Let it be known that I’m not an expert with analyzing dreams. This is just a take, a hypothetical query, my opinion, on what could be. After all, we all love possibility.
“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream at night.”
After this weekend’s observation post, considering a comment made by Mr. Bialczak, we folk–especially those of us would have tendencies to read into things more often than not (and I’m guilty of some)–are significantly divided when it comes to the whole dreaming stuff. Our dreams can be interpreted in the senses of being metaphorical and/or literal. Sometimes aspects will line up perfectly where some instances might night line up as well. These instances of déjà vu can be perplexing to many, worrisome or inspirational.
One of my short stories, a 20-pager, is based on dreams that I’ve had. In that story, which is available to be read online and posted at the bottom of this page, a few things are brought to my attention before they even happen, and two of them being: dreaming about Salisbury Cathedral before stepping foot in the church, the building that holds Syracuse Media Group and the apartments/condominiums in downtown Syracuse.
Some people dream in black-and-white, in color, and sometimes both. Not to come down on those people, but some may not even dream. Food, sleep patterns, habits, and positioning may have an impact on how you dream, often and clarity.
There is a great desire on my part to become a better lucid dreamer, and there are several articles on that awareness and ability to take control when dreaming. Sure, I’m dropping Wikipedia pages like it’s my job, but it’s for definition purposes; it’s better than leading you in a terrible direction; going through articles will happen, and if they are posted I hope the articles are credible enough. As a start, it’s about developing patterns, paying more attention to detail, getting that much-needed rest, and keeping a journal.
My grandfather is quoted to have said that eating popcorn before bed generates bad dreams. It’s enjoyed eating popcorn before bed, but it’s a hit-and-miss experimentation with the anticipation of nightmares. However, it is rare that something so terrible wakes me from my slumber; most of the projections during R.E.M. are odd, not terrifying. It’s not playing Chess with the Devil, but more playing cards with H.P. Lovecraft, but more on Steinbeck’s level.
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I do not think that it’s nonsense that there is one person out there that you are destined to be with. Disney movies, projecting the stories that they have and will continue to tell, are absolutely correct. The stories–the movies–stop at the moment of the final kiss, embrace, a wedding. Regardless, it’s a high note.
And people bitch when a movie is left open-ended. These movies are not?
We, the admiring audience, do not get to see the married life of these destined individuals, but we get the suspicion that there actually is a happily ever after. If their lives pan out the way it’s expected–it’s perfect. They live merrily with the creatures around them, breaking out into song and dance every so often–and by every so often, it is meant every single day. However, the lucky-in-love couple must have a terrible sex life.
Don’t look at me; I’m shrugging my shoulders.
So, is it to be determined that there are multiple possibilities out there for you? Possibly, but it’s more said than actually determined. If there is that special someone of your dreams, then there is only one person out there for you. With this other person, you would live happily ever after, just as the fairy tales say. There wouldn’t be fighting. There would be singing. There would be an influx of Earth’s creatures up in your business on a daily basis. And you sex life would be nonexistent.
However, you’re probably wondering how several of these characters, the princesses especially, came about. That answer is simple: The Stork. How was Dumbo was delivered? By Stork. Sure, that bird has probably retired by now, but there is certainty that there are plenty more of those baby deliverers out there. That baby delivery service provides for every walk of live. Even amoebas and any other microorganism that asexually reproduces.
Childbirth does not exist in the world of Disney. Magic and death are evident, but not childbirth.
This is what life is like with that one special person. Flawless.
However, this would mean that there are a copious amount of suitors lining up in a close second, third, fourth, etc. This would mean there is more than one appropriate suitor, but each suitor would have some distinguishable quality that sets them back from the rest, The One. A smidgen of a difference would separate #2 from #3, and no one should be going through life scrutinizing their relationships like that. Since second place is the first loser, from that silver medalist out the relationships are plagued with actual feelings and trials: falling in love, absolute love, hate, jealousy, bliss, sadness, arguments, re-connection, and child birth among several other scenarios.
At least we humans have the ability to make love. (How many times does this have to be brought up?)
However, since life is not perfect, we are never meant to meet that one special person, the crème de la crème of suitors.
You either settle for second best or third… or forth… or…
However, on a serious note, we don’t want it any other way. As much as we want perfection, we’ll inevitably be bored by it. We want to experience the nth degrees of love and hate as well as everything in between. As bittersweet as it is, these feelings make us feel alive.
There isn’t an understanding about polygamy. For one, it doesn’t make sense to me. Secondly, despite it being for religious purposes, it seems like an excuse to not settle.
