Dream - March 12, 2007

Underwater men – an earlier dream recalled.

We were in Brandon, Nebraska, my son’s namesake. We went to the Brandon pond (“Grandpa’s pond”) to see if we could fish. We found the water was very high because of all the moisture, in fact even the road to the south was underwater. An old man was there fishing, I did not know him, but he knew the pond and had fished there so often he almost knew all the fish by name, since it is not a very large pond. I don’t know how he could fish because the cattails were so thick around the edges you couldn’t even bring your line in without catching them.

This old man was patiently and earnestly trying to catch the one elusive fish in the pond “Catfish Hunter”. (That isn’t the actual name used in the dream – I can’t remember what it was, so I am using this name a la “Grumpier Old men”) As we talked, the man saw his line move and he motioned me to silence, “It’s him, I know it is.” He patiently watched the line go out and then violently set the hook. The rod bent over double and suddenly jumped out the pond into the road (without seeing the fish). We followed the line to a great bid tractor submerged in the road. Suddenly the tractor sprang into life and raced up and down the road like a cartoon: hooting and sending water all over us and everything else, with a wild eyed catfish at the wheel. The old man hooted and hollered and waved his rod around, hoping his line could hold.

Eventually his line broke and the tractor stopped. A huge, hulking catfish stepped out that looked strangely enough like a man. He walked proudly over the bit of land to the pond. He had a brightly lit cigar hanging out of his mouth, and at his side a smaller squattier cat fish with a sawed off shotgun.

I stood, paralyzed with fear. By this time it was night, and seeing the strange figure by the light of the old man’s lantern and the cab light of the tractor was an eery sight.

The massive catfish sneered respectfully to the old man with a slight bow and said,

“Is that what you were waiting for, old man?” Then he peered queeringly at me and lunged back into the pond.

Frightened, I returned back to the house in Brandon to sleep. Somehow, I later learned that several of the fish from the pond would go out joy-riding in the tractor at night. Since I couldn’t sleep, I went out to watch them. A whole group of bass (that looked a lot like men-bass) were out. The ringleader noticed me and called out, “Look, it’s the guy that Old Man Catfish was talking about!” He called me over and asked, “Are you a Grandson of the Stewart?”

“Yes, I am Ryan, son of Richard, son of Ronnie.”

They men-fish talked excitedly amongst each other and looked at me reverently, and the ringleader replied,

“Yes, of course it is you, my lord. Some of us have seen you grow up, you know. Although I’d say most of these chaps are newcomers.”

“Did you know that I have a son?” I asked.

“A son! A Stewart!” the fish all exclaimed and they began to dance and slap their fins upon the ground. “We must go and tell the others!” And off they went toward the pond. As they left, one shouted, “What’s his name?”

“Brandon!” I yelled back.

He smiled and pointed his fin to the letters etched in the side of the tall grain elevator, B-R-A-N-D-O-N. “Of course!” he exclaimed, and jumped in the water and disappeared.

(I learned later that the fish in the pond revered the Stewarts as their Lord Protectors because Ronald Stewart had created a home for them so many years ago. Not all the fish believed in the tale, some had become skeptical of the Stewart name)

-Dreamineer

Snakes in the Flesh

Dream - March 6, 2007

I can remember the burning sensation of the yellow and black snakes slithering in and out of my skin. Their ugly heads would slide out of my arms and legs and give me a menacing glance before plunging back into my flesh with a sting. I was slave to these seething serpants, I had to do whatever they commanded me or they threatened to bite me and send me into horrible, gut-wrenching pain.

This hell was the world of Zoroastrocism (in my dream, not in reality). That was at least what I believed. I remember a specific day in high school. When the demon snakes told me to park along the curb, but then refused to let me get out of the car. I was imprisoned in my own car as they burned in and out of my arms. Every time I tried to move they would pop out and threaten me and I would resign. After a time, a voice echoed in my head, a voice full of authority and compassion, the voice of God. The voice told me to open the door and not listen to the snakes, they would not harm me. I hesitated, I was full of fear - fear that the snakes that possessed me would punish me. But the voice echoed again, "Do not listen to them, open the door."

With immense effort I gritted my teeth and pushed open the door. Nothing happened. I jumped out and stood up – and behold, the burning in my arms was gone. I had conquered my demons! They had never even had any power over me. I wanted to go around to all Zoroastrocists and tell them, “Don’t listen to the snakes, they won’t bite you – in fact they are not even real.”

In my victory, another scene flashed in my mind and I was shown my alternative. What would have happened if I listened to the demons burning through my flesh. A bloodied and smashed corpse pressed against the ground with only one body part still intact, the left lens of my eye. Before my life expired, I heard the voice of God telling me, “There never were any snakes, and they had no power over you. Everything you did was your choice to obey the demons and disobey Me.” I cringed because I knew that this would have been my fate if I had obeyed the snakes in my flesh.

-Dreamineer

Dream - March 5, 2007

All I can remember is trying to cross a raging river that kept growing higher and higher. We were driving in an old pickup across a stream where there should not have been a raging river. Stranded in the middle, our only choice was to go back, get out of the truck and make our way to shore holding the last strand of barbed wire of the fence. Further along there was a railroad that crossed the river that was still well above the water. We climbed the step slope up to the railroad, but it required crossing the barbed wire onto some other private property that was not a good idea. We were in Mexico and did not really know where we were. A bandit with a revolver and bands of ammunition popped out from behind the railroad tracks and demanded our wallets, our passports, our identification. He was most interested in our passports because they brought a high price from the alien smugglers who were in the business of smuggling people across the border into the U.S.

So here we were, stranded somewhere in south central Mexico, hundreds of miles from the US border with no identification, no car, no cash, and only a handful of Spanish words in our vocabulary.

I don’t know what happened to my partner, whoever I was with, I don’t even know who it was. Eventually I was on my own. Broken Spanish phrases started to come back to me as I traveled, Necesito ir a norteamericano. Did that make sense? Probably not, but it was enough.

I got hooked up with a band of travelers who also wanted to cross the border, although their trek would be an “illegal” one. To them it was a risk worth taking.

At one point in our expedition, we rolled along railroad tracks by pushing ourselves in small coal cars along the railroad tracks. We “rowed” with long sticks and poled along down the railroad tracks.

Finally we rounded a bend and saw the great Rio Grande and across the water was the great state of Texas. As we looked at the water and noticed border patrol people on the far side, I realized that I could probably just start flailing about in the water and yelling, “ I am an American, I’ve lost my wallet, Help me, Help” and the border patrol would came and save me.

So this was the tactic I used and it worked. The border patrol man picked me up. I recited my social security number, address and drivers license number and he was convinced. He escorted me away from the border to the nearest town about 100 miles away.

I don’t know what happened to my traveling companions who tried to cross a different way.

- Dreamineer