Dreams of a Layman

Dreams of a Layman

Franco La Monica

Copyright © 2020 by Franco La Monica

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Preface

This document is only a personal record of someone who is basically recording and somewhat analyzing his own dreams. The only tool that the writer is using is his humanity.

This uncharted course could only shed more light on the subject of dreams because the route taken on interpreting these dreams do not follow the path that was previously cleared with their sometimes antiquated dull machetes in the jungles of knowledge.

The writer carries with him his own tool to cut his own path. This tool is the love of knowledge.

Also, the writer understands that there are many things written on the subject of dreams, but the decision was made not to build on other works, not even read anything about the subject in order not to be influenced one bit by anyone on this subject.

It will be influenced only by every current or past dreams of the writer that he will analyze and correlate it to his life!

1

Group of Dreams Mingled in with My Thesis

Many times, I wake up in a daze from the many broken and shattered bits and pieces of dreams that I dreamed throughout the night, including the early part of the mornings. Those dreams were not broken by catastrophes or a bad turn in fate; they were broken because of the many times I awoke from my overloaded nervous system ticking in me like a time bomb.

Every time I awoke, I tried to go back to sleep, but somehow, every time I tried, I never re-enter the same type of plateau or cloud that my subconscious mind was floating in.

Many times, I made it my goal to re-enter the dream in the exact place that I left it in, but the players suddenly would change. The beautiful girl turned into a witch, and my pumpkin stagecoach disappeared into the abyss turning into a cattle train. Neither was I Cinderella. I was always me in all my dreams.

As I tried to analyze each dream from the few slivers of memory that attached to my awakened memory, I sensed the futility of my quest that I practiced and still practice each morning. Yet it is very important to something inside me that I, at least, try to remember something, even a small morsel of any dream that I dream.

In the past, by somehow correlating it with my reality—even with a small glimpse of the remembered dream—I was able to piece one more piece to a large puzzle together in order to make sense of the existence of the dream.

The search of the unknown became like an instant unwilling reaction in my soul because of my heart’s quest in wanting to know every why, and the reasons things are so in the universe.

However, the universe only revealed little to my small inquisitive persona. And like one that divulges little to a friend or foe, it mostly shirked me like a bewildered professor most of my idiotic questions. But are they idiotic?

Sometimes, the remembered slivers of my dreams are prophetic in nature, when a certain place, person, or object that I dream about repeats itself in my awakened reality plateau.

Sometimes, it could take weeks, months, or years for the sliver of the dream to repeat itself in my life. However, most of the time my mind will search and match the similarities of the dream with some future or daily occurrence.

Some dreams are clear as a crystal lake, while some others are as murky as bogs.

There are dreams that overflow with bodies of water that are turbulent, and sometimes they are still like lakes.

The ship some lakes surround, makes those ships real, while the current of the dreams makes the dreamer drift without an anchor in sometimes perilous waters, ready to cascade down a thousand foot waterfall.

Sometimes, when the current becomes strong, and the grip loosens with the threat of being swept away, my conscious eye opens instinctively and saves me from the perceived rushing torrent, or is it my guardian angel?

Other times, I am swept into this dreamland where emotions rise high like a levy about to be overrun by the obstacle. Yet these emotions emulate the emotions in my life when I’m awake.

Somehow, these emotions I feel when I dream are born from my real emotions that are stored inside my psychological cave. There, the boxes are dusty, but the contents are spotless. They are spotless without dust in their reflective ability. And in the same sense that the anger, fright, or passion that the illusion of the dream spurs, they equal the emotion caused same as a real life situations.

Without a shadow of a doubt, every scientist realizes that different plateaus exist.

Like all mere humans, scientists are just as helpless in diagnosing with their primitive tools the absolute reality of these different plateaus.

The awakened emotions that a dream can induce arise in the same manner as when our minds are awake. There is no difference in emotion when awake or in a dream. They are the same heart pumping scenarios.

What I found incredible is the time element. Six hours of real life might only take one split second in a dream. Time is warped in dreams, and unlike emotions that are the same in a dream or real life, time in a dream does not have a clock.

The adrenaline, the beat of anyone’s heart, whether we are awake or asleep, will rise with every perceived occasion that induces our body and minds to react.