Face it folks, we want to fall in love. We want our partners to be imperfect, and we want them to be better than ourselves; we hope that a lesson or many can be taken from them to make us a better person. For those who think otherwise… well, think otherwise. See where it gets you. I can’t wait to be happily married to my imperfect wife, who loves me for all my imperfections. Reminder: we are human after all.
The whole imperfections thing isn’t what relationships are about either, so don’t go basing your life on that. Imperfections are simply inevitable.
*** *** ***
About this girl from the other night. This is the girl, who I was supposed to remember; she was wearing a yellow coat at some point. This is clearly a case of The Girl of My Dreams. There is no way the scientific explanation regarding this phenomenon will be explored. There is only a certain amount of space, time, and words anyone can read or write for that matter. Let this be my opinion.
Depending on who you are, you’ll have a guy or girl of your actual dreams regardless of your ideal partner in the waking hours. In reality, before numerous and various surgeries, there are only so many looks the person can pull off. In the dream world, this recurring character is nothing more than a figment. This desire, temptress in my case, has the ability to take various forms and looks whenever she chooses. She can be as much of an antagonist as a protagonist. It’s been learned she can be of various statures and with different hair colors and styles.
Regardless, she makes an appearance. In this case, her cuteness was described by her long hazelnut/dirty blond hair and her wide eyes with a ashen blue. She was bubbly, but not obnoxious; she had a sexiness to her, but she wasn’t overwhelming. If this was to be the one, it would have been.
There is no recollection of dreaming about a yellow coat. Which means one thing:
Look toward real life.
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Dreams are supposed to be giving insight into ourselves, our everyday lives. Sometimes dreams are far-fetched. Sometimes dreams relive situations in the past, maybe even past lives. Sometimes dreams will play out and create instances of déjà vu.
A third instance. When I was a freshman in college, my parents were coming to visit one weekend. The night before, a dream of a car accident flashed through my mind. Thinking I was crazy, telling myself that these were ridiculous thoughts, I didn’t call them up to give them warning. They took Route 206 when coming to Oneonta that rainy Saturday. To make a long story short, they were moments away, late, for an accident involving a semi; a sedan ended up hitting the semi, taking the roof of the car off.
This dreaming doesn’t happen often, but the parallel déjà vu moment is noticeable when it does. It’s best to simply stay collected when these instances happen.
So should we pay attention to signs? Repetition? Coincidence? Is there such thing as coincidence?
It was essentially cheating when getting a reading late last year. It was out of desperation, because there was a need for a pick-me-up. Many of the things that were said by my counselor (as she will be referred to), have fit. Some notions have parallels. Some have not come true, or have not happened. Much, in my opinion, could have been misread. Insight/Information told to me has pertained to my friends rather than myself, and I’m fine with that. There is no way I’m going to enlighten my friends as to who-is-who, because some may dislike it and others will get a bigger ego out of it.
Instead, I’ve been relying on signs and dreams to steer me. No, it hasn’t worked as frequently as preferred. However, it’s the beauty of living and accepting what is thrown at you.
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Let’s take Paris for instance. In December, there was a post about my obsession with Paris and travelling again and abroad to Europe. There really is no sound reasoning why the dreams were about the French city were so prominent. The idea was to travel again, and coming across a trip that included Belgium (Brussels and Bruges) and Amsterdam seemed more than fitting. The placement was perfect. One night, after another dream of Paris, it was noticed that fellow Mr. Fox posted an entry about Paris. Soon and days after, he posted about Bruges. Yes, it is quite funny.
However, what if this adventurer writing to you is not to travel there? What if it is simply a prompt, or sign? Since, the Paris/traveling ordeal, three (Rule of Three) prospects have been brought to my attention, and they all fall into suit with blogging. The first is the infamous New York City blogger, whose impeccable writing style and fashion are nothing short of attractive. The first time that I went to New York in a while, she posted on social media that she was at Brooklyn’s Dinosaur Bar-B-Que and in December we were at the Rockefeller Center tree in the same ten minutes. However, by way of the blog, this fashionable prospect (if the whole prospect term isn’t eye rolling), went through a little dilemma with traveling to Paris–it did not happen. Her pretentiousness gets in the way, and it would if we should happen to ever meet and fall for each other–both are not in the foreseen future. Not holding breath on that note.
The following three are simply considerations, three beautiful and talented women to base My Type on. There are thoughts of What if? without of having acting upon pursuing them. Reality gets in the way, and so I back away from it’s electrified fence. The second is an established—
OK. OK. OK. Pause. Stop. Hold.
