Dream of: 12 February 1995 (2) "Diatribe About Dreams"

I was helping a young woman (about 20 years old) write one of her dreams. We were sitting in the spacious waiting room of an office; we intended to give the dream to someone in the office, when we finished writing it. The office regularly published dreams in a newsletter or newspaper, and the woman hoped to have her dream published.

Having finished typing the dream, we handed it to someone, and sat down to await the decision of whether the dream would be published. A tall slender woman (probably in her early 30s) walked out to meet us. She explained that she had read the dream and that she had liked it; however, the dream had been received too late to be included in the publication. She also pointed out a few errors in the writing of the dream.

Thinking the woman wasn't being forthright, I asked her whether the dream could be included in the publication's edition for the following day. She responded that it couldn't, indicating dreams were only considered for the day in which they were received. I told her such a policy was absurd. I explained that the office only received the dream today because we had come to the office in person, and that most people's dreams of today would arrive by mail tomorrow. As I spoke I had a vision of a mail sack full of letters containing dreams being poured onto a desk.

I thought the woman was being rather haughty, as if she thought that she was an expert on the quality of dreams, and that I knew little or nothing about them. I launched into a diatribe about dreams, saying I had written thousands of pages of dreams which I had recorded on my computer. I thought I might have been exaggerating somewhat, but it was true I had many dreams on my computer. In fact, I was thinking of sending some of my own dreams to the publication.

I asked the woman if anyone else had read the dream; she indicated she had shown the dream to her superior. Unsatisfied, I asked if I could speak to her superior. She said I could; she went to summon him.

***

The woman whose dream I had written and I were sitting in the bleachers of a gym, looking out on a basketball court. The court began filling with people who were apparently going to play a basketball game. I knew that this setting had something to do with the dream publication, and that the people on the court had something do with the people who had sent in their dreams to the publication to be published; but I didn't know exactly what was the connection between basketball and the dreams.

We watched as the game began. It looked as if only men were playing; most were probably in their 20s and 30s, and all were dressed in ordinary street clothes. After the ball had been passed back and forth many times, and some people had unsuccessfully taken a shot, the score still remained at zero to zero. Gradually I recognized the problem: there were too many people; probably 50 people were playing on the court, and it looked as if there were more people on one side than on the other.

One man, acting as a referee, seemed to also realize there was a problem; but he didn't know quite what to do. When he got the ball, he turned to me in the stands, and asked if I wanted to come down and play. I really didn't want to play, but I thought I might be able to help straighten things out. So I walked down on the court.

The referee apparently thought part of the problem was the inability of the players to distinguish who was on their team. He gave me a medallion to wear which would distinguish me so everyone could tell which team I was on. Unfortunately I was the only one wearing the medallion; so although everyone on my team would know I was on their team, I didn't know who was on my team.

The referee and I walked to one end of the court near a corner and he handed me the basketball. Apparently he wanted me to shoot the ball from there. I looked at the net; it was so far away! I could at least try; but I doubted I would have success. Besides, I was worried my arms were simply too weak to throw the ball that far. I tried anyway. I couldn't see exactly where the ball went, but I knew I had missed the net. The ball was returned to me, and I tried again. Again I missed, probably by undershooting, although I couldn't see for sure.

The game began. When the ball was passed to me, I hollered out for everyone from my team to hold up a hand so I could tell they were on my team. When they did so, I saw most of my team members on the other side of the court. Nevertheless, I managed to pass the ball to one of my team members, and we traveled toward our basket. The ball came back to me, and although I was rather far from the net, I shot and to my delight and astonishment, the ball swished through the net. I thought the score was now three to nothing, and I hollered out, "Three to nothing!"

The game continued, and the ball was often passed to me. However, I soon realized it was almost impossible to dribble the ball because too many people were on the court to allow any room. Therefore when someone had the ball, he would just run with it. Once, when I had the ball and was running toward the basket, I realized a fellow behind me had wrapped his arms around my waist and was holding onto me. When I tried to shoot the ball, he prevented me from doing so. I turned and looked at him. He was short and reminded me of Danny DeVito. I cried out "Foul."

When I said I was going to take a foul shot, the others seemed astonished; foul shots were unheard of in this game. However, determined, I walked up to the foul line, looked at the basket and prepared to shoot.

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