Lucid Intent? No
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For the past year and more, I've been dreaming that I find myself on Foster Avenue, walking toward my childhood home in Sayville. I remember that my parents no longer live there and I can't go home. At this point I become lucid. Each dream contains different details.
Last night I found myself walking down Foster Ave., realized it was a dream, and then passed a gap between houses where 297 would have been. This made sense, since I knew it wasn't my home any more. I continued to walk down to the bay at the end of the street, and entered the water, expecting to find answers there about my purpose in life. Then I was in a little one-person boat, linked to several other such boats in front of and behind me. My husband, Mark, was behind me. I'm not sure if the others contained our children or just strangers. Linked together our boats ride up and down huge waves. Then they come apart - the boats don't move by themselves.
Don Costanzo, who used to live across the street from us, said we would become vulnerable now that our boats have separated. I reply: "I'm already vulnerable." I tell him what a difficult time I've had trying to find a job. He says he has, too, but he's just starting a new job. I ask if he ever thinks about leaving Sayville to look for a job. I tell him: "I have left four times but I keep going back."
Actually I haven't been to Sayville in 17 years, since my parents moved to the town where I live. I believe this refers to the times I have left my actual home for part-time jobs.
Don is living with his parents. I go to his house and talk to him. I tell him that I can't go home since my parents moved, and I joke that I could move into the nursing home with my mother. He admits he's been living a playboy life and has fathered a daughter with one of his many girlfriends. I am leaving the house when I notice a girl about to give birth. I stay to deliver the baby. The girl becomes a baby boy giving birth to another baby - which emerges as a miniature man before becoming a baby. My father is my assistant. I let him hold the baby while I wait for the placenta to come out. Don, who had been reading a newspaper during the birth, is curious about the placenta. He does take a turn holding the baby after that. I comment that it's a good thing I have watched a lot of TV shows about delivering babies so I knew what to do!
I leave The Costanzos' house and go to our old house at 297. Don's sister lives in my old bedroom and has filled it with her clutter so that I don't recognize it as my room. I see no reason to stay, so I start to walk back up Foster Ave. I remember that it's a dream, and so I can fly. I fly up into the sky and pray while I'm flying: Dear God, please give me a job that will use my gifts and talents to make a positive difference. Please let it happen soon!
I want it to be creative work. I envision some kind of project that involves categorizing and organizing something.
I am caring for my elderly parents now - a role reversal. My dad doesn't want to take any responsibility for himself any more. By letting me parent him, he is helping me to birth a new identity. The baby boy giving birth to a miniature man may symbolize a masculine aspect of myself that needs to emerge.