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Elements of 3 Dreams: 4.3.2015

April 4, 2015

{4 consecutive days of dreams featuring characters from Lithuanian literature (which I’ve been reading a lot of), but then I’d wake up, and not remember anything specific. Nothing Lithuanian-related on Friday though.}


Spouse and I are in the bedroom that we stay in at his father’s house. I’m writing something on my laptop, which is resting on the top bunk that I sleep in; Spouse is elsewhere, doing something else. I suddenly realize the bedroom is flooded, and the waters are rising. I see many of the books I brought with me underwater, including my red-covered dictionary. I save the document I’m in, and hurriedly try to get the laptop turned off safely (without electrocuting myself).

I’m looking out the window at the desert-like backyard (mostly bare dirt, but also small cacti) when Spouse and I discuss when we’ll leave. He wants it to be tomorrow; I suggest we should stay at least one more day.

Later, I go back into our bedroom. The waters have receded: it’s just a little squishy on the floor. But I don’t recognize any of the stuff in the room as mine or ours. So I go back into the hall, and find a different bedroom, but I don’t recognize anything as mine there either. {It’s not that the stuff I see is covered in mud and debris, or moved around; it’s altogether absent.}



I’m attending a Catholic Mass that’s being held in a room that’s mostly a really-long corridor. There are many other people about, including women in my family {none of whom I can recall right now}. I’m waffling about whether I should take Communion or not, as the previously-very-long-line is winding down. Just as I decide that I will do it, the priest turns around and walks back toward the altar. A young JM, next to me, remonstrates with me for not acting sooner.

I don’t tell him that it was taking me so long to decide because… technically… I haven’t been Catholic since 1986, so I’m not actually entitled to receive Communion.



I meet a red-haired woman who looks vaguely familiar to me. I’m surprised, though, when she tells me I look vaguely familiar to her. She looks at my name tag, and I can see that she doesn’t recognize any of my names.

I consider asking her for her name: if I can determine in which context I knew her before, I can decide how much to disclose about having changed my names. But then I realize that the whole topic will kill the conversation, so I don’t do ask. I just smile slightly, and agree that it’s odd (that we look familiar to each other).



There are no bunk beds in the bedroom where we stay in FIL’s house, which is in Kentucky, not a desert. I don’t like the Kentucky house, but I liked this dream-house okay.

I rarely dream of deserts, but when I do… they are in New Mexico. This desert seemed more like Arizona. Which would make it unfamiliar, because I’ve only been to Arizona once, when I was very small.

The red-covered dictionary element was interesting because that dictionary is tucked away in a corner of my studio closet where it’s hard to get to — I don’t think I’ve used it since before we moved. Oh, wait — that red-cover isn’t my current dictionary; it’s my “college” dictionary, that I had since I was an undergraduate.

In the dream, as I looked around at “all my books” underwater, I wondered why I’d brought so many with me. There was some sense that many of the books were from grad school.

Okay, so in the dream, I brought all sorts of books with me, and my laptop. But then the flood destroyed or disappeared all the books, and everything else I owned that I’d brought with me. Usually, I’d be totally panicked in a dream like that, but I wasn’t. Even my suggestion of staying further was to “help out FIL”, not to recover or replace my lost stuff.

If I were to “get rid of” the words I used in college [dictionary], what would that mean? Ideas from grad school [non-dictionary books] that also need to go away would be what?

= = =

I don’t recall ever seeing a small cactus in person (not on TV or in a book). The lone one I’d been looking at seemed… friendly. Maybe by staying longer I was hoping to get better acquainted with it?

Like Havi, these days I’m thinking about how to do less, winnow away more stuff/things/ideas/activities that are no longer useful, so I can focus on what actually matters to me.

First the flood, then the fact that we were in desert but I had zeroed in on one specific cactus, suggests that I’m doing something right. I think.




I’ve been thinking about celebrating Easter again, but not in a religious way. And probably not on the actual date of Roman Catholic (or Eastern Orthodox) Easter. Just some time in the spring I guess.

{Easter probably needs its own blog post.}




I had red hair as a young child. As an adult, I colored my brown hair back to red for many years. The woman I met in the dream would not have known we had had hair color in common at some point.

I assumed I had either gone to school with her, or worked with her, at some point, but now that I’m thinking about it, in the dream it seemed like there was a third possibility; I don’t know what it was.

I’ve been Fiadhiglas since 1992, so if she didn’t recognize that name either, how would I have looked similar enough that she thought she knew me?

Also, how did I know her? Was she… a different version of me? Her hair was curlier. The way she was dressed struck me as conventional, suburban. Was she my Road Not Taken?

= = =

Why did I have a name tag, but she didn’t? I think she had more social status than I. But I didn’t want to bother with telling her more about my past history than necessary; I didn’t want to get to know her.

= = =

Even when people have names that I think seem interesting, if I ask them about their names, I usually hear about who their parents named them after. There’s a very communal flavor to these stories. Other people don’t have a category in their minds for people who name themselves, because other people apparently don’t know anybody like that. And since I’m an outlander (not part of their community), if I tell them my story (or some portion of it), instead of celebrating with me my discovered identity, they often take it as if I’m deliberately being anti-communal. And therefore, it’s off-putting.

I haven’t found any method of disclosing that I changed my names that doesn’t adversely impact how most people perceive me. Perhaps analogous to disclosing an invisible disability.

Every once in a while, someone will be interested in my story, rather than repelled. But, they still won’t celebrate with me.

In Dream #2, somebody else’s Sacrament, for a “community of believers” I haven’t been (even nominally) part of since 1986, would in no way be celebrating.


In Dream #1, I was forced to let go of things that represent previous (NT/book learning) stages of my life. Leaving me free to get better acquainted with a minimalist environment, in the here and now, where I can immerse myself, and do things.

Dream #2, letting go of outdated religious practices. Finding something that works for me.

Dream #3, letting go of… explaining my entire history when I don’t even want to get to know the other person. Letting go of thinking superficial resemblances between me and someone else mean I owe them something, while they (naturally) owe me nothing.

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