I was walking up this path, sort of a back road towards my flat a couple of blocks away in the outside world. As I turn to take the path, I’m suddenly facing a sort of trench or ditch, sort of like a large open pipeline or trough… I notice there are tiny pigs inside, miniature ones covered in mud peering out. To the right across the street I see there’s a farm and the baby pigs seem to be coming from there, getting flushed out. I look back at the pipeline trench, and now it’s filled with hundreds of baby pigs, piglets larger than the first miniature ones I saw in the beginning. These pigs are stacked up. The ones at the bottom were colored black, most others were white or brown. Some were moving. I wondered if the black ones were already dead. . .
When I half-woke, I thought about calling our landlady to let her know about the pigs. . .
I was reading some text, a print-out of a text in a foreign language, Japanese maybe? Or like Japanese Hiragana, but not really because the script was not only foreign, but also unknown to me, but for some reason I knew I could translate it, or at least wanted to try. There was a little black device on the table, like one of those encased magnifying lenses for viewing frames of photographs, except there were little wheels on the bottom so you don’t just slide it along a film, but roll it on the text. The writing wasn’t so small that I need to enlarge it, but somehow I knew I should roll the device along the script, and so I did. The device would then light up. I’m not sure if I looked through the lense and saw the script translated, or if the text itself also lit up and the writing changed, translated. Anyway, I saw or remember the first word in Roman alphabet, “Alonso. . .” Then I woke up.
I was having dinner in the small kitchen at work. There’s another person sitting behind me, on a table, facing and watching my back, with her knees kind of sticking out off the edge of the table. Another co-worker walks in, goes to the other side of the kitchen opposite me. Or maybe she was already there inside the kitchen with us? I’m not entirely sure. Anyway, what I remember more clearly is this other co-worker that may have just walked in and then was walking out, but, because she has to walk between me and the other person behind me on the other table, she had to walk between us sideways, and in doing so she slides her butt on my back and I guess her front on the other person’s knees. I didn’t care in the dream, but I think the other person complained.
I was watching Nicole Byer talking to someone on the street. I heard what the conversation was about. . . maybe about pods? pads? I woke up, or half woke, thinking about the dream, fell asleep again and dreamt I was reading this poem written by Byer’s niece, I guess. It was funny and I remember seeing/reading the words very clearly, but now I forgot most of them. The last words were “door, door, door. . . . door.” I think it was even typed.
The last dream I had was clearer. I was at a post office getting ready to mail a couple of letters or cards. I felt they’re cards for my niece and nephew. Their birthdays are coming up. I asked the woman at the counter if I could get some tape to seal the envelopes. She said something, I don’t remember her exact words, but it was some snide remark about how they’re not a stationary store. I replied with a lot of anger, which actually surprised me even in the dream, as I snapped at her, but also there’s tape available at the other end of the counter. I went there and started to seal my envelopes. I was using also this complicated packaging thing that would seal the whole envelope and cover the name on the package. But then I wrote the names wrong. I was getting frustrated and thought I’d just go home, seal it there, then come back to mail it. Someone said I could mail it cheaper online. . .
The dream was all very blurry, I’m not sure what I was seeing. I think I was looking at some paper, trying to figure out about a class, about signing up, about how the schedule was going to work. . .
Couldn’t remember much of the dream this morning, except that I was looking at a plane ticket /boarding pass, and then I hear or see the announcement that they’ve discontinued Express lanes… I think my pass started to show Express lanes being crossed out, as if it was some kind of digital smartpass. I remember feeling glad they’ve finally cancelled these segregating lanes and thought now we’re all equal passengers…
A very blurry dream: I was on a beach with a group of people, four of us, I think, two young women and a couple of us guys. I couldn’t really recognize any of them, we were just walking along the beach, Praia Oura, maybe, bouldering a little along the sandy little cliffs. I noticed the trash on the water. The water was still clear but there were bits of paper stuck in some of the rocks in the water. We keep going, trying to find a better spot. We stop at some sort of cavernous spot, somewhat private, or apart from the other beachgoers. But there were still bits of paper around. Not a lot, but enough for me to suggest we keep going, looking for a better spot. . . They all seemed not very keen on the idea, which was fine with me, I said, Ok, agreeing. But then one of the young women stood and walked on ahead or apart from us. I thought she was leaving us so I asked her if she was. She said no. She just wanted to find a better spot. I asked if I could come join her and she said yeah. I reached out my hand to her, unsure if she wanted to hold it or just give me a high-five.
