Dream of:19 April 2011 "Murder Mystery"
history may give
clues to solve the mystery
of life after death
I was with my young friend, Michelle. Although her movements and actions were typical for Michelle, she had black hair and looked more like a svelte version of my ex-wife, Carolina (probably in her mid 20s). We were playing a little detective game which I had just bought. The game was in a slender hardback book and simply involved a description of four suspects from a real-life murder case which had been solved long ago. A picture of each suspect was also provided. After we read each description, we were supposed to chose the suspect which we had concluded had committed the murder. Both Michelle and I astutely chose the correct suspect and we proceeded to the second game. Altogether, the book contained ten different murder mysteries.
The second game seemed more complicated. At first I thought only four suspects were involved, but then it appeared that there were actually ten suspects. As the game started, after perusing the pictures of the suspects, we were able to see a little film clip which seemed to be set in the 1940s during World War II. American soldiers had arrived on the grounds of a magnificent mansion whose gardens were filled with elaborate metal statues of soldiers. As we watched the clip, it seemed as if we were actually sitting in the yard of the mansion, and as the soldiers circulated around us, I specifically noticed Ronald Reagan (around 40 years old), attired in a military uniform, among them.
During the film clip, someone mentioned the name "Pervert," which was the name of someone apparently involved in the murder case. I had never heard of anyone named "Pervert" and I wondered if the English word "pervert" had originated from someone's name.
This game also contained ten little baubles which apparently were pieces of evidence. One looked like a little medallion with the cameo-like image of a king emblazoned on the front. It was so charming, I even thought I could wear it on a necklace. Since it was made of tawdry plastic, however, I knew people would think it ludicrous to be wearing the necklace.
The other pieces of evidence were also intriguing and I reflected how educational the game was. It seemed that a trenchant knowledge of history was going to be required to solve this one. I thought I might have enjoyed playing the game with my father, but since I would know the answer after Michelle and I finished, I knew I would not be able to play it later with him.
As I held the game book in my hand, I unintentionally glanced at the following page and saw the word "Daws." Since "Daws" was the name of one of the ten suspects, I wondered if he was the actual culprit. I did not say anything to Michelle because I did not want to ruin the game. I thought I would be able to remain objective and base my final decision on the evidence, and not on the name I had seen.
In my hand I was holding something which had nothing to do with the game. It was something like a necklace which consisted of little, rice-sized, colored pieces which had been strung together. Michelle (who was now standing) strode up to me and abrasively demanded to know what I was holding and where I had obtained it. I told her I had bought it at the same place I had bought the game book. When she wanted to know why I had bought the thing, I told her I had only paid ten cents for it. She did not seem satisfied with my answer, but she did not say anything else about it.
Michelle, obviously becoming impatient because she thought I was taking too long, began nervously pacing back and forth. She was wearing a long black dress which fell almost all the way to her ankles and looked like something which might have been worn in the 1940s. Actually, the whole atmosphere of where we were seemed like someplace in the 1940s and for some reason, Eleanor Roosevelt passed through my mind.
I told Michelle to calm down, that we were in no hurry. We did not even have to finish the game today. We could play one game a week if we wanted. She seemed somewhat becalmed, although she was still in a hurry to finish the game.
Dream of:10 June 2015 "Out Of Character"
often an impediment
to true happiness
I have walked into the Riverside Bar on Second Street in Portsmouth, Ohio. I'm not sure what I'm doing here since I do not go to bars and I do not remember having ever been in this one. I just stand inside the door until it seems as if the bartender says something about a meal being served. More people walk in and suddenly everyone migrates to the bar on top of which some booze is sitting. When the bartender says, "Hello judge," to one patron on one of the bar-stools, I seem to recall having heard that a judge sometimes visits this bar. I try to look at the judge's face to see who he is, but he does not look familiar to me.
I'm dressed casually in manual-work clothes. As I walk toward an empty stool and take a seat, I hear someone order a steak. The bartender pours me a drink which looks like whiskey, and I start drinking.
A young fellow (probably in his late 20s), dressed in a spiffy, blue sports jacket and tie, walks into the bar and sits down on the stool on my right. He and I converse and he says something about my working for $10 an hour. He implies that I will be working forever at that rate. I say something like, "Well, at least I work for myself."
I do not tell him that I own my own business.
He talks in a self-satisfied way about himself and he mentions his job. I ask him what he does and he says something about "Ronald Reagan's Plan." Apparently Ronald Reagan authorized two projects, and after speaking with Ronald Reagan, this fellow was awarded one of the projects. Listening to this fellow speak, I think he sounds like a salesman. I simply listen to him talk and I do not say anything.
I have almost finished my drink and I do not want any more. When I notice that the bartender is intending to fill my glass again, I plan on telling him, "No."
Unsure, I start wondering if I already ordered a steak and how much it will cost - perhaps $20. I reflect that the ordering of a steak would be out of character for me.
The fellow talks and talks and talks but he never reaches the real substance of what he actually does. I'm almost ready to remind him that he is supposed to be telling me what he does for a living, but I simply let him continue jabbering.
I can see myself in the large mirror behind the bar. I'm wearing my round green hat. It looks as if I'm also wearing a black tee shirt.
The place has filled up. I've been served a salad on which I munch as I await the main course.
Everyone experiences divine inspiration in dreams. Divine inspiration in waking life, however, does not seem to be so automatic. We must work for such inspiration.
To feel the inspiration God in our work is a reward in and of itself.
Whether Ronald Reagan was a good man or a bad man remains ambiguous at the ending of this story.
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