Only in my dreams

It's been over two weeks, and just when things are really starting to look up, my dreams try to sabotage my peace. Last night, I dreamed I was hanging out with the "ex", if he can be called that. We chatted, we drove around (and somehow saw a lane of traffic with a couple of semi trucks driving backwards, which was pretty cool), we watched TV just as buddies, on separate couches even, and it was fine and comfortable. He even left funny little corny, slightly inappropriate messages scribbled into the dust on the TV screen. I chuckled when I saw them, which I only noticed after he left abruptly without a word, leaving me wondering where he'd gone and missing his friendship. <sarcasm>Gee, could such a dream mean anything?</sarcasm>

On the brighter side, I also dreamed, before all of this, that I was at a tropical, Disney-style theme park waiting to see the dolphin show (which, incidentally, was more aware of and responsive to the well-being of the dolphins than any show I'd seen--leave it to my brain to throw in that detail) and trying to figure out which rides I could get in before lunch. Then I was infiltrating a research facility to retrieve a miniature batmobile and a teleportation portal, shooting up droids, laser cannons, and Darth Vader in a shower of "bew-bew" laser fire and rescuing from a closet a mad scientist who was going to help us unlock the teleportation module. So that was pretty awesome.

I Liked You, You Putz

I dreamed last night that I was lying in a living room watching an action flick with several friends, and I was right next to a friend with whom, in real life, things once were quickly and briefly romantic but went sour and with whom I haven't spoken in a while. No contact, no looking in each other's direction, no connecting in any way. Just the awkward awareness of each other on the living room floor.

At one tense point during the movie, I moved my hand in a startled motion and accidentally bumped his hand, and instead of jerking his hand away and accusing me of some ulterior motive, he simply clasped his hand very gently, almost imperceptibly, on mine, as if to leave open the possibility that it was just my imagination in case I rejected the gesture. I might not have noticed except for the gentle pressure of his finger tips on the sides of my hand. I relaxed my tense fingers, letting them drape gently over the edges of his hand, without clasping back, returning the gesture in a way that left it open to interpretation that I might or might not have noticed.

Our hands stayed like that, embraced, somewhat insecure and tentative but clearly intent on connecting, and the movie continued, but I was so relieved that he really did want to connect again and show some small kindness and sincere desire to "hold on" to what friendship we had left that I didn't notice the movie. I was feeling so much relief that after all that has happened between us, this tender gesture proved a persisting desire to repair what we could.
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This dream was just another indicator of my feelings towards a couple of such friendships. I'm not used to romantic friendships gone bad. It's probably old news for most people, something they went through in years much younger than mine, the confusing phenomenon of thinking someone is a total jerk and not ever wanting to see them again while, at the same time, feeling so much affection and wanting to be close again, albeit without the romance.

Well, it probably should be embarrassing for me to admit that this stupid dream meant something to me. Or that I felt a tinge of disappointment when I awoke to find it was only my imagination. Not chagrined enough to get bent out of shape, I sighed and chuckled at my emotional persistence in holding on, for several months now, to some hope for reconciliation, then I shrugged, climbed out of bed and got ready for work. So I still haven't completely "let go" of things, apparently. Dang. But hey, I'm genetically flawed.

I've experienced something similar with a couple of other friendships, but we were able to talk through it, and we each gave a little and worked things out or are still doing so. These others are different somehow.

How is it I can think someone was such a dirtbag to me and feel a desire to kiss and make up at the same time? It's weird, and it's wrong, and I'm not used to it, and it's not on my top ten list of fun emotions. I'm used to making and keeping friends, albeit slowly. I'm not used to losing them. I'm a pack rat. Pack rats don't lose things, we might set them down for a while, but we fully intend to keep them. *shrug* I'm also not used to wondering how I'd react if I ran into someone, whether I'd feel casual and indifferent, or I'd want to hug them, or I'd have to force a smile and some civil greeting while cursing them under my breath with nasty words. Being a puzzle-solver, I want to believe there's a way to solve this. I hate when I can't solve a puzzle, but I'm learning to let go when I realize the pieces I need are in someone else's clutches or when solving it is maybe not priority number one.

So I'm left wishing things were different, wishing that a couple of friendships were better for me than they are, but unable to see a way to get there and refusing to go back to things as they were. Trying to talk things through only went so far. It seems a couple of friendships are possibly beyond repair, at least for now, and to some degree, I've come to terms with that. So it seems all that's left, for now, is to wish. Or to let go completely. Damn my genetic flaw that makes it so hard to let go completely and makes me dream of holding hands tenderly with putzes.

Hot Orca-Men

Abridged from a (VERY) old e-mail to my buddy Tito. I'm totally opening myself up to relentless teasing for my odd dream, bordering on bestiality fetish, but even though I'm not turned on by animals, I thought the dream was just magical.

