Dream: Part of the Soccer Team

Dream 20030326, 7:20 AM:

I am going to a ball game of some sort with Mom and Dad and Richard, and possibly Chris. It seems like I’m a child in this dream, but at other times I feel like it’s current.

As we are walking in to the ball stadium, I am carrying a bunch of art supplies, including a large pad about 11×14, and a reading book. I feel like the game is going to be boring, and I’m prepared to entertain myself somehow while waiting for it to end. We have to climb over a dome-shaped space that has ladder rung type steps welded onto it; there is a warning sign about it, and we decide that Mom won’t be able to get over it because of her knee. We find a different way to get to our seats. When we get to our seats and have sat down, I realize that the stands are oddly shaped – I look over beside the stands, and see a big map of the US with each state in a different color, and realize that the stands are set up like the map. We are in a corner of Alaska.

For some reason, the game is either not starting, or we’re not able to see it. I am sitting and reading. Eventually, without me noticing a shift, the space has changed around so that it is like the Smirnoff amphitheater. I am sitting on a grassy slope, with the playing field down hill below where we’re sitting. There are no seats. There is a man nearby lounging and talking with a woman who might be his wife. He says something about my makeup. I stand up, and walk over to where he is lying, and I take off my shoe like I’m going to smack him on the head, and I ask him what he said, and what he means by that; I’m not wearing any makeup. I’ve got hair gel on, and deodorant and cologne, but that’s it. He says that maybe he thought it was makeup from my book; I look down at my book, which isn’t girly or anything, it’s just a novel. I start to pick up a chair and threaten him with that. He apologizes. His wife says something about me being so confrontational, and I start to explain that I used to disagree with teachers all the time, telling them flatly when I thought an idea was stupid or based on idiocy. She says that she used to teach, and they called that “battle,” and it was one of the things they expected from smart kids. The rest of the spectators seem to be filing out now, and they’re moving past us. It doesn’t seem like the game is over.

Then, I’m in a different set of stands. I’m with Mom and Dad and Richard, but the dream-Dad also reminds me of John. Apparently we’re talking about the incident with me fighting with the guy, Dad says something about how he forgives me, and it was partly his fault because it was a reaction to some other incident a while back. He says that he and Mom have decided that we need three “immaturity days,” which are like sick days – he doesn’t say if it’s three per year, or per month, or what.

Then, I’m down next to the field, right up against where the people are playing soccer (I don’t recall any particular kind of ball game before this point, it was all about the seats and the spectators.) I’m watching them play, and I keep getting too close to the field – one of the players comes up and asks me to move back, so that I won’t be in the way. There is a field of wheat or other tall grass beside the soccer field, and when I move back, my view is partially blocked by the grass, so I move forward again to stand right at the edge of the cleared part. A ball is kicked my way, and although I stand very still it bounces off my legs and back into the field – one of the referrees calls it good, on some obscure rule that if a ball bounces out and strikes a spectator but bounces back into the field, it is still in play. They keep going. I watch them play, and some of them are scooping the ball up with bandanas held between their two hands – only the goalie can handle the ball, but the others can use the bandanas if they have to pick it up.

Two or three additional times, the ball hits me and goes back into play. Now, they are carefully positioning me so that they can bounce the ball off my legs; I’m helping them out, although it seems like an odd way to bend the rules. I never kick or actively move the ball, just block it from going out of bounds. I watch as they get closer and closer to winning. When the two teams are lined up in opposition to one another, “my” team has on orange uniforms, but the other team has on all kinds of costumes, like pirate clothes, Genie costumes, etc.

Then, a giant elephant comes out from in front of the stands – from my point of view where I’m standing, the spectator stands are to my left and in front of me – and his trunk expands like it’s building pressure to expel something (it looks kind of cartoon-like) and I realize that it’s going to shoot a soccer ball at me. I stand very still and don’t flinch, although I’m concerned it could knock me down or hurt me. It bounces off my feet, and through the goal, scoring the winning point. The crowd goes wild, and I hear an announcer saying something about how they’ll have to decide what to put on my jersey, because I’m now a full member of the team. He uses the team name, but I don’t remember what it is. I feel really excited, and pleased to be part of the team.

The rest of the team swarms over to where I am, and they gather around me and walk me out. We walk down a hallway, and I am carried forward by the crowd; I have my arms around other team members. I feel something slick on my left hand, and I look over and one of the guys on the team, a little Mexican looking guy, is licking my hand. He smiles at me – it seems like it’s an innocent (but weird) friendly gesture. We pass a trophy display case, and there is a folded up piece of fuchsia and green shot dupioni silk in it; I think to myself that it’s funny, they’re probably all looking at the trophies, and I’m looking at the silk. A woman who is on the team asks what I said, and I have to explain it; I didn’t realize I had said it aloud. *end*

3 replies
  1. loveisagypsy
    loveisagypsy says:

    I wish I was an artist

    If I had a lick of skills when it came to drawing, I could spend hours illustrating your dreams. If you are this fascinating in your sleep, I can’t imagine what you are like awake 🙂
    charge

  2. admin
    admin says:

    I wish I could draw from my dreams –

    But the only times that I’m able to get something, is when there’s some unusual shape or symbol. I’m no good at drawing things that I don’t have a model for – I can alter, combine, or rearrange things, but for them to look like I want, I need the real thing in front of me, or at least a photo. I have tried to bring up my dream images and hold them firmly in mind, but can’t manage to make them sit still long enough to draw them. I’ve submitted several to Jesse at slowwave.com – have you ever visited there? Definitely dreamy!

    And I’m really not nearly as interesting awake… I’ve got a lot going on, lots of creative ideas and art interests, but I’m much more a creature of habit and routine, and I don’t have the kind of wild adventure life in reality that I do in my dreams.

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