A dream can make one think that what they are witnessing is pure perfection. I remember of an instance when I thought that the structure I was witnessing in my dream was pure perfection. It was like a work of art. Yet I never saw anything like it in real life.

One object of my illusion formed out of nowhere; it was in part like a giant stadium that the walls started from nothing, wound themselves around and around, and twirled themselves like a giant snail.

I remembered analyzing many shells in my lifetime. I remember the first time I saw a question mark on paper and how it twirled itself in the middle. I remembered different types of candy and how they were twisted into twirls. Tornadoes, ice cream cones, violins, and other objects etched in my memory banks contributed to the mix of my dream.

In that particular dream, my mind combined all my life experiences with twirls, and the subconscious mind added in order to contrive the beautiful twirled work of art that I saw in the dream.

Dreams are real, only we do not know it.

Then there are dreams that make no sense at all, and are not even worth remembering even one frame of it…or are they?

When this electricity ceases to be encapsulated in our cranium, a hospital machine will detect that the brain is dead!

We know that this missing activity in the brain dead could never re-enter the brain but where did their volcanic electrical activity of their brain go?

Similar to a natural law that a baby can never re-enter the womb, this brain activity winds up somewhere and attaches or transforms itself to something else or heads toward some magnetic field that we assume to be heaven. Many also assume a hell, purgatory, or a great big gate somewhere up yonder.

Sometimes, an artistic or inventive mind will portray some sort of matter leaving the body by honing in on a flickering flame and suggesting that this matter left the body of a person that just died and passed, by a camera that is honed in on the flickering candle’s flame. All this in an effort to emulate on a silver screen a soul leaving the body.

Many years ago, I remember when my grandmother died at home in the old country. I happened to be present when she took her last breath. What I witnessed on that day was a lot of commotion in that house, and I was a big part of it.

The minute that I heard someone say that grandmother was dying, I started to yell at every one to call a doctor. One particular uncle of mine that used to be a sergeant in the army came over to me, smacked me right in the face, and told me to shut up.

At the tender age of five years old, I did not have the slightest idea why he did that. One thing was for sure—because of that smack, my grandmother died without my voice as an added irritant. Also, that same uncle placed a small mirror near my grandmothers open mouth to see if any part of that piece of mirror fogged up. I believe he also tried the same process with a lit candle but the flame never quivered.

Finally, the doctor did come and confirmed what my uncle declared to everyone in the room.

Many times, I dreamed of being naked and exposed to the world.

One particular dream that I had when I was six years old was a precursor for me to stop my bed wetting.

I was at camp for an entire month away from home. The third night at this outing, and in that comfortable bed, I was dreaming that I was doing number one at the fullest force that I was capable of. In the middle of that dream, I woke and found that it was reality.

After that rude and crude awakening, I realized that I was away from home and did not have the protection of my forgiving mother. I kind of freaked out because I knew what would happen in the morning.

The head nun stood over my bed in the morning and proceeded to air it out in front of all the other boys.

There were twenty beds in that room full of six-year-old boys. The nuns would air out the bed of the culprit that happened to have an accident like I did. Then, they would plastic line any ones bed that was wet after they became dry and sprayed it with a disinfectant. The disinfectant smelled worse than the urine.

I was not the only boy that this natural occurrence happened to. More than half of the beds were aired out at one time or another. This was the last time in my life that I wet my bed!

I give part credit to my shame and part credit to my dream. Also, my mother never made me feel ashamed for peeing in bed, but the minute that a strange nun made me feel the full brunt of what shame really was, that’s when I changed my nasty habit.

Call it peer pressure or call it fear, whatever, it worked well in training me, but the key element was the dream that turned out to be reality.

One other dream that turned out to be reality was the simple process of making coffee in the morning. That night, I dreamed of funnels and a sifting system that would make scolding hot water pass through dried coffee, so Chock full o’Nuts once more would awaken me. Little did I know that I would figure something of the same sort by the next morning!

My wife, by accident, cracked the glass of our coffee maker the previous day. I knew that on the following morning, either I would have to figure out how to make coffee without a coffee pot, or I would have to go out of the house all groggy eyed and purchase coffee for us.

This was something that I always hated to do, especially if I met some of my neighbors unshaven, crusty eyed, together with morning breath. Instead, the coffee machine had a filter full of coffee ready to be showered with hot scolding water. I somehow dreamed how to make my coffee in the morning without a coffee pot.

