Friday, May 18, 2007

Threshold Nightmares

I have vivid dreams.  Lately they have become unusually extreme.  Some are nightmares others are so bizarre and fast-moving I can almost feel the wind blowing my hair back (hey, it’s my dream, I’m allowed!).  In most of the nightmares there is some element of being in prison.  One was a Thai prison, the others were Laos prisons.  There are three dreams I want to talk about.  One was from nearly a month ago, the other two happened yesterday.

The month-old dream/nightmare was family-oriented.  I was in a alpine climate, maybe the forest near Chang Mai.  All my family was going to be there.  My niece, Abby, was wearing a lot of makeup and she was not my niece, but instead my deceased grandmother.  It confused and frightened me to see her.  It made me cry.  She smiled in a very friendly way and assured me everything was alright.  I walked down a long outdoor hallway and turned a corner only to be confronted by the Thai police, arrested (no charges) and told to clean toilets.  I laughed in their face which caused the number of toilets to triple.


The second dream was during my afternoon siesta yesterday.  In the dream, I was in a slightly large yet still remote ban (village) in northern Laos.  There was a row of wood-frame houses on a dirt road (imagine that, a dirt road in Laos!), they looked very similar to the type of buildings one finds in Dawson City, Yukon.  I was making friends with the owners of these buildings when a group of people wearing red uniforms and red French Foreign Legion hats got off a bus and started walking through town.  Everyone wanted to know who they were, so they asked me to find out.  I approached two of the strangers and as I got closer, I recognized them to be tango dancers (although their costumes were not tango attire at all).  As I approached, I wanted to say something, but my tongue had turned solid in my mouth.  I choked on it.  I could not move my mouth, I could not find any words.  With a tremendous amount of effort managed to find the right language and spit out the word “Hola!”.  The phone in my real life rang and I awoke from the dream before they could respond.

The third dream was last night.  Again, I was in prison – this time much more like the real Laos jail in Vientiane.  There were some worn mats on a small platform, corrugated metal walls and roof, and very frightening inmates and even more dangerous guards.  A homosexual tried to touch me so I slept on the floor with the rats.  In the dream, my laptop was stolen due to my own negligence.  When I discovered the theft, I again struggled to make my tongue move, yet found myself incapable of expressing myself.

This is a bit of a segue to my point, but interesting so I include it.  The part about my niece being my dead grandmother is significant.  In Laos, it is believed when an ancestor visits you in your dreams, it is considered a very powerful omen.  It could mean that your ancestor is keeping guard over you or it could mean they are warning you to be careful – that you may be overstepping your bounds.  Thanks, Abby, for the conduit service – message received, Rose.

Now, getting to the gist of why I am talking about these three dreams and the threshold aspect of them.  The first dream had to do with my learning to deal with the culture.  An expat had told me that one way to deal with being confronted by an authority who might be looking for a bribe or something is to simply tell them “No”.  According to the expat, it has a way of stopping them dead in their tracks, as if all synapse fail.  Laughing in the face of the Thai guards was an exaggeration of this advice and got me into a rather nasty situation.  This ties slightly to the next two dreams.

In both cases of yesterdays dreams, I found myself incapable of communicating.  Only with tremendous focus and effort could I eek out a simple “hello”.  I think what is happening is that my mind, and maybe my ancestors, are trying to tell me that I must learn to communicate and that I am on the verge of doing so.  My frustration with not being able to speak – not being able to say much more than chicken, water, thank you, hello, my name is…,– is getting to me and my mind is telling me that it is time to approach the Tango dancers and try.  I have to try.  What would I be if I didn’t even try?  Certainly not a Tango dancer, probably a convict.

 

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