...oh my, I can only imagine the Google hits that last sentence is going to draw. Yikes.

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I was working at a place where we took people out on the water for tours. One day, when we went to the little dock attached to the building, there was an orca right there at the dock. It poked its nose up and even landed itself onto the dock, scooting into the building a little bit, nose-first, as if to investigate us. I was dumbfounded but had always wanted to touch one, so I walked up and petted its nose. It was thrilling. It seemed to respond positively, and we had a little moment of connection. So cool.

But the tour group had to leave--they were going to see something else--and they didn't seem nearly as interested in the orca, so they didn't interact with it.

OK, so in my dream there was a co-worker at the tour place who was a tall, dark, and handsome guy. The next day, I'm at a little work social, my friend [Jane] is there, everything's fun 'n all. This gorgeous co-worker walks into the room looking irritated and mildly hurt, sulking about how the tour group had ignored him yesterday. During the whole tour, they ignored him. He even came right up to see us at the dock, and they didn't spend time with him in the bay.

It was then I realized that HE was the orca--a sort of orca-man? I told him how I spent time with him and I touched his nose and was captivated by him. He seemed to be calmed and contented that I had genuinely been captivated. As we carried on a thoroughly engaging conversation, his attractiveness certainly wasn't in question, but I was pretty sure he was straight, so I didn't entertain the attraction.

Meanwhile, [Jane] was standing next to me, getting closer and closer. Strange since she's not interested in me. As we're finishing up our conversation, the guy says, "I am gay, even though most people think I'm straight by the way I act." Just as he said that, [Jane] planted one on me, on the lips. Just a peck, but precisely timed to coincide with that little revelation. My gaze was on him the whole time, though, as he withdrew. My eyes followed him as he went out the door, looking back momentarily. With my gaze fixed on him, I wiped my lips to get rid of any lipstick she might have left. I had found someone good-looking, sweet, and genuine, and he was also an orca! What's not to love?! As he coyly departed, I stood there thinking about actually dating him...and it was exciting.

Then, while standing there, feeling all contented and twitterpated, I woke up. I was ticked to wake up. You know how you have that moment where you're just waking up and questioning the reality of your dream, thinking maybe at least part of it was real? But when it dawned on me that my new source of twitterpation was also an orca, that pretty much clinched it as "not real". *sigh* No orca-man-riding in the ocean for me.

Magical Indeed

Amazing. I share these results simply to satisfy your scientific curiosity, of course. Upon my second night of sleeping on the Magical Makeout Pillow, I had my second straight makeout dream.

...ok, poorly chosen wording. It was my second consecutive makeout dream.

But unfortunately, I do not remember the details of this one. I do remember that it wasn't as hot as the previous night's dream. But I remember the makeout being followed immediately by a bunch of people standing in the kitchen, where someone had just finished an arduously-made masterpiece of a cake. It was in two large, rectagular layers, and the texture, the light fluffiness, the flavor, was incredible, melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

I held the bottom layer as the master cake-maker (I don't remember who it was) ever so delicately placed the top layer over it. Every movement was carefully calculated to make only the most minute impact on the bottom layer. We all held our breath. As the last corner of the top layer was rested into place, the whole thing crumbled like a house of cards all over the floor, in as comical a way as a cake can crumble awkwardly, and somehow, this was a ridiculously hilarious sight.

Have you ever laughed yourself awake? Yeah, I woke up laughing and thought, "That was really funny, and I don't know why, and oh yeah, I made out with someone right before the cake fiasco. I should blog about that tomorrow."

The end.

Magical Makeout Pillow

Wow, it's been quite a while since I've had a good makeout dream. I think I've only maybe had one since Max Power tried to plant one on me and I denied him hardcore. Poor guy. He's doing alright now.

So last night, I decided to actually go to sleep before midnight, and I also switched my pillow because my neck has had a kink in it. I've been to bed before midnight a few times in recent weeks, but this is the first time I've used this particular pillow in months. It's a very plain pillow, firm with a foam core. Seems simple enough. But seeing how this is the only factor that really changed, I've decided to give the pillow the credit for my dream.

In this dream, I had a good makeout session (hey, some of us rely on our dreams for a little action, OK?) with someone I'm pretty sure is a trainer at my gym. This is the first time I can remember that I've dreamed of making out with an actual person rather than a stranger. I say I'm pretty sure it was him because the body matches (and a very nice body it is, I must say), and the hair, but I think my psyche found it necessary to take the attractiveness of his face up a few notches to make him makeout-worthy, so I think it was him but with a little dreamworld plastic surgery. Hey, the mind does what it's gotta do.

