, a group of emo-looking emaciated people were doing God knows what to each other, all while a  big news camera was rolling. A group of midwestern tourists, looking like they might have just left their Sunday School groups, stood taking pictures and remarking to each other how wonderful the cruise was. I got out of there and went across the hall.

There, Betty White, as Rose Nylan, was joined by a rather embarassed looking Blanche, Dorothy, and Sophia. They were embarassed because Betty had volunteered to demonstrate a line of sex toys that bore her name. There, in front of God and everyone, she dropped her sensible skirt and made a 12 inch dildo disappear. Now before you ask, I hadn’t drank a drop, eaten anything strange, or partaken of any drugs, prescribed or otherwise before going to bed. But, as the emcee of the Betty White sex show announced that her toy would be auctioned off that night in the dining room, I woke up. Thank God.