My Very Bad Dream

Dominic Vautier
7-2014

I had a bad dream.  It was I consider a once in a lifetime bad dream, more like the ultimate, all time, extreme, max bad dream.  It was so unequivocally unique because after I woke up I remembered so much, every detail and nuance, every facial expression and feeling, every emotion, and response.  Yes there was color, lots and lots of color, in fact this was to be the only color dream I ever had.  My first time and I very much hope my very last time I ever have a color dream.

I found myself on a busy street.  It was not just normal busy but really really busy. There were people walking by and they were in a terrible hurry, and they appeared mostly as blurs and streaks.  Nobody seemed to notice me.  The people were dressed in all sorts of colors: reds, blues, deep purple, white, indigo, green, long sashes and head coverings.  The colors were vivid, which was surprising to me because all my dreams are in shades of gray, up until this one.  I also noticed the people had makeup on their faces and some on their bodies and hands, the kind that is associated with tribal rituals.

I needed to find Pacific Avenue.  I have no idea why.  In fact I have never heard of any Pacific Avenue, but I went from street to street, and each street was lined with stores with signs hanging from the windows, little signs, some twisted, some at angles.  The signs were in different colors.  The streets were often narrow, with cobblestones of various colors, and curved to follow the street. I kept asking people where Pacific Avenue was, but they would not talk to me at all, or recognize me, or respond to my questions.

The Van

During this entire time I saw only one vehicle, a white van and it was driving dangerously fast through the teaming crowd.  Then it hit a little girl in a red dress.  The little girl was not seriously hurt but the van pinned her long blonde hair under it’s right front wheel.  The little girl kept saying “stop, ouwe, it hurts, ouwe, stop”.  I could only watch helplessly.

The van backed up and little girl got up and began following me.  I took her hand.  Everywhere I went I held the little girl’s hand with the red dress.

The Man

Soon I was confronted by a man.  He looked ominous and got very much in my face.  He had large lips, piercing eyes and a number of ornaments on his head and neck.  He appeared to be some kind of a Voodoo priest.

At this point I decided that “enough of this crazy dream, I’m getting out right now”, so I shuck my head (I could always get out of a dream by shaking my head) but this time nothing happened.  I was still there, still in this strange dream. Now came a serious and disturbing conversation.  I refer to the voodoo guy as “the Man’ because he had no name.  

Man:  Why you shake head?
Me:  So I can get out of this crazy stupid dream.  That’s why.
Man: You never get out of dream.
Me: Why?
Man:  Because this is true to you, to me, to all here.  All you see is true.  That why.  World you came from is dream.  I show you great happiness here.  This not dream.  Trust me.  Not dream.  Not dream.
Me: Then where is Pacific Avenue? (I probably said this just to change the subject).
Man: I show you but why you want find Pacific Avenue?
Me: Because that’s where Portland State University is (I got my MBA from PSU).
Man: I show you then.

At this point I again in desperation shook my head but I still remained in the dream.  The man led me through more winding streets.  I caught sight of the little girl in the red dress following behind at a far distance, like she was afraid of the man.  Every time I turned around there was the little girl in her red dress.

Eventually we came to a wide vista.  It was a beautiful sight.  I was standing on a high patio carved into the side of a large steep hill.  It had beautiful flowing red irregular tile which formed a sort of terraced walk way.  On the right was a neatly curved staircase also of red tile that sloped down to a dull paved gray surface below.  On the left side was a dark ramp that also slanted down and eventually met the surface below, but was sloppy and jagged.

There were immense buildings in the distance mostly a mixture of gothic and oriental design, actually more gothic in nature, but nothing really like what you would find in Batman.  Looking down on my distant right was a tower with a three legged base sort of like a Cyprus tree that met with the ground and then curled up majestically and came to a gradual point.  The man said “This Portland State University ”.

Just like that my eyes suddenly opened and I was awake.  I found myself sleeping on my side and was starring at the bedside table and lamp.  It took several minutes for me to recover from this experience and realize that it was a dream, simply a dream, an interesting, fantastic, memorable, frightful, revealing  dream.

So what does this mean?  Is everyone entitled to such a once in a lifetime experience?  Is there some deep dark underlying mystery lurking in the subconscious?  Do I long to be free of the trials and troubles of my present life and live in such a dream world?

Well as I have said I’m not much into the significance of dreams.  They are no more revealing than examining entrails of pigeons or believing economic forecasters or betting on horses.  But it was something worth the ride.