Recalling a dream

I usually write about philosophical ideas of mine or from personal experiences. Sometimes I mix those two subjects by merging them within a fictive story.

Today I want to do something different. I want to recall my dream. I desire to write down what happened there. Those rare instances I remember them… I have a special connection and relation towards my dreams.

So bear with me, while I recall and retell my dream to you:

I’m on a plane. We’re flying. My parents are next to me. We are going to Turkey, the land of my ancestors. The air outside is cloudy, there is a weird orange hue on all of the colors, desaturated, a monochrome scene presents itself.

A flash, a scene-cut, darkness. Next I remember I’m in a room with a bunch of old friends. I feel warm, I feel secure. I know them, I’ve known them for a long time. They aren’t my current friends, they had been my friends. But I feel like it’s been just yesterday. I don’t feel as if I don’t belong, quite the opposite.

It’s a big room. Large enough for eight to ten people to sit down in a large circle and the room still looks huge. It’s weird. We’re bored. I remember how I came here, I feel it. But I can’t recall the steps. Visually, there is only a cut, but emotionally I know. I know how everything has come to this moment. It’s a weird gap of knowledge - I don’t question it.

One of the guys stands up, walks into the hallway next-door, picks up something and reenters the room. He’s got some kind of a board game. We pull it out and start to play it. Some kind of money game, maybe Monopoly? I’m not sure.

We play. It’s fun in the beginning, but for some reason I feel uneasy. Tension is rising. Someone isn’t playing the game right.

Before thing escalate, my sixth grade teacher shows up and says we need to leave. I look outside the window. It’s raining. The water outside has risen up to the small, yet wide windows situated on the top of the right wall, right opposite the entrance. It’s a dirty, desaturated green-brownish fluid, swapping between the former and a warm brown/beige color. The water has soaked up all the mud and dirt from beneath, it’s not pure, it tells me with color only: I’m hostile. But the waves that the storm outside punches into the water have a bluish-turquoise tint. I’ve never seen something like that before, it’s like the attributes of two different kinds of waters had gotten mixed up their attributes.

We leave in a hurry. We enter a bus. Outside the storm is transforming into a typhoon. The streets are flooded, the water carries bits and pieces of the environment - it’s latest prey being a tropical tree.

A moment of awkwardness: I have to reach my plane back and for some reason, I’m not at all alarmed by the chaos raging outside the bus. My teacher looks at me and says: “We’re gonna make it, don’t worry!”

I want to believe him. I feel that it’s right. I feel it’s true. I’m going to make it.

Another scene-cut, darkness.

I’m awake.

I don’t usually remember my dreams, but when I do, I’m always mesmerized how extraordinary they are. No where near the old “dinosaur is chasing me” dreams or “I’m driving down this road to fast, I’m going to die” type. These kinds of dreams, they always bear a meaning.

I’m not saying that because I want them to bear meaning. I’m saying that because I wake up with that feeling; this was important.

Thank you for your time.