The Places I Go

I’m prone to fantasy and I have a vivid imagination.  My visions are not of mystical places on far away worlds, but perfect places that only exist in our minds.  I curl up in my bed at night and there I am, in my wigwam in the woods.  In my dwelling, the one that I constructed with just the materials in the local forest, it is my sanctuary and I am at peace with my environment.  The richness of the fantasy includes the sweet songs of birds, the earthy loam of dirt, the chill of the winter air, so many visceral things that make my dream hut perfect.

My love of playing tennis is apparent by my constant need to play.  Few people know that I visit the grass courts in Newport News, the one of the few old clubs I have not visited.  It’s the 20’s and tennis is the new rave.  The members all dress in white, in their proper tennis attire, and me, the black sheep of the club are wearing all black.  There are always muffled whispers as I pass, some praising my tennis, others condemning my foul attitude.  Then the tennis game begins, and all are quiet, for all the derision turns into respect as my tennis game goes on display.  They witness unearthly spins and power, movement beyond comprehension, and a un-returnable serve.  It is a perfect game at a perfect tennis club, because it is mine!

Gardening is one of my passions, but in my fantasy world, mankind has toppled the modern world, and we have slipped back to a time before industrialization.  My backyard farm is a source of both power and weakness.  The excess food supply allows close friends and family a place to eat and be safe.  This extra man-power is used to defend the homestead and the food stores.  I clearly set up traps and weapons to defend my house and prepare my family for any form of attack.  It’s my feeding the local dog pack that gives me the most security.  They consider me part of their pack, and their leader, Duke, stays at the house with me.  Even after the fall of governments, my post-apocalyptic homestead is perfect.

I’m a gamer and have been playing D&D for more than thirty years.  I never dream about the fantasy realms that I campaign in, instead the magic and abilities from my characters invade my day-to-day life.  I’ll dream of me fixing my house using the magic organ my Bard character has, or control the minds of my neighbors with a handy cantrip or blessing.  The dream of healing an injury just by laying hands on the wound occurs often in my passing dreams.  Mainly, the magic and power of my gaming characters, is transferred to me and what I had difficulty doing over the last week.  It turns a loss into a victory and makes it a perfect place to visit and heal. 

The places I go in my mind can never take the place of hugging my children, or feeling real earth on my hands.  I don’t think I use dreaming as a way to visit more places, I think I use it to find relaxing places in my mind, places I can go no matter how things are.  A vacation in the middle of a mental storm, a warm place to go before sleep, or something else, I’m really not sure.  What I do know, is that I have been visiting these places for a very long time, and they remain perfect and waiting for my next visit.

Dreams

Writing a blog can be a blessing in one’s life.  The ability to put your thoughts down in writing is a gift and not to be taken lightly.  Some blogs come easily where others are a struggle and are finished through discipline and experience.  I blog about what I know, but rest assured there are others with the same, if not superior, knowledge of the subject.  I might find a pithier way of saying it, but I’m not world’s leading expert on anything.  Or am I?  

I can say with pride that I am the world’s leading “Me” expert.  I have access to all my thoughts, a real insider’s view!  More so, I can reveal secrets, known by no one and exclusive.  My recall for old dreams is unusual and I still remember dreams from when I was a little kid.  I wonder how many of you remember dreams clearly.  For me, time has not dulled my recall of several dreams and feel as I was growing up that the dream world was unbelievably close at hand.

I was eight or so, and the dream starts in a most horrible fashion.  My home was being attacked by a giant T-Rex.  Ripping at the roof of the house, with my room closest to the attack.  There is dust and debris around my room, and I crawl into the closet.  Another ear-piercing roar by the dinosaur and my heart is beating out of my chest.  I see the outline of the T-Rex’s head coming towards the closet.  Death is near. I quickly slide down the escape pole and it takes me to the “Fantasticar,” the hover car used in the 60’s Fantastic Four cartoon.  We zoom out above the beast.  In the car is The Thing, Human Torch, my grandma as The Invisible Girl (they had the same hairstyle), and me.  Using my ray gun, the four of us defeat the dinosaur, but as the battle starts, the dream fades.  I remember feeling safe around The Invisible Girl.

It’s the first week of my sophomore year of college.  I’m arriving driving my red car.  I greet my friends and settle in my dorm, but it’s an apartment I lived in my junior year.  I feel excitement being with my friends, it feels like it’s been a long time over the summer.  We greet and break out the bong.  All my best friends are there, and we get high.  For the next few hours we all get ready for a party.  We get dressed and laugh about how great the party is going to be.  As we drive, the dream ends, and I wake knowing that that was 30 years ago. Why does it feel so close?  If I close my eyes, I can almost reach out and touch them.  I weep for the man I used to be, he is long gone, lost in the moments of time and dreams.

It’s the middle of the night and I’m at my grandparent’s apartment on East 57th Street in Manhattan.  The apartment is done in gold and I’m in the living room, sleeping on the couch.  The grandfather clock ticks away and I listen to the noises of the taxi cabs as they race through the night.  I sit up and look around. The painting of my mother from when she was a teenager hangs on the wall next to me.  I stare at the picture wondering what my mom was like when she was young? I get up to look at giant grandfather clock, 3am, still hours to anyone waking!   I return to my couch and look out the window. The movie theater’s marquee glows red and I look down from my 10-floor perch. The cars zoom by and they look so small.  I have no clue what they could be doing in the middle of the night, or where they could be going.  I lie back on my make-shift bed and feel longing to be with my grandparents.  My grandfather was always up first, and I looked forward to his musty good morning hug. The night never seems to end, but the dream does.

Not a month goes by that these dreams don’t invade my sleeping mind.  Like some guidepost to a hidden treasure, these dreams remain over time.  I have always respected the power of dreams and have always felt that their presence is the minds gift to deal with the unstopping torrent of time.  To be so close to a place that is made of pure thought in quite a profound thing.  I go to sleep each night wondering where I will go in my next sleep time journey?