Dream of:28 December 1992 (2) "Visiting Central America"
Another fellow and I had caught a ride into Central America, which was just south of the border of the United States. Once we had arrived, I met an Hispanic family and considered spending the night with them. However, I first decided to walk around the area. It was a wooded area on the side of a mountain, which, however, had streets and houses.
As my companion and I walked around, a woman who lived in the area walked along with us past the houses. I asked the woman how much a house here would cost. She said a house would cost from fifteen to nineteen, and I thought she must mean it would cost between fifteen and nineteen thousand dollars. That didn't sound too expensive, although I thought it might be even cheaper. I thought I might just buy a house in the area and live here. That could be quite pleasant.
As my companion and I continued our walk, I noticed a black man talking with an older black woman who looked as if she might be his mother. But the older woman was actually the mother of a younger black woman who was also here. It sounded as if the older woman was talking about buying a house for herself here on the hillside. The house at which they were looking however didn't appear to have much of a view.
I looked farther up on the hill and saw a modest but nice house made of brown wood. It was apparently for sale and the black people were headed up to it. I thought I might also be interested in the house. I walked on up the street, thinking I would circle back around to the house.
All the while I had been carrying a quilt and a cover, sometimes wrapping them around me. They hadn't bothered me at first, but now they were beginning to make me warm, and I was getting tired of carrying them.
My companion and I met another fellow who asked me who my supervisor was (apparently he was referring to my companion). I told him I didn't have a supervisor, but that my companion and I were both from Texas. I told the fellow that since Central America was so close to Texas, the two of us had just taken off to come down for the weekend. My companion then mentioned the man who had given us our ride had had some John Collins whiskey. I had the feeling my companion was trying to convey the message to the other fellow that he (my companion) would like to find some marijuana while he was there. However it appeared that the other fellow didn't like what my companion was saying, and the fellow finally walked away.
I continued walking until I realized I was by myself. I saw another street with nice, large two-story frame houses. From here I could see the mountains, and I thought, "This is the kind of place I want."
Looking off at the mountains, I thought I spotted a church atop one. I thought I could make out a steeple in the distance. Since I wanted to show my companion what I had found, I ran back, but I couldn't find him.
I thought about the woman who had walked a ways with me earlier. She also had been an American. I thought I might get to know her. She had seemed nice. Maybe I could come down here and spend the weekends with her. I thought she was probably in the top 10 percent of people in terms of intelligence.
I suddenly realized I had laid my covers down somewhere, and I didn't even know where they were. I thought I needed to find them, because it might get cold down here at night.
From here I could see the little house the black people had been looking at earlier. I would like to take a closer look at it. Some stairs led up to the house, but the stairs were clogged with brown garbage bags. The bags appeared to be filled with clothes which someone had been storing here. As I tried to climb the stairs, it seemed as if I were inside. It began to grow dark as I struggled to climb over the bags up the stairs. As I continued along, I found a cover which I thought about keeping. But I thought it probably belonged to someone else and I decided I shouldn't take it. I realized it was becoming so dark I probably wouldn't be able to make it to the top. It would probably be better to come back another time, perhaps tomorrow.
Dream Commentary of June 29, 2015
Most of our lives, like most of our dreams, are of little importance.
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