Keith and I are at some winter resort playing in the snow. Many other
people are also playing in the snow. We have all purchased tickets
for the train, which will take us further up into the mountains.
I slide down a very steep hill into a bowl of snow. When I reach the
bottom, I see that all the people have run up toward the top and are
disappearing over the edge and I know that the train is coming. I run
toward the steepest part of the hill, which leads to the train stop,
but it is very steep, like a cliff. I poke the toes of my boots into
the snow, but the snow has been melting and doesn't hold. My feet
keep slipping down. I call and call for help, but no one comes!
Eventually, I reach the top, but the train and all the people,
including Keith, are gone.
I go into the building through the back door, which is closest to the
hill where I came up. There are double doors with a room or entry way
between them (like in a darkroom), but someone has removed the handles
(knobs) from the insides of the center part of the double doors and I
am trapped between them. It takes me a while to pry the inner door
open. My mother is inside. She tells me the train will come back for
me in a little while and that she is making me pancakes for breakfast.
It seems I have not had breakfast yet.
I think I hear the train coming and rush out through the front door.
But once again, I am trapped between the two sets of doors. I pry the
outer door open by jamming my fingernails under the somewhat loosened
black screws that used to hold the handle, which has been removed,
just in time to see the blur of the train whooshing by. I yell and
wave my arms, but the engine is way past and it doesn't stop.
I sit on the ground and cry. My old college friend and lover, Chris
Burnett, appears, looking just as he did in 1970, forty years ago. He
sits in the snow beside me and I tell him the whole story of what
happened. I am crying. I am very distressed to not be with Keith on
the train into the mountains. I also feel abandoned by Keith,
although I realize that he thought I would catch the train when it
came around again.
After I have finished telling my story, Chris rolls over on top of me
and starts humping me gently outside my clothes. I say, "Do you want
to go to my cabin?" I am thinking about my mother inside the building
making pancakes for me. I am very hungry and the pancakes sound good.
I am thinking about Keith. Chris rolls over away from me and he has
a hard on and no pants (Earlier, I didn't notice him being nude from
the waist down). I notice his erect penis is small (and not is big as
Keith's!) and rather child-like and strange.
* * * *
I wake u p, disturbed that
I would offer to take Chris to the cabin I shared with Keith (and have
sex with him—that was the implication). 9-8-10
In my "real" waking life, I have not seen or heard from Chris Burnett
in nearly 40 years. Nor have I thought of him or dreamed of him in
that time, at least, not recently. I have no idea where he is, and if
he were to show up here, I doubt he would look like he did 40 years
ago, I doubt he would act like that, and I highly doubt I would invite
him to "my cabin" to have sex. (And of course, my mother is no longer
alive and I can't eat pancakes any more, due to my allergies).
• Missing the train—TWICE!
• Barriers to reaching my goals:
o the cliff
o the uncooperative snow
o the doors with no handles or knobs
• The missed breakfast with my mother
• The strange sex temptation (I have none in my "real" (waking) life)
• I miss my mother and the "unconditional love," acceptance and help
(and food) she provided me. (Not that I need the food).
• Over and over, I keep having problems and barriers to completing my
work (writing) because of computer failures and other problems (health
issues, company coming, a variety of problems and issues to deal with,
lost manuscripts. I may be (I AM) afraid I will miss the boat (train)
with my manuscripts. And I might! [I got a form rejection from
Adams Literary. ]
• I keep having dreams of abandonment by Keith, but he has not
abandoned me as far as I know (two previous husbands did).
• (My mother's birthday was recently.)
I also dreamed about wolves earlier—they were like big old lazy dogs
lying in among a grove of skinny-ish trees and I rubbed my foot on
one, the way I would pet a familiar dog without bothering to bend
over. It had very thick fur. The coloring was also wrong; they were
like the Australian shepherds I used to raise, but they were supposed
to be wolves.