Dream on little dreamer, including daydream. I wonder if my characters aren’t part of my life coming to life, they seem so real.
I’ve always been a dreamer, as I said. Indeed, in the third grade while at the Assumption Academy in Chadron, Nebraska, I dreamt of my father and mother holding their baby while I peed on the floor of a nearby room in what would be the restaurant they later opened. "Piss on this" was my attitude, though I didn’t realize it at the time. I was only eight. The dreams rolled in over the years but that one stuck. Others I still recall came many years later when I was in a very traumatic relationship and wanted out but didn’t know how to leave. Three nights I dreamed about the relationship and the reason I was stuck, and stayed stuck. April 1st, while falling asleep, I recounted my relationships and what went wrong. Looking for love in all the wrong places. No! I wasn’t looking for love; I wanted to be wanted by someone, anyone! And I was willing to do whatever it took to be wanted. You know what that meant, and so, I went from one man to another who was looking for? Maybe they wanted to be wanted so, in a sense, we fulfilled one another’s need - for a moment. At least that was the dream. Back to the dreams. After the memories came the dream of a man, who'll remain nameless. He reminds me of my oldest son’s friend. That’s how I met the traumatic relationship guy. I wasn’t looking for a man but he showed up at my door and I let him in. Dumb-dee-dumb-dumb. Not this time. Fortunately, my son’s not around and he’s married, so I can’t meet his friends. This guy, I met by happenstance, so I have no idea why he would show up in my dreams. He’s 32 years younger than me! He’s young enough to be my grandson for crimes (typo) sake. Yup. Crimes sake is right. It should be a crime to even dream those sorts of thoughts about him. So get him out of my dreams for pity sake. Help Lord… Last night, I had another dream. If you don’t know who Bettie Mitchell is, she was the founder of Good Samaritan Ministries, Beaverton Oregon. In the dream, I’ve written a couple of pages of … who knows. She’s sitting and a lot of other people have lined up submitting their two pages of… I wait to hand her mine as another woman walks up and hands her two sheets of paintings with beautiful images. Jealous, I comment something sarcastic, reach and touch a portion of the paint, and come away with paint on my fingers only it’s my paint. I get up and go into the bathroom to wash off the yellow ochre paint. Now, I’m wondering, when did I ever give her anything I’ve painted? As I’m writing this, I remember two paintings. One very colorful painting of a landscape by a river and waterfall with Yeshu’a sitting with two of his disciples and one of the women; the other was a colorful waterfall with a white bird overhead and the sun sinking down. True I didn’t give them to Bettie per se, I gave them to the ministry here in Vancouver. Still it made me think of the colorful paintings I’ve made and perhaps I should stop writing stories for a time and get back into my painting. Dip my fingers in the paint, if you will. After all, the seven books in my Children of Adonai series are on Apple and everywhere else. Ha.
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