I had my recurring dream again last night. For several years, I have gone to work at the daily newspaper dreaming the deadline for submitting copy was just minutes away and I had typed nothing about my story for the day.
I felt lacking, incomplete and unworthy of the money the Pottstown Mercury newspaper was paying me. I never got the payments and I had complained during half of the dreams, pointing out to authorities that checks they sent to an old address never made it to my new home. The paper owed me big time for all the stories I dug up and submitted over the years. In the dreams, I complained to the editor, the publisher and more importantly, the clerks on the first floor that handled all of the financial matters. No matter what I did, however, I couldn’t get them to pay for services rendered.
Last night, I spoke by phone with some guy who said he was going to make changes and provide me with a check in person rather than try to mail it. I felt satisfied and went to cover a story at a local prison.
There, I met with a woman in her cell room and comforted her on a cot. It turned into a PG-RATED DREAM. That’s just one degree below an X-rated one. We kept all of our clothes on, but we snuggled up close and comfortable as I helped ease her pain and a sense a giant feeling of satisfaction grow in me. I promised to see her again this coming Friday if I could get off working at night. I figured I could show up at the paper and work the day shift and visit her at prison later on.
Dreams are amazing. This past Sunday I attended a talk where a woman story-teller spoke of her dreams at the Center for Contemporary Mysticism in the Chestnut Hill section of Philadelphia. Some 30 of us shared our own stories at individual tables of four or five people each table. We talked of what was described as “visitation” dreams where a friend or a loved one appeared providing us with a message. Most interpreted the visits as attempts to assure us they were okay where they were.
None were prophetic. None were like my recurring dreams. I guess I have to check in with students of Edgar Cayce and Carl G Jung to get the correct interpretation of my dreams. Who knows? Maybe they are prophesizing that I continue to write until the final deadline approaches at midnight at some future time.