to dream to dream

8/8/2019 To Dream to Dream

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Over the years I have written nine dreams in which

Charles Dickens has been mentioned. His imagination,

especially his portrayal of suffering, has impacted mylife.


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Dream of: 15 June 1973 (2) "Bleak House"

I had apparently been drafted into the army againstmy will and was fighting in a war in a jungle in whatseemed to be Vietnam. I became disturbed after I

shot and killed one of the enemy, and I decided I no

longer wanted to fight. I could see the fighting wasbeginning to have negative effects on my mind.If I quit fighting I would have to go to the army'sjail;

so I went to the jail voluntarily to find out what itwould be like.

I found a special kind of punishment being used on the

prisoners in the jail. It was administered by devicescalled "hot-boxes", which consisted of small rooms intowhich a person was placed and then blasted with hot

gusts of air.I stood beside one of the hot boxes, looked inside

through a side window, and watched a young man beingsubjected to this unique punishment. He appeared to be

undergoing excruciating pain and as I gazed into hiseyes, I perceived his suffering and began to cry.I decided I clearly could no longer fight for an
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institution which would do this to its own people. Beingimprisoned myself would be better than fighting. When

I went to the office of my superiors and informedthem of my decision, they seemed annoyed, but not

shocked.I was promptly led away to a jail which seemed to besomewhere in the United States. When I arrived I

first checked to see if the jail had a library and I was

happily surprised to find one. I thought I could spendmy time reading in jail perhaps I could even read in ahot box if I were put in one.

I checked out a book from the library entitled BleakHousewhich I thought had been written by CharlesDickens. I was then led to the prisoners' quarters

which consisted of a large hall in which were housed100-200 prisoners. It was beginning to seem more andmore as if I were in a Nazi-type concentration camp

rather than in a prison run by my own country.I was greeted in the prisoners' quarters by an old

comrade whom I had seen for quite a while who hadfought beside me earlier in the jungles. He ran to meand embraced me. We walked around together and I

felt as if he were my close comrade.I was soon surprised to find some females also
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imprisoned with us. I met and began talking with ayoung attractive girl with long frizzy hair who

reminded me of someone I had known at The OhioState University named Kathy.

For some reason she told me she had to make a gradeaverage of 1.0 to leave. I showed her my grade reportwhich was stuck in my book. When she saw I had made

a 3.8 average she began calling me "the brain".

I next learned that some hot boxes were in thePhilippines and that the prisoners were going to betransported there. We were supposed to board some

airplanes and everyone began to leave. I walked outsideand saw more buildings similar to the one in which I hadbeen. Swarms of prisoners were streaming out of the

building toward the planes. My group began runningtoward the planes and as I also began running, I felt asif I were flying.

As I looked around I was surprised by the extremelook of emptiness and sadness in the eyes of my fellow

prisoners.The concept of writers creating their imaginary worlds

and transmitting these worlds to other people with

words is difficult to comprehend. Yet images created

in Charles Dickens' mind have somehow found life in my
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picked up the turtle on earth.I pulled out one thin book, which appeared to be a

National Geographic, except that it was hardbound. Iopened the book and saw some pretty pictures of flying

cranes on one page. I noticed what appeared to bepigeon dung on the cover of the book, as if the bookhad been left in a garage for a while. Apparently the

space people had picked it up somewhere. I noticed the

language wasn't English. It looked as if it might beCzechoslovakian, but I was unsure.One of them began talking about an American writerwho lived around the time of the Civil War. Either he

wrote playful cartoons or people wrote cartoons abouthim. The woman talked about him, but couldn't

remember his name. When the child said a name, thewoman said, "No, that's not who I'm thinking of."I said, "Charles Dickens?"

She said, no, it wasn't Charles Dickens. She knew whoDickens was and apparently she held him in high

esteem.We are all dying. As I die, I cling to certain people,

somehow hoping they will save me. One of those to

whom I cling is Charles Dickens.

Dream of:15 October 1982 "Submerged"
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I was in my home town of Portsmouth, Ohio, talkingwith my father and my sister. I told my father I

wanted to do something worthwhile that day. Weconcluded that people had thrown much trash and litterout along the roads and that I could go and pick it up.My sister (13-14 years old) and I boarded a car and

drove north on Rt. 23 about five kilometers toRosemount, Ohio.