But what I remember as much as the hot makey-outy was the fact that after the NCMO, he said, "Well, I've got to go to work," and disinterestedly got up and left.

Now, in real life, I would be really angry about that. "Great--a self-gratifying slut-fest with no emotional attachment." But in our dreams, I guess things can be a little different, and I shrugged and went to chat with some friends in the next room and didn't think anything of it. Even in my dream, I remember thinking, "Oh great...I'm one of them. I just enjoyed a non-commital makeout with no emotional attachment and moved on with my day, not caring if I ever saw him again..."

So I guess, in my dreams, I'm a lip whore. Who knew? I guess I can handle that.

I'll be resting my pretty little head on that pillow again tonight. You know, for the sake of scientific experiment...

Dreaming of Max Power

So I had a dream a couple of nights ago, the likes of which I haven't had for quite some time. It was nice. Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't "one of those dreams", just a good one.

I don't remember the details....at all, really. But there was one thing I couldn't forget: the hottest makeout I've dreamed about for a long time. With a very hot guy. It was tender but passionate, sweet but hot. It was oh, so welcome after going to bed feeling particularly lonely that night, in my great and spacious bed all by myself. So, as you might have guessed, this is where our blogger friend, Max Power, comes into the picture.

But perhaps not how you might be imagining. Right after this hot makeout ended, the unknown, mysterious hot guy I was making out with faded away, and then in came Max Power. He came right up to me and started making advances, none-to-subtle, I might add. After a brief fight against his eager groping and wet lipsmacks, I woke up startled and uncomfortable, frightened for my virtue.

Apparently, mohos in distant lands are so starved of affection, they may come for you in your dreams. Be warned, readers, it may happen to you.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.

I Dreamed of Conflict

I had a dream many years ago, before my mission, which was brief and simple but profoundly burned itself into my memory and stood out powerfully in my mind immediately following it and for some time afterwards, but I didn't understand what it meant, if anything, at the time.

The dream as I remember it:

I was walking through the halls of the local LDS Institute of Religion building which I considered my home away from home, surrounded by friends. We were walking together, past the paintings and classrooms which had become so familiar to me during my time attending the university. We were walking in a crowd, together, laughing, having a grand time. The funny thing was that I was the only male. I was in the middle, surrounded by my female friends. It was a fairly comical sight, actually.

Some of these girl friends were very clear in their interest in me, others were content just being friends, and I was just enjoying their company and not wanting to look for more. I loved and valued their friendship. These were friends I really enjoyed. But I felt a vague disinterest I couldn't explain.

We rounded the corner of the hall towards the front door of the Institute. But somehow, I found myself drawn to another doorway which had gone unnoticed by the others, and I wandered away from the merry-making crowd of young women. I went through this doorway and out onto a moonlit veranda, surrounded by lush vegetation and a warm, tropical breeze. It was beautiful, paradisiacal. I felt at home and at peace, yet strangely solitary. I enjoyed the rest, the brief time by myself, but also wished I could share this place with friends.

The door back into the Institute seemed distant now. Vague. Undesirable after this gorgeous veranda. I didn't want to go back in. This place was too amazing.

I heard a whisper in the distance, undiscernable. I strained to listen, and somewhere in the breeze, I began to understand the sound was distant singing. It was a full chorus, angelic in tone. As I peered intently through the rich, green foliage of the lush trees, I caught a faint glimpse of the location from which the singing emanated. The sound entranced me as I realized it was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing exultant hymns from Temple Square, distant in a valley below.

This only seemed to accentuate my deep feeling of isolation in spite of this paradise I was in. My heart was wrenched as I yearned to be where those voices were. I eagerly sifted through every potential opening in the trees for a path to the Tabernacle to be where I now longed to be. Though I was deeply torn between this peaceful paradise and the joyful celebration in the valley below, I was further frustrated and agonized by the fact that I could find no way into that valley. There was no path. There was no way to join the jubilee. There was nobody to help me. Nobody to share the experience with. They had all gone their way when I wandered through the door to the veranda, and they were probably already there.

As the chorus swelled to its most jubilant and glorious climax, my heart seemed to tear apart completely as I felt no way to be a part of it, and I fell to my knees and sobbed uncontrollably as I wondered why I wanted to be there so badly and why I could not get there from this amazingly beautiful place.

I woke up, face wet with tears and feeling despondent and lonely. I think I journaled the dream, but I don't know where I wrote it. If I find it, maybe I'll update this to correct anything I remember incorrectly, but that's the dream as I remember it. I had no idea what to make of it. It didn't make sense. It seemed random but deeply significant at the same time.