I took a filter already filled with coffee and tied a rubber band around it, giving it the same effect as a tea bag. I then boiled water and dropped this tea bag that contained coffee into boiling water, and that’s the way I improvised for the day till I bought a new coffee pot! This happened only because I dreamed of improvising that method in this exact manner. If I did not dream of that coffee-making scenario, I would have taken a walk down the block and bought me a ready-made cup of coffee, light and sweet. In my later years, I progressed to black no sugar!

Evidently, what we care about or think about will be dreamed, and one has to make its own correlation between a dream and their personal life. One has to find the why of the dream and utilize it, so it can indirectly help us somehow in our everyday life.

I dreamed of new surroundings once. It was some type of an apartment. A few things that stood out about the dream were, that all the windows had stringed lights hung on their perimeters similar to the stringed Christmas lights one decorates with.

One of the other things that stood out was that an attendant of some sort, similar to a superintendent, somehow serviced me by putting on the lights on and off and letting me in.

In this type of condo atmosphere. I remember seeing a very expensive looking car parked at the entrance of this lot, and I specifically remember the number eleven placed in front of my parking space. The problem with that was I remember that someone, maybe my attendant that was not familiar with my condo’s number, parked my car in another numbered parking space.

After that dream ended, I remember dreaming of another dwelling place that was new to me and that I supposedly was moving into. I remember seeing a few very comfortable bedrooms, and the question in my mind was which one was going to be the main bedroom?

The bedroom that I finally chose was not square, and it had some type of split level where it could have contained a bed with many house plants because of the sunny disposition of the room and because of the direct sunlight that illuminated that particular area. The location of this room was in the rear corner of an elaborate home.

After another interruption in the incurring dream, I remember a house full of people. One particular kid approximately ten years old handed me a paper with some type of poetry as to say read it for me and see if it stands up to your expectation.

After this paper was handed to me, I noticed that some dirt was stuck to this paper. I examined it closer and noticed that this dirt was the byproduct that termites use in making their elaborate tunnels made of glued chewed wood.

I immediately asked someone where this paper was stored. A man that I assumed was the kid’s father (and someone that was standing by, also waiting to see if his kid’s work on that paper had any merit) claimed that he knew where his son’s paper was stored.

He proceeded to show me because I was bent on finding where the termites in this house were. Indirectly, I wanted to stop the deterioration process in this house. I did not get the chance to read one single line of the totally filled page of this kid handwritten work.

A moment lapsed, and I found myself in a stinky moist basement. I was shown where the byproduct of termites-laden paper was stored and I bent down toward a small hole where the wall meets the floor. I pocked this area with a stick of some sort and the entire area fell apart like some dried old piece of cardboard. Instantly the light from outside of the basement rushed in and exposed all the damage that the termites managed to accomplish before being discovered.

Time lapsed…and another small room under the basement was exposed. It had an old slimy tank of water, possibly some type of refrigeration unit that uses moving water to achieve the job of recycling water or serving as a refrigeration unit.

There was a big frog sitting in the middle of this type of square tub full of mildew. It was sitting on some type of a rock, which made him stand about one foot above the rim of the tub partially filled with dark dirty water. This water was cascading back in to the tub with the help of a circulating pump. Also, I saw that the thick dark water was cascading from a rock formation that this dark gray frog was sitting on.

Another small but green frog was noticed and quickly caught by the kid’s father, then he showed me once more where this kid’s paper was stored with this green frog in his hand. He wrapped it in a small towel, showed me the towel, and claimed to me that this was the female frog. Somehow, the plan was to remove the small female frog in order to possibly stop any procreation in that filthy subbasement room. Then, the dream ended and another began.

Conclusion! Somehow, the kid’s writings were not important. My literacy level and the advice that I was about to give on the kid’s writing, as some type of instructor, were not important. What was important was what led to the discovery of the termites and the remedy of taking the female frog in order to figuratively stop termites from multiplying. In essence, look for the reason when unreasonable things happen because destiny has a reason why it takes you there!

Some will never agree with destiny or the reason why it rules us because they do not believe in destiny! However, destiny will be there upon all our last breaths.

Dreams are not for those who sleep but for those who seek to understand them.