We stopped along the road at the first turnoff intoRosemount, stepped out of the car and crossed theroad. On the other side was a ravine with litter strewn

all about.I had brought several white plastic garbage bags withme and I unfolded two of them. My plan was to put all

worthless litter into one bag and all aluminum cans intothe other. I was quite pleased with the idea. I hadpreviously thought how someday I would like to go outto pick up litter to help compensate for litter I had attimes thrown out. Moreover, the idea of making a bit of

money in the process enthused me.My sister and I went to work. Holding the two bags inmy right hand, I began filling one with trash (mostlypaper), and the other with aluminum cans. I was quite

surprised by the number of aluminum cans lying around.
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When my sister asked me how much they were worth, Itold her about one-half cents apiece. I tried to

calculate how much we could earn in a day andconcluded we would make $48 if we worked all day.My calculations were a bit bizarre. I figured 24 canswere in a pound. I thought I could find four cans per

minute. I then divided 24 by 4 and reached 6 as aresult. I therefore thought we would make $6 an hour.

If we worked 8 hours we would make $48. But I wasn'tquite sure I had calculated correctly and I thought Imight need to divide the figure by one-half, meaning we

would only make $24 per day.I found many cans. Some contained water which I had

to pour out. Some cans were still held together by

plastic in six packs. I stuffed them all into my bag. Ilikewise kept stuffing litter into the second bag.A cement culvert was nearby. It was peculiar because

on top the cement was about a half centimeter ofStyrofoam. I kept looking at it; in one part a big piece

of Styrofoam was broken off and just lying on thecement. I couldn't figure out why the Styrofoam was

there. Litter was strewn all over it.As we worked I found what appeared to be a bunch ofmattresses piled up, stacked in such a way that they


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formed a kind of shelter. An opening was near theground. I bent down and looked in. Apparently some

children had made it. I saw several very large Sears' orPenny's catalogs inside. I thought the children

probably came there to look at the lingerie section ofthe catalogs. I half felt like opening one and lookingmyself, but instead I stood back up and continued on

with my work.

A few minutes later I noticed my sister had taken partof the shelter down and stacked some of themattresses over by some trees. I walked back over towhere the shelter had been and saw an unopened packof Kent cigarettes lying on the ground. I picked them

up and threw them toward my sister. I didn't want

them, but she didn't either. They just lay on theground. I also saw some other cigarettes lying there.A car pulled up and three men climbed out. They were

drinking beer and one fellow threw down a can. Iimmediately retrieved it and put it in my sack. I felt

humble, but it wasn't a bad feeling. I knew I hadstudied law and that these fellows were probably justcountry bumpkins. It didn't bother me to be out there

working. I felt as if I were doing something good.After a few minutes the fellows climbed back into
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their car and drove off.My search led me down the road a piece until I came to

a place where much litter was lying about. Someone hadbeen working with the litter there and had arranged it

in some order. A stand was there with a bunch ofpaperback books on it. I concluded that someone hadpicked up the books from along the road and put themin order. I looked at the books and thought one was by

Charles Dickens.I kept looking around and saw a tray with packs ofcigarettes on it. Apparently someone had also found

packs of cigarettes along the road and arranged themfor sale

I also noticed a sack with a bunch of metal cans in it.

They weren't smashed flat. I wanted them, but I wasunsure whether they belonged to someone. I thoughtthey must, but I didn't see anyone and I thought about

taking them.A rather ragged-looking man was standing off to theside. I thought that he must be a trash collector and

that the cans belonged to him. I left them alone.My sister spoke to me. We talked about a large city

dump where we might be able to hunt for cans. I toldher I knew of someone who did that. The idea sounded


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intriguing to me, but I didn't want to do it because inthe dump we wouldn't be helping to clean up the

environment by picking up litter. I still felt good aboutgetting the trash off the highway and I didn't just

want to work at the dump.As I looked around I saw many more aluminum cans. I

picked up one can which clearly had the word"aluminum" written across it. I thought it was peculiar

that the other man hadn't already gathered up thesecans, but I concluded that he probably only camearound once a week and that these cans had been

thrown out during the last week. I gathered up all thecans and when I saw no more, I crossed to the other

side of the road.

