But, who are you?
We'll need to see your ticket stub.
I am at a far wall seat at a movie theater, sitting across from my daughter. The movie suddenly stops as there is a fire evacuation—we are all demanded out. The theater is huge and packed with people. I am having difficulty finding my moccasins under the seat and am trying to gather all. I finally am one of the last ones making it to the lobby, but am sent back in when I can’t locate my ticket stub as that is how they are accounting for people in the lobby. I am told it doesn’t matter what my name is, they’ve only got the ticket-generated numbers on file.
I am the very last one out and this happens twice, me being sent back in to try and find this missing ticket. The building is on fire and these authorities won’t count me, let me exit without a silly stub of lost paper—a formality to name myself. Forced to search for abandoned receipt that proves my life exists? But, in the meantime, there is supposed threat of burning if I’m unable to find it, but I see, nor hear, nor smell any fire, and in my mind it seems just an amped up drill. But, everyone else is acting and behaving as if it’s real. I find myself that last patron in the theater with two guards sent in to sweep for humans while they make their final count.
As I wake, I consider the above scenario, ask myself how will I honor the message—a gift from the great detective work of dreaming? I scribble down in my journal:
Remember that sometimes I am the only one to see/detect a lie and that is how I’ve always been. A gift my mother helped to grow with her foreignness in Utah, her not having a traditional job, her midwifery, the weekly vocabulary tests she forced us to take and her magazine subscriptions. I have always been very quick at hidden pictures, at spatial perception—tell us what shape this unfolded box is once folded again—and reading comprehension, or relational reading between the lines.
Probably why I hate crossword puzzles or word finds, there’s no point—just find to find. They solve or do nothing. Not for good, but vanity, how many books have you read? How many operas have you memorized? For, if intelligence, is piled too high can it not block spiritual sight.
Photo collage is my own, titled, "Wolf Me."
This is very interesting, I visualized it very well and I love your very descriptive writing. That seems like a very frustrating dream, but I think I've had something although not about a ticket something equally dangerous to be told to do in a dream and it feels impossible. I'd be interested to see what you come up with as far as the meaning of this dream.
Thanks, wandrnrose. I'm glad you could see it. Yes, it was frustrating and seems important. I write many of my dreams down in a journal. Sometimes, I find the time to really work with key parts, or even journey back into the dream for more answers. Other times, I re-read after a few weeks and usually by then they make more sense. I'm always amazed at how my sleeping mind weaves things together.
Has it been long since you had your dream? And, how are you moving towards it? I do think honoring in some way is important.
A dream again!
If I were you, I'd wonder where I've been bullied like that before. And I would remember it was my son's teacher who cheekily and stiffly claimed not to have said something she had definitely said.
I would ask myself why I remembered this stupid story and whether in the meantime I could avoid getting upset about fearful and uncreative bureaucrats. Then I would remember the story of and the teacher who had the courage to help a pupil to her best and that there are people in the world about whom one has never heard anything except someone tells their story.
... that was now not quite a response to your dream, only spontaneous thoughts...
That reminds me of the question: With what sentence or gesture did your mother impress you the most? Where did she set an example in integrity?
HeHe, I like your helmet :-)
Love that you're responding in spontaneous thoughts--your dream in response to my dream.
You've given me much to ponder and hit some nails squarely on the head. So very interesting that you are tapping into this theme of "teacher," even though I haven't mentioned a teacher, but there is so, so much surrounding TEACHERS! The TEACHER, me as a teacher, the buildings and bureaucrats that demand such dumb actions of proof from me. Yes, avoid being upset by the fearful and uncreative.
I have to say it took me growing up and having my own children and still many years of experience before really being grateful for my mother's example of living a life with integrity. I was thinking the other day about an idea I was taught at church as a child in which it is believed spirit children choose before coming here their parents for the growth their souls need. My mother used to say, "stick up for what you believe in," but more than that, she wasn't upset when I'd had enough with school and ran home during the middle of the day. She was accepting that I'd just had enough of the bureaucratic crap.
Mask/helmet--a wolf and me :)
What about you? What did you learn from your mother?
Me, too! :-) It also took me having my own child to realize that parenting is an art of living not lecturing. My mom said some funny sentences while she was still alive. She always used old phrases/rhymes when she wanted to transport something. For example:
"Blinder, mach die Augen auf, Heirat ist kein Pferdekauf."
(Blind man, open your eyes, marriage is not buying a horse.)
"Immer lustig und vergnügt, bis der Arsch im Sarge liegt."
(Always funny and hilarious until your ass is in the coffin.)
"Die Frieda lädt (das Gewehr), der Oswald schießt."
(Frieda loads (the gun), Oswald shoots.)
My mother was not an apologetic person. She also never defended herself when being attacked by us children. She was only shaking her head and answered: You should stop saying that.
I learned from her to be persistent. When my mom wanted to achieve something she didn't give up until she reached her goal. Combined with an annoying stubbornness:)
I also learned in becoming the opposite of her when it comes to use a nasty tongue. For a very strange reason, she was much less forgiving with women than with men.
I learned that love goes through the stomach :-)
How good that your mother wasn't hard to you when you ran home from school. It's so good to hear that from other women that there is a great understanding between the generations and that finally, so many children forgive their parents to be mistaken or weak.
I think many women are more forgiving of men than other woman and I've wondered about that. Perhaps, they need to toughen their daughters up for an unfair world? A sort of unconscious meanness that prepares?
I love your mom's sayings:) And, that love goes through the stomach!
I really don't know why women towards women are more strict. ... Some time I think it's because we feel more responsible towards children (as a matter of history) and have too little trust in fathers and males. Also, probably out of delusional expectations towards men (father figure, prince, rescuer etc.) ... but digging deeper its probably because of being a women ourselves and identifying with womanhood and therefore focusing on women more than on men? ... I have no definitve answers as well :-) But it doesn't matter ... or it shouldn't.
This is a great freewrite! I am the same way. I resort to find a word for last resort. I loved the mystery puzzles they used to have. They would give you a list of clues and you would mark off the boxes until the answer was left. I haven't seen those kinds of puzzles in years. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you for reading :) Not sure I know what you mean by the mystery puzzles, but I'll take your WORD for it they're good :)