I was at some bar, think. Felt like it was in Heidelberg. But this beginning part was fuzzy. I think there were a couple of Swiss girls there, then I was walking throught the narrow streets looking for something, but not knowing what yet, maybe trusting I’d know what it is once I found it. . .
Then I was in this sort of lounge bar, or like an apothecary / bar. The two Swiss women were there, sitting behind their respective desks, wearing white lab coats. They were busy assisting people/individuals, sitting in front of their desks, and I end up being called to sit in front of this one guy’s desk. . . He was another apothecary, too, I guess. . . He asked me something, or I think he did, because he looked at me and opened his mouth and said something, but it was all wordless. I think he asked what I needed or how he could help, and I think I responded to him accordingly, but what came out of me was wordless, too. . .
Even in the dream it was hard to understand what the guy, who felt like some wonky gury, said. It wa also hard to see him because there was a bunch of stuff stacked up on his desk, even little stackable shelves. . . I asked him if i could remove one oand he said yeah, yeah, almost dismissively, without words but with a gesture of his hand, as if he was too busy writing what I guessed was his diagnosis of, or maybe his prescription for me. . .
The gury guy then disappeared and then I see the two Swiss women getting ready to leave, hanging up their coats, talking in what I thought was German. I asked them, said to them, Excuse me, twice! They were busy talking to each other and it was hard to get their attention. . . When they looked at me I said to them i could hear some German words, but what language is that you’re speaking? Their response to me was also a bit wordless, but I kind of understood it to be a mix of codes, and that they were using one specific to their profession. . . Although one word did stick out that one woman said, “legalese”? But were they lawyers?
To my left the desks that used to be for the Swiss women were re-arranged to a sort of living room, couch-sitting area and I see a group of women had come in, maybe four, or at least three, as two of them I recognized as my co-workers. The one farthest from me was M– and she seems to be leading the group or the discussion. The one closest to my left was L–, she was quiet. . . I didn’t tak to M– but it felt like she saw ir recognized me. L–, even though she was closest, didn’t really see me. I did see that L’s nose was dripping clear fluid, she had a runny nose but she maybe didn’t notice it herself. I wasn’t disgusted, but I also felt like I should just ignore her and not let her know. . .
I then saw G–, another co-worker, looking at us on the other side of the room, standing behind some kitchen counter. . . He was munching on something and drinking, it seemed like he was enjoying himself. I sense that he also had just finished a session with the guru, and when I look back to the couch the guru was there, and I thought I would go and pay my dues. Somehow I knew it was “donativo,” like it wasn’t a formal therapy session, but maybe an informed one, but I was still to donate or contribute something. when I came over the guru said something and gave me a piece of paper, I think I glanced at it, but was too busy trying to respond to the guru, to tell him thanks, and also to ask him how much I should pay. . . He might’ve gotten peeved by this questioning, but he opened/showed me his donation basked, a sort of cylindrical wicker basket, and I saw a few bills in there. I do remember the guru say something like “just change”? Or maybe “exchange”? I pull out a small book, not a pocket-book, but a literal book, like my little journal, and when I opened it saw a couple of bills folded in the pages. One was a five-dollar bill, the other a ten. I gave him a ten, but then I wondered if I would come back, if I can afford to be back? Or am I too cheap to be back? Now I also wonder if the guru would even still receive me again? I hope so. And maybe next time I’m there I’d remember to be generous. . .
I then go back to G– who was still at the kitchen counter. He encourages me to also just eat and drink, telling me we’ve finished our work or our sessions for the day. I ask him what this red drink is in this small glass bottle, a sort of stout, open-mouthed bottle. He said it’s vodka, but it’s deep red like port wine. I put only a little in my glass, and then sip also just a little. The flavor was, well, clear and strong. Not heavy syrupy like port, nor toxic intense like vodka. We then look at the group of women with the guru. M– started to sing with her beautiful voice.