There I found a little building which seemed more orless like an abandoned house. I walked inside and foundthe place in utter disorder. Apparently no one was

living there, but as I walked through the rooms I founda back room which appeared to be inhabited. Althoughtrash was lying about and things were in disorder, it

appeared that someone had been living in the room. Abed and a few other pieces of furniture were there.I saw some aluminum cans and thought I might as well

go ahead and put them in my sack since they apparently


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were just trash. So I did.Whoever had been staying in the room had cut out

some pictures and put them in a little stack on a table.I glanced through the pictures and concluded that

whoever had been there had cut out the pictures for acollage. That was interesting since I myself liked tomake collages and I thought it would be nice to talk

with somebody else who made collages.

I walked out of the room and into a toilet. There on theback of the commode I found another stack ofpictures. I looked at them but I couldn't tell exactlywhat they showed. The most prevalent color was redwith some yellow streaks. I thought that maybe the

pictures had just been left here and that I could take

them, but I didn't.I walked into another room, saw a few pennies lying onthe floor, and picked them up. I was more interested inthem because of their metal value than because theywere money. I stuck them into my can sack. I found

another penny and picked it up. It was one of the pre-1960 wheat ear-type pennies. I looked at the date andthought it said 1939-s. I thought it might be valuable

and I kept it.When I walked back outside, I was surprised to see a


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crowd gathered on the opposite side of the road. Theywere looking over the bank at something. I could see a

muddy river was flowing along there and I thought itmust be the Scioto River. Its waters were swirling and

the current appeared quite fast.One man was talking in the crowd, explaining how a car

had gone off the bank farther up the road. Butapparently some kind of accident had also occurred

right there. From where I was, I couldn't discern whathad happened.Suddenly a man stuck his head up from the bank.

Apparently he had been down by the river's edge andhad climbed back up the bank. He was very cool and

calm. He pointed to a little spade lying on the ground by

the crowd and he asked if it were a "Dig". Someonesaid it was and handed it to him. Then he disappearedback down the bank.

Meanwhile I had crossed the road and could now peerdown over the bank. I was surprised and shocked atwhat I saw. There, visibly submerged beneath the

water, was a car. It appeared to be a hot rod roadster.But what really surprised me was that at least one

person, maybe two, was still inside the car.The one person (whom I could clearly see) was moving


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around in the car which car seemed to be completelyunder water. I didn't see how anyone inside could be

getting any air. I thought the man who had taken thespade was perhaps going to use it to pry open the door

to free whoever was inside.As I watched the person inside the car, I saw he wasmotioning toward us. He was waiving his hand back andforth motioning us to come to him. It was quite eerie.

Obviously something needed to be done. Since thepeople around me weren't moving, I immediatelydecided to do whatever I could to help. The bank was

very steep and I didn't think I should try to jump downto the water's edge. Instead I saw some steps about

20 meters to my left. I ran toward the steps and

started down them. I was unsure what to do. I wasfrightened because I realized if a drowning persongrabbed someone who was trying to save him, the

drowning person sometimes wouldn't let go and bothpersons would drown.

In our little life-times our powers of imagination can

become our solace. To be able to pass on these

imaginary worlds to others is an uncanny gift.

Dream of: 20 September 1990 "To Dream. To

Dream."


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Several men and I were filming the life-like story of aship captain named "Wilson". The action was taking

place in the 1900s in some far-away islands, apparentlyin the Pacific Ocean. The story was about a group of

20-30 men who had defended an island against anattack by a larger force. In the film, I was among themen who were defending the island. In the story, we

had captured some rifles, which we distributed among

ourselves. The rifles had some large round balls aboutthe size of marbles, and some smaller round balls onlyabout a fifth that size.

I considered what would be involved in the defense.Each ball had to be put in a rifle and shot one at a time.

Since some of my fellow defenders were only boys, I

thought they could be putting the balls in the riffleswhile the other men shot.I had a vision of what the attack would be like. I

envisioned a swarm of men attacking, finallyoverrunning us. I thought it would help if we had a cave

into which we could retreat so we couldn't besurrounded. In my vision, however, I saw us being

attacked and shot until the attackers were finally ableto swarm in upon us.

