Sycamore Trees and Green Folding Seats

Last night I dreamt that I lived in a neighborhood of white picket fences and large photo-shopped trees.  I drove my little car into my driveway as my wife was backing our “soccer mom” four-wheel-drive out and leaving.  We had a son in the dream.

I parked my car (as it morphed into a pillow) right next to the huggable tree and took note of all the neighbors’ windows.  I positioned myself “just so” behind trees (I don’t recall what a Sycamore looks like but those trees wanted to be called Sycamores).  I lay down on my now fluffy pillow in the one spot no one could see me from their windows (nosey people).  It was so comfortable I felt I could sleep and be rested for months – making up for all the sleep I’ve lost lately.

Then I realized my wife and son were standing out by the mailbox chatting with an old friend of ours.  I spied and it struck me that they looked like a cute family and that she loved THAT family and wished I would somehow not be there anymore.  But she didn’t want to hurt me, so … there’s that.

The wind picked up and my pillow became a small bag that I was NOT carrying at a stadium.  The stadium had those textured, turtle-green plastic seats that have folding bottoms that you push down to sit in.  It was only half full of people – all strangers talking in pairs and groups and creating that loud hum of electricity right before a baseball game starts.  I faced a row of steps and section of seats and was positioned that way like a toy doll, unable to turn and view the field.

And my friend of so long – my wife (who I couldn’t name if you begged me, the dream created a blur of emotion for this character and I don’t even know what she actually looked like) was with me.  Well, she was with me, but independent.  I asked her, “Would you be happier with ____?” (insert another blob of unnamed recognition in that, I realized in the dream this other person was an old friend, but couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, or who it was).  She hugged me and let out a sigh of relief and said she would.

And that was that.  I stood in an unnamed stadium of green-seat ugliness, forbidden to look at the field, with an electric hum in the air of what was to come, and suddenly alone by submission.

The alarm on my phone played Billy Joel’s “She’s Always a Woman” this morning, but it nearly whispered it – the volume was so low.  I don’t know what silly joke fate is playing to whisper that song as a wake-up call from my strange dreamscape.  I set that song as homage to my friend and mentor Sheri since it was secretly one of her favorites.  Its good to remember her example and guidance as I start each challenging day at this new position so far away from the home M and I have together.  It keeps me focused and grateful.

When I woke, I realized that I had fallen asleep staring at Van Gogh’sStarry Night,” a desktop background on my mac.  I had cozied up to the screen while talking with M on Skype last night; I was so tired that I didn’t even shut the screen or reposition my neck-pillow before my body forced me into REM.

I don’t know what the dream meant.  Perhaps you 3000+ followers will play interpreter and use this as a creative writing project.  Thanks so much, BTW, for following.  It is very encouraging, in this relentless pressing forward with my writing dream, to know that people are actually interested (or at least curious enough to check in occasionally).

I do know that in reality, the thing that would bother me most is that I left a son so easily to avoid conflict, or anger, or just to make someone happy.  That’s messed up.  But nothing felt out of place or messed up as I woke.  I felt more rested than ever, and in a good mood too.  Maybe the dream was like the Van Gogh:  beautiful and colorful, comfortable and creative, with very surreal and hidden sense that … something is a little off, but you can’t do anything about it so enjoy the textured, folding, green seats.

The Starry Night 1889 73.7 x 92.1 Museum of Mo...

The Starry Night 1889 73.7 x 92.1 Museum of Modern Art, New York City (F612) (Photo credit: Wikipedia) … That crag would like to be called a Sycamore.




More dream-writing.

3 thoughts on “Sycamore Trees and Green Folding Seats

  1. Pingback: Clockwork Bluebird | interruptingcow

  2. OK, I am going to take a stab at interpreting for you. I can do that sometimes. I don’t know when you first wrote this blog entry, but it seems to me that this may be the meaning: You are counting down the days until you leave your job to become a full time writer. That is such a big risk, no matter how well you prepare for it. It’s a major CHANGE. I think your subconscious was working out a secret fear about this change, taking the form of something else that would be fearful, which would be losing your wife and son. I really think that is all it means, that you have some fear and trepidation about striking out on your own to write. This is a normal feeling regarding a major life change, and it does not mean you should not press forward, just that you may need to recognize the fear and do something to handle it. Hope that helps you! Susan.


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