A significant chunk was eliminated from the post. The three paragraphs that were written out here were
bullshit–no, not that, but they… they simply did not seem right to include. Going through potential women? Have I gone mad? Really? What have I said… writing about such women can only bring bad vibes, jinxing me from pursuing those women in these posts. That damn jinx would essentially get in the way, it was once believed; however, the jinx was ignored at one point, and the concept was thrown out the window. Regardless, there is no reason to sink back to that level that of pathetic writing, of second guessing.
The truth is… [taps finger on keypad]. The truth is that these potentials, these women who I have essentially pined over and placed upon a pedestal, determining the perceived my type that people inquire about, are immaculate. Due to recurring small self-esteem issues, those damn stragglers that are longer than expected, there will be difficulty in addressing the whole beginning stages to starting the dating process off. Describing the situations surrounding these women is similar to my kicking sand into the wind. There really are no words for them. This post, this section specifically, has been revised probably the most times out of any of my previous posts. It’s not editing myself, it’s eradicating the rubbish writing.
Writing the women in here would detract from mystery, aura, appeal… potential.
There are no flowery terms or phrases, metaphors to decorate such beauties of the finer gender. The words for the compliments are not flowers in their hair. There are no choppy sentences for emphasis. It’d be better off writing choppy first-grader statements to describe something. Chris has brown hair. Peanut M&M’s are his favorite candy. He likes to read. Nonsense sentences like those gems are all that would come out.
Metaphor. I’d be that kid who is by himself, lying in the grass and staring at the clouds at recess; the cute girl in class comes over and conversation starts; she kisses me on the cheek–whether it is a dare or not–and runs away, leaving me baffled and intrigued. (The scenario never happened by the way, and if I were with friends, the kiss would be played off as gross.)
When it comes down to it distance takes a toll in various definitions–geographical, mental, etc. Two destined for one another could be right next to each other, but mentally on opposite sides of the globe. In this case, these potential cases, geography and mentality come into play, generating bewilderment and personal
stupidity foolishness. Why? is the question that escapes my lips. The opportunities missed are recognized. The sensation kicks the backs of your knees–both of them and at the same time–and you find yourself kneeling in some city puddle with rain falling down around you while the rest of the population maneuvers around you and protected by their umbrellas.
And it’s the moment. That moment where you let it all go. It drops, fear. It is the too frigid, brittle snowflake that shatters upon hitting the ground despite slowly coming in for a landing. It’s a moment where you don’t realize you’re not saying anything, but you’re taking everything in–the people, the music and the silence when they take turns. Your friends pick up on it, but their little one(s) may not due to youth and not fully understanding what finding yourself truly means, wondering why silence brings out the beat of man’s heart, why a night ends with staring out through a condensation-freckled window into lamplight-kissed darkness. Possibility–footsteps cross paths and shoulders may have bumped into one another. It doesn’t matter. Dwelling on the idea of simply… it. And it doesn’t really matter with the small success, wondering if maybe third time could be a charm. It’s not. The third time could end disastrously: the truth that what you were pursuing could be a sour time. Nothing could/would be said to one another; there is just a glance with a small spark of recognition.
That would be the third encounter. That dream, that ponder would be anticlimactic when it should eventually happen. With any luck, perhaps there would be a second glance, but that would happen when the other’s head is turned. The cliched look-back.
The girl of one’s dream ends up as a doppelganger.
Why waste a good effort, moment on someone who would take it for granted and not appreciate it. The return to normalcy is returned to, viewed as an unmade bed because of the desire to want to remember the comfortable position that you were in while waking up. Regularity, your life, is returned to. And every door you hear opening you wonder if that someone is walking through the threshold.
There is a risk in writing this, but it can’t be thought of negatively. Yet, there is intrigue and interest with getting myself into predicaments.
This is the process of closing oneself off to other potential women, but that’s the risk willing to be taken. Standards, despite not being a bad thing, is often counterproductive at times.
*** *** ***
However, we have the duplicitous. There is the potential to meet a fit, but these people turn out to be what can only be described in one word, the infamous doppelganger. Sure, the potential partner can seem lovely, perfect and idealistic… the situation could be realistic… however, there is duplicity festering in that head of theirs. It’s not that the doppelganger looks exactly like someone, but they could come across as someone else with their personality. The nature of the doppelganger can range with various antagonistic characteristics to lead you astray.
But that’s for another time.
Oh, the story. Here are the parts, in order. Enjoy this while on the can… or wherever.