Dream: The Magical Transformation Machine

Dream 20021015, 4:45 AM:

I’m at a large backyard party. It’s not the house of anyone I know in real life. There is a large swimming pool, and there are several people moving a large inflated boat around in it; it seems like it’s really too large to be in the pool, because it keeps bumping into the walls. It has a yellow part around the sides that is full of air, and that keeps the boat from getting damaged, but it still shouldn’t hit the sides. I lean down and stop it from running into the pool side with my hand, and push it back into the water. There are several people making fun of a kid that I think is mine, or a friend of mine. I go up to the person who’s leading the group picking on him, and I push him into the pool. Then, I decide that it’s time for me to go home, and I start walking along toward the house. I walk over this thing that looks like 4 little black plastic finger-shaped pieces sticking out of a depression in the sand; as I pass, it makes a noise like a rattlesnake and sprays water or throws bits of sand at me. It startles me and I jump, and everybody laughs because I was scared of it. They all act like it’s just a funny joke, but I know that it’s something more.

Then, I’m at a woman’s house. She is richly dressed, in a kimono-type silk dress that’s mostly burgundy with a lot of embroidery in other colors. She seems very lush and serene; she reminds me of the grandmother in Two Moon Junction. Her hair is a rich auburn brown, cut straight a little longer than her jaw, and it has just enough wave to it that it has shape. Part of it may be put up in back. The entire house is richly appointed, with lots of dark wood paneling, it looks like walnut and cherry. We’re in her study, and there are several little black machines on a big cherry credenza. One of them has the little protruding fingers like the thing I saw in the sand at the party. I reach out and touch it, and she seems alarmed. It starts whirring and the finger parts move and then the whole thing starts to light up and move. It starts altering reality; it seems like it’s affecting the woman the most.

She says something about how I have to get out of here, and I tell her I need to stay. She warns me that she’s going to get really old, and her face starts to change. It doesn’t seem like she gets really old, but her face changes and becomes scarred and roughed up. She’s holding on to the sides of a door frame or a cabinet, I can’t really tell – but it seems like the transformations are hitting her in waves. She loses the polished look she had previously, and ends up looking like a rough-and-tumble country woman. She reminds me of a friend of mine, B. S. Her clothes lose their color and sheen as well, and when the change is finished, she’s wearing something like a plain buttoned dress in a pale mint green that looks worn and faded. I get the impression that this is how she really looks, that the other look was a facade created by the machine. I still like her, and I think she was scared that I wouldn’t once I saw her change.

We have to get out of here. I take her to my house, which is tiny and run down. It reminds me of a shotgun house, one of the ones that was built in low-rent neighborhoods. It’s got a screen porch and wood siding. It seems run down, like it needs paint and cleaning. I have to hide her here, so that she won’t get in trouble. She keeps transforming herself to be young and pretty, and I know that if she gets caught doing it, we will be in all kinds of trouble. During this part, I can see myself from the outside; I look like a Bolshevik revolutionary, with glasses and a shaggy short beard. I remember having to go out somewhere and coming back to the house; I had apparently left her locked up in a large closet, so that she wouldn’t be found while I was gone. She sort of busts out of the closet, like she’s glad to be free of it.

We go to some sort of party or meeting; it has more of the feel of a barbecue or a picnic than a formal gathering. It is all people that I know from the slum neighborhood, and they are all blue-collar types. She is sitting in the passenger seat of the car while I go and talk to someone, and she changes herself to be much younger, very svelte looking with frosted highlights in her hair, which is swept back from her forehead and loose in back. Then, she changes the car; it started out white, and she doesn’t change that, but now it is a two-door luxury sports car, it reminds me somewhat of a Lexus. The guys that I know at the picnic start coming over and looking at the car, and ribbing me about how I got it, then they look inside (the windows are darkly tinted, but my door is open) and they see her, and start ribbing me about her too. I am angry, and scared that we’re going to be found out. She’s not supposed to be changing things, because if we get discovered we will be hunted down. By whom, I don’t know.

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