Dreams

I've been having a lot of strange dreams lately. The kind where I wake up and feel the need to tell someone. Where I lay in bed for a while after waking up and don't immediately check my email the way I sadly usually do (my laptop sleeps on the floor next to me, and stays on, so all it takes is a click of the "refresh" button), but instead just stare inwardly for myself, wondering what is wrong with me, or what is going on in my life to have these dreams. Not all of them are fucked up, but they all do leave me with that "Hmmmm...." feeling.

The other night I dreamt I went to my parents house in Massachusetts to pick something up, and there was this dirty old envelope on top of my bookcase from Nana Kate (my father's mother). I was all, "What the hell, I'll open it up." It was for me anyway, and I have a horrible history of never opening my mail, even when it's good things inside. so I open it up, and inside there's a smaller envelope. Inside THAT is cash. tons of it. Peering into the envelope it appeared to be all 5s and 1s without flipping through, but Rob was with me and he insisted I was "set for life" so for the remainder of the dream I was convinced this was true, that the envelope was full of hudreds of thousands of dollars.
There was a letter in the larger outer envelope, explaining that the money was from my grandfather. The odd thing about my family is that we are so close that my dad's mom and my mom's dad were best friends, and in the letter she admitted to being in love with him. Which is ok, my mom's parents were seperated and my dad's dad died when my dad was only 16. So it's not scandalous except for the fact that she could have been getting her socks rocked off all those years instead of remaining celibate and somewhat grouchy for 50 years in the name of loyalty. But it's a dream anyway, and in real life they were friends
So I have all this money. And am wondering what I should do. And was feeling like a huge dick for a second because the letter must have been from Spring 1997, when Papar died. I never opened the letter when Nana Kate was alive, so I could never talk to her about why I was getting the money through her and not in the form of a Will inheritance or Trust Fund or anything. Where did this money even come from? But that feeling didn't last too long because it was a dream and I had other things to do.
I meet with a poetry guru who gives me a lesson on zen and existencialism. I did not write the lesson down upon waking, but I remember he wrote me a zen poem about the beauty I see in things are aspects most people see as ugly, or else don't even notice them. Which has to do largely, of course, with perception and openmindedness. Of course, the first thing I do is seek out a zen poet master! Of course! I wish I had written down the lesson, I will undoubtedly need it in the future, when February continues on like a lecture.
Back in Pittsburgh, I wonder what to do with my newfound wealth. I bump into my friend Steve who somehow already knows I got all this money. He instinctively directs me to his best friend, with whom I've recently been romancing.
"We're all set," I tell him, "we can do anything! We can move to Cuba, write manifestos, rekindle La Resistance." My head is already in bloom with poetry and ideas. He asks me what my grandfather did, how he had all this money. I describe my grandfather, who in real life was a great guy but continuously lost everything through drinking and betting: the house he owned, the bar he owned, his position in society in Charlestown. He ended up moving into the projects with the whole family, and then they moved to Hull when it was just my aunt Suzie left of the five children he'd fathered. My nana Ollie kicked him out of the house once and for all, and he moved back to the projects and lived there basically the rest of his life until moving to Florida on some pension or something. I don't understand those old people deals they get, something helped him out so he could move to warmer climates Also, this is all hearsay from what my mom has told me, and what I have retained from those stories. In the dream these were all truths, but in real life I understand the fallacy of memory, and that history, generations, and romantic notions only further the inacuracies
Regardless, my bubble was pretty burst. The envelope seemed to fade out of my grasp as I accepted the "truths" of it's improbablility, the rediculous notion of having this cash with no strings attached to it at all. I woke up fishing around my bed for a moment for the envelope, trying in vane to reclaim that monetary freedom.

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That was three nights ago. Two nights ago as another odd dream, of which I no longer have any recollection. Last night's dream was even more bizarre, however, and more disturbing.

I don't remember as many details as the other dream, except that I believe this dream also took place partly at my parents home in Massachusetts. This is especially odd for me, because I hold virtually no sentimental value to that particular home and have never quite felt "at home" there, for all my years living there. When I needed safely, I would find solace at my friends' homes, the forts, walking around Cambridge, etc. I don't know why, really. Maybe because when we moved there, my folks told me we were just spending the night to check it out, to see how we liked it. And then we never got to go back "home" and I never really felt very moved in.

Anyway, in this dream I was the nanny for Hitler's grandchildren. If I remember correctly, I was an older lady in the dream, and had previously helped out his children, though I don't remember if I was their nanny also or if I was a confidant.
I was not a nazi in this dream, nor was I a nazi sympathizer. Just an older woman who was a philanthropist and saw no distinction between the descendants of those who'd made errors in judgement and those whose ancestors were the victims of such errors. In real life, I feel the same way on some level. However there is also a necessity of awareness of place, and it's crucial for those of us who come from a privelaged lineage to understand that their life choices and world views are going to come at a different angle from someone who has a less prosperous family history, and that many things in life are cyclical and also systemic. Personal accountability for one's actions and reactions is imperative, but we are humans and therefore have the ability to see and interpret the "bigger picture" which I feel is important to not disregard. But anyway..
Hitler's grandchildren, a boy and a girl if I remember correctly, were at risk of being charged with some accountability, or something of that nature, and were being hunted down by a mob-like governmental force. I was their adamant protector. I annexed them in a safe hiding place in my room, which turned to be my room in Pittsburgh, where I do feel comfortable and at home, which probably has more to do with the age at which I moved to Pittsburgh and the circumstances under which I came, here, namely circumstances I chose. Not ironically, my room here in Pittsburgh is an attic.

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Rob, my roommate, has an acute awareness of his own spiritual presence, and therefore is very atune with Feng Shui. I have been reading on Feng Shui for years, and for the life of me can never get it right, can never remember a damn thing about a damn thing in regards to the energetic blueprint of my living quarters. Rob told me I should not have a bed that aims itself in the direction of the bedroom door. In Ancient China, bodies of the dead were bondaged and delivered head-first into tombs and incineration chambers. I did, actually, set up my "bed" with my head facing the exit-wall (though the door is on the other side of the room) until the aforementioned co-romancer came for a visit and instinctively moved my pillow to the other side of the designated sleeping quarter.
My feet are still facing the door.
Rob claimed that he had once set a bed up in this manner in a different apartment and had horrible dreams until he moved it, and later read about Feng Shui's connection to bed-placement. I have significantly less negative dreams than I did when I lived in Boston, when I lived tucked into a wall behind a stair bannister, again in the attic. I was then positioned perpendicular to the door, behind it, and over it. But I was head-first with the window, being the most direct exit. As it stands now, I am perpendicular with one window, head-first with another, and feet-first with the door.

I just think I maybe shouldn't eat before I go to sleep.