I was going to be given three small islands to protect. I
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would also be given some men to help me protect theislands. We were given some milk to be distributed

among us, which we filled into plastic gallon jugs. Somewomen were also with us, and one woman named Jessehad disappeared. The others said she was a beautifulwoman. One man reported the woman's disappearanceto Captain Wilson, and everyone wondered what had

happened to her, especially since we were in a strange

place. They decided she might have taken somejewelry, which she had with her, and left.I walked up a little road away from the others. As Iwalked away, one of the men hollered out to me. He

thought I was upset because Jesse had left. I holleredback that I didn't even know Jesse, that I had never

seen her. I couldn't be upset about her.I continued walking until I noticed, on a roadperpendicular to the one on which I was walking, a carsitting there. When the car began flashing its lights,we knew that the flashing was a signal that we neededto get ready, that the enemy was approaching. I began

hurrying back to the others so we could prepare.As I hurried along, I thought about the film. I had

never heard of Wilson before. It was interesting thatI had now become so involved with him and that I had


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learned so much about his life in such a short time. Iknew we were making a film, but I thought about how

real what we were doing seemed to me. I knew thatalthough many people weren't going to survive the

attack, I would survive. I thought that was becausewhen the attack came, I would be on one of the smallislands which wouldn't bear the brunt of the attack.

***

I seemed to be reading a book and I was eithervisualizing the scenes from the book, or watching amovie at the same time. In the book, two men had eachgone to separate rooms where each was reading a book.

Each man was intending to sacrifice himself forsomeone else. When I reached the end of the book I

was reading, I read the last lines of the book the menwere reading. The lines were, "If not me, who? If notnow, when? To dream. To dream."

Reading the words, I realized I had heard themsomewhere before, and I tried to remember where. It

occurred to me they were the last words of CharlesDickens' book A Tale of Two Cities.

Identifying oneself as a character which has been

created in the imagination of an author is a sign of the

author's success. It seems that something more than
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words passes from the author to the reader. The

nature of this transmission remains a mystery to me.

Dream of: 17 February 1995 (2) "Driving MissDaisy"

Venable (a Fort Worth, Texas attorney) was giving mea ride in his car to the federal court house in Fort

Worth, where we both needed to register to continuepracticing law in the court. Once we reached the

courthouse, we walked into a room and sat down. WhenVenable stood and walked into a side room where theregistration was taking place, I sat and waited.Only gradually did I realize I was sitting in the

bankruptcy court room, even though the room didn'tlook like a courtroom. Instead it looked like a large

ornate church with gothic arched ceilings perhaps 30meters high. I recalled that I had attended a serviceonce before in this church, and that Tillman (the

bankruptcy judge) had been the preacher. I had likedTillman very much, and I had enjoyed listening to his

sermons. I thoughtI would even like to startattending church there on a regular basis, just so Icould listen to him. But how much should I give asoffering each time? My mind raced along trying to

calculate what 10% of my income would be. I thought
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$500 a week sounded like too much; I concluded $250would be closer to 10%. Since Tillman was also a judge

and would have some idea of my income, I would have tobe accurate.

After Venable returned and was standing to my right, Islowly realized a service was about to take place.

Tillman walked out in his black robes and stood at thefront of the church. As I waited to hear his sermon, I

remembered that after the sermon, there would be achurch school. I didn't want to go to the church school,and I thought if I did begin coming regularly, I would

try not to stay for the school.Tillman finally began his sermon. Although little

registered with me, I did hear him talking about the

formation of a baseball team. Seeing several youngfellows in the audience dressed in baseball gear, Irealized Tillman intended to form a church baseballteam. I thought I might want to join. I had never

played much baseball, and I doubted my skill, but Ithought I should give it a try.

When the sermon ended, someone passed around anoffering plate. I hadn't expected the plate, and I

didn't know what to put in. Other people seemed to beputting in five's and ten's. I watched to see what


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Venable put in. He put in a five, but it looked as ifthere might be another bill folded under the five. I

decided to just put in a five and I pulled some bills outof my pocket. When I dropped the five into the plate,

