Dream of: 02 May 1996 "Innocent Man Wrongly Accused"
I was in a large white two-story frame house, which somewhat resembled the Gallia County Farmhouse, except that it was in the city. I could look out the window and see my red BMW parked outside along the curb. But looking at the car, I quickly became alarmed: the car was sitting on about a 20 degree incline (facing downwards), and had started to slowly roll downhill. I could see that there was a heavily traveled street at the bottom of the hill (about 30 meters from the car) and that if the car rolled out into the street, it could cause an accident.
I raced outside, only to see the car roll down into the cross street; but it didn't hit anything and just rolled right through the street. On the other side of the cross street, the street my car was on sloped back upwards. The car rolled up the street for a while, and it looked as if it might have nicked a parked car. Then the car began rolling back down the hill once again toward the cross street.
I hurried toward the car, once again trying to reach it. But once again it passed unscathed through the cross street, rolling back up the hill it had originally come down. It again nicked a couple parked cars on the way, before coming to a rest, and once again, like a pendulum, it started back down the hill.
When I finally did catch up to the car and bring it under control, I realized I had a much more serious problem. On the floor of the car was a shoe box which was half full of white powdery cocaine. Some of the cocaine had even spilled out onto the floor board. Because of the nicking of the other cars, I was sure the police would be showing up at any moment. I frantically began reaching into the shoe box and pulling out some of the cocaine onto my fingers and snorting it. I snorted half a dozen times before I realized that trying to snort the cocaine was futile – there was simply too much of it. Besides, I wasn't feeling any effects of the cocaine, and therefore concluded it was pointless to continue snorting it. I grabbed up the shoe box and then began trying to scrape up all the cocaine which had spilled onto the front floorboard.
I was back in the house, expecting the police to show up at any moment. I had safely hidden the shoe box of cocaine, but I still had in my hand – in a plastic baggie – the cocaine which I had scrapped up off the floorboard. I was in the kitchen and frantically looked around for a safe place to hide the cocaine. At the same time I looked out the window and saw that a policeman had parked his car out front. The house sat up high and had about 20 steps leading up to the front door. The policeman was already about half way up the steps. I searched the room with my eyes for a place to hide the drug. I finally decided I might be able to stick it under the stove.
The police officer, dressed in a brown uniform, was in the kitchen talking with me. He had seemed friendly at first, but now seemed suspicious and I was worried he was going to want to search the house. When I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror I could see why: on the right corner of my mouth was some white caked slaver. I thought this type of slaver was typical of someone who had been snorting cocaine as I had been doing. Since the officer had obviously seen it, he must have concluded that I had been snorting some cocaine and that I might still have some in the house. I knew I needed to escape.
I had escaped from the house and was now on the lam. I was walking along the sea shore when I met two fellows whom I knew. I soon realized that they were searching for psilocybin mushrooms, and that in fact they already had several mushrooms in a basket. Interested, I watched as they would dig around in the ground, finding, plump mushrooms just under the surface.
I thought I would like to eat some of the mushrooms myself and I suggested that we all eat some right now. But both fellows didn't want to do that. They seemed to imply that the mushrooms were extremely powerful and that this was neither the time nor place to be eating them.
Sensing that I might be unable to obtain any mushrooms from them, I began looking for some myself. The two fellows explained that this time (which was in the month of May) was the best time to find mushrooms and that there was only about a week when they would be plentiful. They also explained that we were in an area where we could find a lot of mushrooms because no one else knew about it.
I scratched back the surface of the ground and to my surprise and delight, I soon found several large plump mushrooms: they were about the size, color and texture of a dinner roll. Continuing to look, I found several more. Not wanting to wait any longer, I began eating one of the mushrooms. As soon as I had finished it I began feeling the effects. A powerful pleasant feeling swept over my whole body. I was surprised that the effects of the mushroom were so positive, without a trace of negative feeling.
But my attention was soon diverted from my search. I was always keeping a wary eye for the police, whom I knew were still following me. I had noticed a car pull up nearby and as I continued to watch it, I realized Cathy was sitting in the front passenger seat of the car. Still holding onto my mushrooms, I walked over to the car.
I was glad to see Cathy. I recalled that she had been in the house where I had had the cocaine – perhaps she was even living there – and that she knew all about my problem with the police. Perhaps she had some news for me. Besides that, I wanted to show Cathy my mushrooms and I thought I would even give her some.
When I reached the car and got in, I found another man sitting in the drivers seat. As I talked to Cathy, I realized the man was reaching over the back seat and searching for something. Realizing what he was looking for, I quickly reached into the back seat and grabbed the object. It was a gun holster for a hand gun, with the gun still in the holster. I held the holstered gun in my hand and pointed it at him. At the same time he picked up what appeared to be a silver metal tube, but which apparently was also some kind of gun, and pointed it at me.
As we stared at each other in our Mexican standoff, it was clear to me that this fellow had realized who I was, that I was running from the law, and he had decided to try to capture me. Looking at Cathy I could tell at a glance that she wasn't part of his effort, and that she was just as surprised as I was. But it was also clear that there was nothing she could do to prevent the man from taking his action.
It however soon became clear that the man realized he wasn't going to be able to capture me. As I backed out of the car, I handed Cathy some of the mushrooms. I thought she had probably never tried any mushrooms, and I thought she would enjoy them.
I was again hurrying down the street. I realized the police were probably closing in, and that I most likely would soon be captured. It now seemed that I was accused of murder. The charge against me was fuzzy and unclear in my mind; I didn't think I had ever killed any one, but I couldn't be sure. At any rate I didn't think if I had killed any one that it had been unjustified. Basically I looked at my self as an innocent man wrongly accused.
I still had the mushrooms and needed to make a decision about what to do with them. I didn't want to be tripping in jail, but I didn't want to throw the mushrooms away either. Finally I decided that even if I were arrested I would be able to handle it if I were tripping, and I began eating the mushrooms. Almost immediately I began feeling the effects – stronger and stronger. Yet my mind still felt clear.
Up ahead I saw a small white building next to a house. Thinking I might be able to hide out in the building, I scurried to the door and opened it. Just as I reached the door, the two fellows whom I had met on the beach who had been looking for mushrooms showed up. At a glance it was clear to me that they were also being chased by the law and were looking for a place to hide. The three of us quickly ducked inside.
It was a small room – perhaps ten feet by ten feet – and completely empty. It was completely white inside – the walls, the ceiling, the floor. It had two doors, the one we had come in and one on the other side of the room. No sooner had the three of us settled down on the floor than the door on the other side of the room opened and a man (probably in his late 40s) walked in. Before I had ducked into the building I had seen the man standing on the steps of the house next to the building. I had hoped he would not see us, but apparently he had.
It was immediately clear that the man didn't want us in the building. It wasn't clear whether he knew we were running from the law. But I knew we must leave immediately and once again take our chances outside.
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