Dream of: 13 November 2001 "Dream Books"

I was in my father's home, anticipating the arrival of Jane Fonda, who was coming to visit me. I had met Fonda once before, but we had never talked about her movies, and now I hoped to discuss her films with her. As I tried to recall the movies in which Fonda had acted, I glanced at some LP movie soundtracks lying nearby. Two LPs had pictures of Fonda on the covers; but I had never seen those particular movies. I did manage to recall the scenes of another movie (The Doll's House) in which Fonda had acted. I knew the movie had been based on a play by the playwright Henrik Ibsen, but I couldn't remember the play's name. I thought the play might have been "Hedda Gabler." I definitely wanted to discuss this movie with Fonda.

I finally walked into a room where I found my father and Fonda (probably in her late 30s). I was surprised to see my father had already given Fonda a copy of the manuscript which I had assembled several years earlier – the manuscript containing the collection of my dreams about God. Fonda was holding the manuscript in her hand, but I couldn't tell if she had read any of it. I was rather apprehensive about what she would think about the manuscript. The manuscript had been an early attempt at compiling my dreams, and it might be difficult to understand. I would have preferred for Fonda to read the dreams on my website, where they had taken on better form and were easier to follow. Nevertheless, I was glad she might be reading what I had written.

My father soon became angry about something; he pulled off a brown-laced leather belt and threatened to hit me with it. I wasn't going to stand for it. I told him I would take the belt from him and hit him back. Despite my warning, he began hitting me with the belt. I quickly grabbed the belt from him and swung it at him. At the same time, Fonda began asking me questions about the book. I told her that I actually had prepared approximately 10 different books, and that the longest book was about my father. As we spoke, I noticed a boy sitting nearby (about 10 years old) who was my brother. I reflected that he had also appeared in many of my written dreams – enough for a book about him. I continued talking about my father, and I told Fonda he was constantly beating me in many of my dreams. As I talked, I continued hitting my father with the belt, and with each stroke – in syncopation – I spoke a word, describing, "… how…he's… angry… almost… all… the…time."

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