I suddenly saw a twenty lying in the plate, and Ithought I had mistakenly dropped it in also. I started

to reach for it, but the man holding the plate keptmoving, and I pulled my hand away. I didn't want to

look foolish trying to take money out of the plate,especially since I wasn't completely sure I had droppedit. I just shook my head, feeling stupid, and I acceptedit. When the man had finished, he walked back over to

me and asked me if I had been trying to get back aquarter that I had dropped in the plate. I thought

maybe I had just dropped a quarter instead of atwenty; I indicated to him that it didn't matterAs the congregation walked out of the church, only fiveor six of us were still left when Tillman walked back totalk to us. Only now did I remember something else: I

was living in Dallas in a large house with Tillman'selderly mother. Tillman had hired me about a year ago

to drive his mother's car for her. I had seen that samekind of scenario somewhere else, and although I

couldn't think of it at the time, I was thinking about


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the movie Driving Miss Daisy. Tillman's mother didn'tuse my services as a driver much anymore, but she did

depend on me quite a bit for company and conversation.I slowly realized that all the people remaining there

with me also worked for Tillman's mother, and that wewere expecting some of us to be laid off our jobs.When Tillman saw me, he called out "Pip". I hadn't

heard that name in quite a while, but I remembered

that when Tillman had first met me, he had referred tome as "Pip", comparing me to the main character inCharles Dickens' novel Great Expectations. I walked

over and talked with him; he seemed surprised to learnI was still working for his mother. I explained that hehad hired me as a driver, but lately I had become more

of a companion than a driver for his mother. Heseemed quite interested in everything I said.I feel so unworthy. Like Pip, I have made so many

rueful mistakes in my life. I look to the character of

Pip for courage to face my own disgrace, and I thank

Dickens for showing me that character.

Dream of: 26 October 1997 "Great Expectations"

I was walking along the streets of Paris. I had justarrived, having come to talk to a woman for whom I wasworking. She was a seemingly refined business woman


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(probably 60 years old), tall and slender. Dressed all inwhite, she somewhat resembled Miss Haversham (a

character from Charles Dickens' novel GreatExpectations). She had a table set up right on the

sidewalk, and from this table she was conducting herbusiness. When I walked up to her, she was standing

and talking on a telephone. She was haughty anddisdainful when she addressed me.

She had hired me to produce several television showsfor her. The first show was supposed to be broadcastthat very evening. I was nervous because I didn't feelprepared. Thus it came as an enormous relief when sheinformed me that that evening's production had beencanceled. I would still be responsible for other shows

later in the week, but I felt that I would have time toadequately prepare for those.The lady was also upset with me about another matter.Apparently, about a year earlier, I had written a letter

to another woman in Paris. On that old letter, in theupper right corner I had drawn a small picture of a

smiley face. Now, the woman with whom I was talkingfound such a drawing extremely offensive, gauche, a

breach of etiquette. For myself I was somewhatamazed by the ardor of her disdain. I saw little reason


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for so much beratement merely on account of a smileyface. But what astounded me even more was that a

letter which I had written so long ago, to a person Ihad already forgotten, could now be the source of so

much ire. It hardly made sense.The lady began talking to me in French, rattling off anumber which she expected me to write down. But I

couldn't quite understand the number she was uttering,

even though she repeated it several times. I had thefeeling she was deliberately trying to ridicule myknowledge of French. I began counting in French, "Un,deux, trois, quatre, cinq, seis ...", both to refresh mymemory and to show that I knew my numbers. I was

thinking the number she was saying might be thirteen

or fourteen, but when I reached those numbers, I knewI was wrong. I simply didn't know what she was saying.Nevertheless, even though the lady derided me so, Iwas glad she was talking in French, and I wanted to

stay there with her. However it was unclear whether Iwould be able to stay.

Finally I noticed that someone else was sitting at thetable: a beautiful, blonde-haired girl (16-17 years old).

She was robed in a short dress which revealed hershapely legs. As I looked at her, she looked straight


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back into my eyes. I realized the girl was a protg ofthe lady. It was instantly clear to me that if I

remained and worked for the lady, the girl and I wouldend up having a relationship. It was inevitable. I likedthe idea, and now more than ever I wanted to stay andwork for the woman. I didn't know whether the ladywould frown on my having a relationship with the girl,but I knew if I stayed, the relationship would happen.

The word is "inspiration". In my cowardly despair,Dickens inspires me to complete my work, to inspire

others.

Dream of: 15 December 1997 "Coincidence"

While my father and another man were receiving ahaircut in a barber shop, I walked around the nearby

area (which seemed to be in a mall), and strolled into alibrary, thinking I might pick up a book, perhaps a bookby Charles Dickens, perhaps Little Dorrit. It seemed

as if I had already seen a movie based on the book andnow I thought I would like to actually read it.

