A Dream I Just Had

I had this elaborate dream. It seemed that I had not graduated from my psych doctoral program because my GPA was just too low – like a 3.2 instead of a 3.3, AND that, somehow, a sprinkler going off on a lawn on my childhood block was responsible for distracting me, and THAT’s why I got the 3.2. Then, as I thought more about it, and I became a little more awake, I remembered that the actual reason was that I hadn’t finished my dissertation, which was a relief – because it WASN’T just the thin thread of the sprinkler and the tenth of a point of grade.

Then I repeatedly walked through these woods. I was down and out, without a job, didn’t have money, and was trying to get “out of the woods” by this repeated literal working and reworking my path through these woods, putting great thought and effort to it, each time (somewhat, as one “works through”, in psychoanalysis). In fact, much of it WAS self-analytical. There was also this rock that I’d see along the way, that looked as though it might have had a fossil of a shell in it, but I’d pass it by, the first few times, because I determined that it really WASN’T a fossil. Then, the last time, I was being followed by guards, as I was on private property (in these woods), and they perceived me as a possible threat. They were as much a small army, with rifles, as “guards”. I realized that they decided not to approach me or try to harm or capture me, until they determined more about the nature of who I was. They also apparently didn’t realize that I was on to their presence. I had a sense that, as they saw me act in progressively higher functioning ways, they’d abandon the idea that I was a potential threat, and was, in fact, on a more “professorial” level. On this last trip through the woods, I looked, again, at the rock, and saw that it was, in fact a fossil, and took it with me. Then, I had come to this multi-leveled sort of office building, that was part of a university. It consisted more of open walkways. And, again (or, “still”), I repeated walking them, in an attempt toward working through to a better level of circumstance for myself. It was as though it were a mental health clinic/department, run by the university, and I wanted them to see that I could, in fact, WORK there, as a psychologist, and that I shouldn’t be there as a needy client. It seemed that I DID get to the point where they had decided to pay me a small stipend or salary, but it was too meager. I discovered a rate card that indicated they were trying to decide on paying me either 16-hundred something or 23-hundred something, or only as high as 35-hundred something, per month. I felt strongly that this was way too little for them to pay a psychologist with two kids and a wife, so experienced and advanced in his life and in years – even if it WAS according to the scale they paid interns at the beginning of their career (going up on the salary rung, one step a year). And, it seemed that, at that rate, it would take me five more years to begin making a living wage. I also somehow discovered that they were making either 5 million or 5 billion dollars, directly as the result of the work I was doing, so I was about ready to demand that they pay me what I deserved. But, I also was aware that there was an effort, now, on “their” part, to assassinate me, both to avoid meeting my personal demands, and because they realized I was about to expose their high-proceed-getting scheme and corruption to the public. My journey of self-analysis and discovery had led to and become one of EXternal investigation into what “they” were doing. I believed that it was getting harder and harder to evade or avoid getting assassinated. They even began firing these big cannonball type things at me, from the walkway across from mine, but I repelled it with my mind, and put it back on them (telekinetic judo). One shot actually hit the main guy shooting at me, and he had a look of amazement and horror on his face, with his eyes wide open, as he fell back, over the side of the building, and out of sight, to his sure death. Then, like Martin Luther King, I knew that they might ultimately or soon succeed in killing me, and I began, sort of in coded language, to let the broader, more-innocent outside world know that I knew this, but was not afraid, because I was innocent and, in this way (by “virtue” – pun intended – of this), had more power than they did; no matter how it turned out, the side of “good” had the upper hand, and would win.