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Dream: 11.6.15

November 7, 2015

Visiting my parents, I go for a walk in the neighborhood behind theirs (where the K’s live), for old times’ sake. But… I don’t recognize anything. Instead of big houses in wooded lots with tall trees, there’s a long corridor of a multi-use complex. I enter. Interior architecture is streamlined and Scandinavian looking, with blond wood slats in curvilinear shapes.

The shops are all selling products enhanced by high tech, and very expensive. I’ve not only never seen this stuff before, I’ve never heard of it.

Funky elevators (like the sideways-ish one in the St. Louis Arch).

Everyone around me is clearly rich. Some of them are apparently tourists from all over who’ve come here … to shop.

I’m totally disoriented almost immediately. It’s interesting seeing all these things, but… I really intended to go for a walk in the woods. Where am I? How do I leave?

I can’t find any exits. The place is like a Möbius strip.

At some point, I’m underground, walking along a Main Street type of place, but with unpaved surfaces. The dirt is red-brown, and muddy. As I head down a hill, I have to wade through part of a river running somewhat over the road, then alongside it. In the distance, I see kind of a cavern, with the river running freely. It’s like that part is Outside/Nature. I want to go over there, but no matter how long I walk, I never arrive there.

Later, I’m Outside, where I see this complex now has its own train stop [Burlington Northern]. I somehow recognize that this must be the “new” stop at 89th St.

Later still, I’m outside the mall, but on the far side from my parents’ house. Instead of the mall alongside me, there’s an immensely-long row of townhouses, on the side of a hill. The area I’m in is a grassy marsh; there are trees off in the distance. I can’t find where to cross over.

I’m back inside the mall, walking around, looking out windows. There are cool views, but I don’t recognize the topography, at all. In the distance, there are cliffs and canyons. As night approaches, there are so many twinkling lights, it looks like a refinery or a city.

I occasionally see unfamiliar animals inside the mall, apparently trying to escape too. I see a tropical hummingbird. Later, I see a large man in a different, glassed-in hallway, harrying a furry critter with a broom.

The mall apparently keeps its own time. Like, it’s a time bubble of some sort.

I keep saying, “I’ve never been here before. I didn’t know this place existed.”

I finally find a man I can ask directions of. I tell him I’m trying to get back to my parents’ house, but before I can tell him where that is, he’s off and running, sure that he knows. Finally the man says, “Oh, you’ve definitely been here before! This used to be the Nature Preserve!”

I reel in shock, then faint, falling backwards.

+++

NOTES:

This felt so significant when I woke up yesterday that I thought about it all day. I’ve been wondering if a landscape/natural element somewhere found a way to contact me while I’m dreaming. If so, what are they trying to communicate?

I can’t think of any real place I’ve been that the dream topography of canyons and cliffs resembled. There’s certainly nothing like it near where my parents live.

There aren’t grassy marshes either. The dirt isn’t red-brown.

= = =

A river, rushing. A cavern. Chthonic.

Marsh grasses. Red-brown dirt. Delmarva?

= = =

89th St. and a train track (although not in the town my parents live in) was my grandmother’s neighborhood.

= = =

PP (in IL) is a Forest Preserve. It’s Indiana that has Nature Preserves. In fact, I worked at IDNR-DNP. I’m sure there are marshes in Indiana, esp southern Indiana, along the Ohio River, but… marshes didn’t become important to me until I moved to Maryland.

I wonder if the mall complex is… Twitter? Once I get in, I have trouble getting out. It’s a time-bubble. Lots of cool stuff is happening everywhere, but it’s not necessarily anything I’m personally connected with. The animals I encounter on Twitter are… generally being pestered by human beings. (If only to take their photograph. But sometimes they’re becoming specimens. Ick.)

= = =

Why Gramma though?

My roots.

Wait, what?

For years and years, when I dream about a house that signifies my inner life it’s Gramma’s house. I didn’t actually dream a house, though. Not my parents’ house, not Gramma’s house. I dreamed dirt and river and a train stop. Marsh.

I can almost feel what they’re trying to tell me. Almost.

The Indiana Dunes? There used to be a train stop — that’s how Chicago people got out there. It’s sort of that, and sort of not. There was a bog up there; I saw a least weasel when I was hiking in it, during that week I was up there for Controlled Burn Training. But that was… 1999. Well, that’s certainly a time bubble.

There’s something else. But I don’t know what.

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