Dream of: 26 September 2021 "Dilapidated Mansions" 

A person in a suit and tie

Description automatically generated with medium confidence 

where and how we live

is often dependent on

the way we have lived

 I have a bought an old, two-story, frame house in a run-down neighborhood not far from downtown Dallas. I am planning to renovate the house. Early in the morning, I take a crew of four men (all probably in their 20s) to the house. Since we have arrived early, they sit at a table in the kitchen for a little while before they begin working. I look at my crew. Two are Asian. I think that one is a Korean and that one is a Vietnamese.

I discover that around four other workers are already working in the house. I do not know them. It is unclear why the other workers are here, but they are also going to be working here. I think my crew will have to take care to work in sections of the house where the other crew is not working so that they will not interfere with each other.

The other crew is also sitting in the kitchen at another table. I think I will introduce my crew to the other crew even though I do not know the names of the men in the other crew. However, when I start to make the introductions, I cannot remember what language to speak. When I want to say the word “he,” the word “er” comes to mind. I know that “er” is the German word for “he,” but I cannot think of the English word “he.” Finally, I simply begin talking and the words automatically come out in English.

As I start to make the introductions, I mention that one of my crew is a Korean and that one is a Vietnamese. Immediately, an Asian-looking member of the other group bolts up from the other table as if he is going to attack the Vietnamese at my table. The Vietnamese fellow from my table stands up and leaves the room. The fellow from the other table steps back.

I wonder if the Asian fellow from the other table is also from Vietnam. I speculate that perhaps the two Vietnamese were from different sides in the Vietnam War. Maybe one of them is from South Vietnam and the other is from North Vietnam. It looks as if some animosity is here­­—but it cools down and nothing happens.

I walk out onto the back porch. I want to look over the other houses in this neighborhood. I jump into the air and start flying perhaps ten feet off the ground toward the back of the long back yard. I do not have much control of my flying. It is as if I have launched out and cannot stop. I am aware, however, that I have a white string attached to me and the back porch. When I reach the end of the yard, the string should snap back like a rubber band and pull me back to the house.

I look at the other houses in the neighborhood as I fly, and I notice that the long, green lot on my left is vacant. I can see quite a few of the houses in the neighborhood from my back yard. Small houses are mixed in with gigantic mansions. I cannot see the mansions clearly—some seem to have been worked on while some have not. I notice one old, wooden mansion off to my upper left which has a tower in one corner. Fixing that beautiful house would certainly be a challenge.

I notice that the grass in my yard has been cut. I do not remember hiring anyone to do that, so I do not know who cut the grass. I notice a row of waist-high grass between my yard and the yard on my right. The tall grass seems to have been left purposely as a sort of fence between my yard and the neighbor’s yard.

I end up flying around to the front of my house. I recall that I used to own a couple houses in this neighborhood a long time ago, and I think one of those houses might have been one of the houses on the right side of my house. Those houses do not appear to be in such bad shape. I notice that the white house on the other side of the vacant lot to my left, however, is in horrible shape. It still has the old wooden clapboards with peeling white paint. I think it could use some new vinyl siding.

By now I am on the front porch of my house. I look at the dark blue vinyl siding on my house. It looks to be in particularly good shape. At least I will not have to repair that.

When I return to the backyard of my house, I see a man who is probably in his 60s. I myself am probably only in my 30s. I say something to the man, and he speaks back. I particularly notice how deep and old his voice sounds while my voice sounds so high and young.

Commentary of 26 September 2021

The “white string” may represent “security.”

Picture: Circa 1986 when I was 33 years old.

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