Probably 5-6 years later, after I had not thought of this dream for several years, the persistent nature of my attractions to members of the same sex and the probability that they weren't a phase of curiosity sunk in. I started dealing with things head-on. I started really trying to come to terms with this part of me and reconciling it with the gospel and the church. During one of my particularly reflective times, this dream came back like a flash, and the meaning was, suddenly, starkly clear. I had some choices to make, and they were going to be some of the hardest I'd ever face.

Darker Times and Strange Peace

I wrote this on 13 April 2005, two weeks after my First Essay on SGA. I feel it's a significant enough aspect of my "journey" that I wanted to throw it out there:

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13 April 2005

It may seem like my first essay on SGA seemed a bit dark and confused. I'm not sure how it comes across. I feel OK now, and upbeat, but when I wrote that journal entry a couple of weeks ago, I _was_ feeling dark and confused.

It's just that there are those dark times where I have wondered what is truly real: the God I have known and loved my whole life or the idea that I'm spending so much time worrying what a potentially imaginary deity wants of my thoughts and actions that I'm not actually doing any good in the world around me...in a sense, that I'm obsessing about what's 'wrong' with me when there may not actually be _anything_ wrong with me. I can logically argue that the latter is a flawed approach, but it sure is hard to do that _during_ the hard times.

I've questioned the truth of everything. It's been unusual for me. I've never doubted like that or felt so detached from the church before. I even woke up one morning ready to leave it all behind and sort of push 'reset' on my life. I even thought of how I was going to interact with all of my friends (all LDS) when I ran into them as a newly 'inactive member.'

My journal entry from that day:
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6 April 2005

Last night, as I was laying in bed, I thought I should not neglect my nighttime prayer and kneel by my bed. I did and prayed for a couple of minutes, then had a distinct feeling that I was…well, kneeling on the floor, thinking to myself, and trying to talk to someone who wasn't real except in my imagination, like talking to myself. I thought, "Hm. I'm alone in a pitch-black room on my knees, pretending someone is listening. I'm alone. Completely alone." The strange thing was that it felt peaceful. I felt calm. I woke up this morning, and for some reason, my first thought was, "What if I give up the charade and stop going to church when I don't feel it…when I don't believe it. Why be a hypocrite? Maybe I need to change my habits and become who I want to be without trying to use the church and its doctrines as a motivating factor.

Sure, family won't like it. They'll feel sad. They'll worry for my eternal welfare. But if none of it's true, there's no reason to pretend it is to save their feelings. And again, I felt a strangely serene peace. I felt free and at peace with the idea of making that decision, to not attend as long as I don't believe it, to bow out of
the church and its culture but be friendly with everyone in it. I wouldn't feel malice. I wouldn't feel a need to shout my story from the rooftops. I would respect their beliefs for what they are and live as I felt I should. I wouldn't start doing anything against the word of wisdom, and I would live a temple-worthy life, really, just without the church. I think it possible.

I don't know. It's resurfaced in my mind a few times today. I have many friends in the church, but I know so many interesting and good people outside it, too. And I have contemplated not going…it would be hard on people. I think it might even shake some people up. But in the long run, I have to do what's right, not what would avoid rocking any boats.
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Though I doubted the existence of God, our relationships with family and friends are extremely meaningful, and I didn't feel like I'd be 'alone.' I felt no animosity towards the church...just a sort of bland acceptance that it would no longer be part of my life. I had to stop going if I was this unsure of its veracity, to avoid hypocrisy.

I felt more like my usual self later but still doubtful. The next day, it was pretty much behind me, but I can't shake the feeling of 'strange peace' I felt, sort of like standing in a silent field at night...it's hard to describe. But I think I caught a glimpse of what people who don't believe in religion feel like and how they approach life, or how people who stop going to church feel and what motivations some of them may feel. I do believe that experience served a purpose.

Talking about it now, it seems like a dream, which may not be far from the truth because it took place while getting out of bed.

But I feel like I've 'snapped out of it.' And it feels like I've regained perspective. There's just that occasional question: am I simply falling into a sort of spiritual auto-pilot mode for now? Am I just reverting back to what's comfortable now that I know others who are like me? Is it real change? Or did I even really ever change FROM the gospel-loving, testimony-holding me? Maybe not, deep down. Maybe I was just tired of being constantly torn and felt a sense of relief at 'ending' the conflict in SOME way, even if not the "right way"? I never pictured myself deciding I could be done with the church...and yet I always felt I had the potential to get(or decline, as you might say) to that point someday...does that make sense?

I'm inclined to think that this new, fresh, upbeat feeling is, indeed, an authentic re-awakening, but that I need to remember that there's a sort of honeymoon stage with these things, and I need to have the strength to keep it up when the newness wears off. That's the hard part...the whole 'enduring' thing, eh?
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