Two Dreams

Someone asked me recently if my dreams were anything like my work./  In general, no, they are bo-ring!  But here's two notable exceptions...

About four others and myself were in a small airplane. We were actors and being filmed. At first one of them was Courtney Love, but then she was a girl I grew up with, although that was not a major feature of the plot of this dream. The airplane was having difficulty getting any lift and we were flying dangerously close to buildings, etc. The pilot didn’t say anything to us, so for a while, we thought this was part of the movie, or somehow just normal. Nevertheless we were all pretty nerve wracked and I kept thinking, “I will never fly again after this!” and “Why doesn’t he just land on a roof and let us off?” So then he brought the plane down on a roof--but he didn’t let us out or tell us anything. Instead he got out and was fiddling around with the tail of the airplane. I was thinking--”Haven’t all those small plane crashes lately been because of tail problems?” He still didn’t tell us anything.
So then it was “later” and myself and the other passengers were no longer on the plane, but wandering around a residential neighborhood and wondering if we should head back to the plane, where the expectation was that the pilot would have tried to fix the tail and we would finish the film shoot. I kept saying, “Why don’t we just skip out on this guy? After all, he’s suicidal because his boyfriend just left him.” So we practiced hiding in the alley next to a house--but we all kind of knew that we were too responsible to just disappear--even though I certainly felt our lives were at stake! Finally, FINALLY! the pilot shows up and walks right up to me, (because all of the sudden I was the unofficial leader of the passengers) and he says: “Well, it’s up to you guys. You can come with me and trust your good luck necklaces”(which all of the sudden I noticed we were all wearing) “or you can just skip the whole thing”

Then I woke up thinking “suicidal pilot, suicidal pilot...”
(This dream happened right before the 9/11 oddly enough)

Click to read second dream

A long, epic dream:
I was in a movie about a troubled family. Kevin Spacey was playing the father. I was the middle daughter of three and there was also a younger brother. I was dorky and naive, compared to my older sister who seemed worldly and sophisticated to me. This was an exquisitely sweet twist on the role of “weaker twin” which I have been in a long line of recurrent dreams.
I don’t remember the whole first and middle parts of the dream--but I do remember them as being complicated and dramatic. The first part I recall is being in my older sister’s room. I was looking at her possessions and was in awe of how she’d gotten herself into such a messy, troubled situation. She was getting kicked out of the house possibly for being a junkie--but it wasn’t clear. It could also have been because we were so cramped in the little house we lived in. But while I was in her room, I looked up and realized, we lived in a gigantic lighthouse tower with hundreds of rooms--one on top of another! Almost all of them unoccupied. “I'll show you the room I’d like to have, if I had my choice” my older sister told me and all of the sudden it seemed our parents had a big, big secret what with all those rooms that I never even realized were there. We went upstairs, knowing it was “wrong” and that we didn’t want to get caught. The room she’d chosen was an old abandoned library. The windows were all covered up with paper, but it seemed like if one just ripped that off, there would be a lot of light in that room. At this moment, we were found by our parents--who’d brought our other sister and brother up with them. We understood that our father had no choice but to kill us all. There was something inevitable about this and I felt no anger at him--although it was also horrifying. We didn’t try to escape, or anything. We all left the tower and were out on the lawn. He killed my older sister and then cradled me in his arms very tenderly and drove home a huge needle filled with some heart-stopping drug right into my jugular. (There was something ironic about this method, considering my sister’s circumstances) It was suddenly obvious again that this was only a movie, so I played dead and pulled my hood over my face. He was singing me a lullaby comparing the sinking of a ship to the death of a swan. I wanted to tell him to sing me “Madeleine Mary” but I didn’t interrupt--not just because I was “dead”, but because being silenced felt good, romantic. And I was thinking that he was like the captain going down with his ship--or maybe he wasn’t brave enough to do that, but I still understood and loved him and that was beautiful.

I woke up and felt glorious.