I look behind me to the kitchen and then, I guess, I woke up. Except I guess I didn’t really know I was awake, or I wasn’t fully awake yet that I’m not sure if I dreamt or imagined I was still in that lounge, now in Algarve, with M– singing and G– playing the guitar by her side.
I was in a car, in the passenger seat, I don’t remember who was driving, but we were on some sideroad. Driver was a guy but I couldn’t see him, just knew he was there. We were looking for the trailhead of a camino, driving slowly looking at or for signs. One sign said “Ceures”? Maybe. I wasn’t a street sign but the name of a place we’d reached, like an estate, but very much not like an estate. . . really it was like a trailer park. I tod the guy driving to stop and I’ll ask for directions. There was one guy there, reminded me of Harvey Keitel, from the film “Reservoir Dogs.” He was standing naked in his yard, I didn’t think it odd, just asked him how we could get to the beginning of a camino. He gave me verbal directions, which I didn’t understand but pretended to. For some reason I didn’t really trust that he knew what he was talking about, but I summed up his directions and asked for clarification. He said he’d go inside his house to get a map. While he was gone I surveyed his yard. I’m not sure it can be called a garden though there were plants, and it was shaded. I noticed there were garden-displays, not like gnomes or anything, but more like steel sculptures. One in particular was that of a bird, stuck to the ground on a steel rod, iron rod maybe, rust colored, about waist-high. I noticed the eye of the bird. Only now, awake, do I wonder if the bird sculpture was maybe looking at me.
I was sitting on a park bench overlooking the river Neckar. . . This was on Philosophenweg, in Heidelberg. Sitting to my left at arm’s length on the other side of the bench was a young woman. . . She was giving me a smile, maybe a flirtatious one, maybe jocular, like as if there’s an inside joke we’re supposed to be sharing. I recognize her in the dream as someone familiar. . . like a friend, though yeah I was attracted to her even in the dream. I tried talking to her. She started explaining something to me. Something about her boyfriend. I didn’t understand it.
Then I was in some albergue. I was trying to figure out which bed to take as I look across the room. No bunk beds here though. I step outside the room for some reason, and outside I meet my dad. We talk, I think, though I don’t remember what about. . . I think I was trying to explain the network of albergues and how they work on the Camino. Then we’re back in the room. There’s a middle aged woman, I introduce her to my dad, but in that moment I couldn’t remember who the woman was, or how I knew her except that we were staying in the same albergue. Then after she’d walked away, I remembered she’s my neighbor in the town where I actually live in the outside “real” world, and I tell my dad how strange it was that we’d meet here on the Camino. Then my dad is gone but there’s another younger woman standing beside me as I figure out which bed to take. I see too that the beds have been re-arranged and I wonder if I should take the corner bed but see someone’s stuff on it and realize that bed is already taken. . . The younger woman introduced herself as the daughter of the older one, though I did not recognize her. I was interested in talking to her more, but she was no longer paying attention when I started to ask her something, she was already looking at her phone. And then I see she was on t.v., across the hall outside the room or by the window.
As I look across the hall I also see this guy lying down in bed, and I recognized him as P-, this Brazilian guy I’d walked with on the Camino Francés. But then when I come over across the hall to his room, he stood up and I saw he was actually not P-, just some bearded guy I didn’t know. He was then talking to his friend, another guy I also didn’t recognize. This other guy handed me and the P-doppelganger some hand-drawn maps and elevation profiles of the route we were taking the following day. They were hand- drawn on clips or scraps of paper– one fell and he picked it up and gave it to me. In the dream I wondered how reliable the maps and profiles were, but also how much time he must have spent copying and re-copying them. The other guy, his friend, thought it was amazing. I wasn’t sure if he was just being polite, and I didn’t think it was really that amazing, but I was grateful for what he was giving me. . .
dream chronicles 