Instead of the book, however, I saw some recordalbums and began flipping through them. If I were

going to listen to some music, I would like somethingwith poetic lyrics; so I went straight to the Bob Dylanalbums, where I found several albums which I might
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like to hear. It seemed I already owned copies of thesame albums, but I had stored them somewhere and I

didn't have access to them any more.I was surprised to discover an album by Paul McCartney

and Bob Dylan I hadn't known they had evercollaborated. Examining the album more closely, I sawit only contained a couple songs on each side. Although

I thought I might like to listen to it, I was afraid it

might be all instrumental, and I wanted something withlyrics.Buying an album, however, presented a problem:

listening to albums wouldn't be practical for me rightnow because I was living with my father and my mother

in the upstairs of a house. Since we all lived so close

together, playing music without disturbing anyonewould be difficult. So finally I abandoned the wholeidea and walked out of the place without any albums.I continued my promenade through the mall-like area

until I walked into a clothing store, where I picked up ashort-sleeved light-blue button-down shirt and put iton. I walked out, and was still buttoning up the shirtwhen I arrived back at the barber shop where my

father and the other man were just coming out. I hadbeen thinking of getting a haircut myself, but realized
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that they were ready to leave and that there was notime for another haircut. Besides, I hadn't realized

how late it was. The barber looked at his watch andsaid it was ten to seven.

***As my father, the other man and I headed by car to

our destination, my father's Farm (in hilly GalliaCounty, Ohio, the county of my birth), I realized the

entire episode at the barber shop and the mall hadbeen a dream. As we rode along I began recounting thedream to my father. It took me a moment to remember

the identity of the other man with my father in thebarber shop, but finally I recalled he had been my

maternal grandfather Liston. As we finally pulled up to

the rear door of the Farmhouse, my father mentionedit was ten till seven. I told him that was an amazingcoincidence, because it had been exactly ten to seven

in the dream when I had left the barber shop.So many doubts. I have so many doubts about what I

am doing. How did he have the courage to pick up his

pen and create those worlds?

Dream of: 30 November 2005 "Wife Of Charles

Dickens"

I was standing in the front yard of a house, talking
http://www.angelfire.com/tx2/vogelein/Reference/Farm.htmlhttp://www.angelfire.com/tx2/vogelein/Reference/Dreams.htmhttp://c/Users/Steve/Documents/My%20Webs/Reference/Liston.htmhttp://c/Users/Steve/Documents/My%20Webs/Reference/Liston.htmhttp://www.angelfire.com/tx2/vogelein/Reference/Farm.htmlhttp://www.angelfire.com/tx2/vogelein/Reference/Dreams.htmhttp://c/Users/Steve/Documents/My%20Webs/Reference/Liston.htmhttp://c/Users/Steve/Documents/My%20Webs/Reference/Liston.htm


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with an elderly woman whom I slowly realized was thewife of Charles Dickens. She was working on several

artistic projects in the yard. I began to realize she washaving financial problems and I wondered if I might

employ her to paint a picture for me. Surely a paintingby the wife of Charles Dickens would be valuable. She

had done so many paintings -- but they were justscraps and on wood or something else. I would need to

buy a canvas for the painting.Fortunately an art supply house was just across thestreet. I hurried over to the store and walked in. A

man behind the counter began waiting on me. I told himI wanted to know the prices of canvasses. He first

pulled out a canvass about two meters high and a meter

wide, but it already had a painting on it. He said thepainting was by Mark Twain and that he would sell it tome for $200. I wasn't interested because I wanted a

blank canvass. But when he told me a blank canvasswould cost $200, I wondered if my idea were a goodone. After all, if a painting by Mark Twain was only

worth $200 and I had to pay $200 for a blank canvassfor the wife of Charles Dickens to paint, maybe I

wouldn't be able to make any money after all.Maybe I needed a small canvass. I asked for one and he


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handed me a canvass only about a meter tall which hesaid was only $100. I held it in my hands, trying to

calculate if this project was going to be worthwhile.I am an American writer of dreams. I thank God for

the task he has given me. I pray for the courage to

inspire with what I write. And thank you, too, Charles

Dickens.

Copyright 2011 by [email protected]

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