franksolich has a NEW dream of the Obamaite primitives

[franksolich]

You know, sometimes dreams come true.

And as many dreams as I've had about the Obamaite primitives, the odds are pretty good at least one of them's bound to come true.

Anyway.

I dreamed I was riding a horse through the fjords of Norway, minding my own business and at peace with the world, when suddenly a body crashing out of a tree tumbled atop me, knocking me off my horse onto the ground.  The two of us tussled for a while, the other one trying desperately to choke me.

I finally broke his hold, knocking him down, and both of us sat there, panting for breath.

It was my fellow alum Skins.

He recognized me the same instant I recognized him.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," my fellow alum said; "I've been looking for bison in Norway, and I thought you were one."

Well, jumping atop a bison and trying to choke it to death isn't the right way to capture a bison, but I let it go.

Instead, I responded, "You know, just because nobody's seen bison in Norway doesn't mean there's no bison in Norway.  Maybe there are bison in Norway, but everybody's looking at the reindeer instead.  I think I'll tag along with you."

Brushing the snow off myself, I put back on my sun-helmet and mounted my horse.  Skins did the same, putting back on his Davy Crockett coonskin hat with the tail on it.

The two of us rode through Norway all day long, and while we saw Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blixen and Vixen and Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Rudolph, we couldn't find any bison.

We discussed what else we could do, to make life interesting.

My fellow alum suggested there was trouble with the Obamaite primitives down in the Carpathanian Mountains, and so we rode there, to see what was going on.

By nightfall, we had reached an inn in the darkest core of central Europe, tucked away in the dark forests and dark mountains under the dark skies of Ruthenia.  The inn was packed, but we made our way through the hordes of Obamaites, where a serving-girl took our order for two tankards of ale.

Skins pinched her on the bottom, but before she could turn around, I quickly switched places with my fellow alum, so the lass would think I, and not my fellow alum, was the rude boor.

The old school tie.

The place was packed to the rafters with Obamaite primitives, yelling, brawling, cursing, swilling.  One Obamaite primitive tried swiping my wallet, and I slammed my tankard of ale on top of him.  Then noticing it was the loutish Brit primitive, I did it again, so as to flatten the top of his skull and improve his looks.

"What are they so angry about?" I asked Skins.

"They're collecting torches and pitchforks, and are getting ready to go out on a chase," my fellow alum replied.

"Oh, so they're going after Old Man John," I guessed; "they really Hate him."

No, no, Skins said.  "They're going after the guy with the big floppy ears, who's going after Old Man John."

Oh, I said.

After the Obamaite primitives had collected what seemed an ample supply of torches and pitchforks, and stolen horses, my fellow alum and I followed them out of the inn.

But rather than following the Obamaite primitives on the chase, Skins and I instead rode to the top of the highest mountain, to watch the scene below.

We watched as Old Man John, driving a heavy wagon pulled by a single horse, was outrunning the guy with the big floppy ears, driving a light carriage pulled by two horses.  And behind him were the Obamaite primitives aboard race-horses, clip-clip-clip-cloppeting along the trail.

It was most peculiar; Old Man John was putting considerable distance away from the guy with the big floppy ears, and the guy with the big floppy ears was putting considerable distance away from the Obamaite primitives on their fast steeds.

"You know, this is just like in those old movies," I mentioned to my fellow alum.

[Lord Undies]

You are lucky to be able to remember your dreams so vividly.  I rarely remember mine fifteen minutes after awakening.  It's a guy thing, I've been told.

I have found that the subject matter of the dream plays a large part in how long I remember it.  If it is something dear to my heart it tends to stick around in my brain a bit longer than usual.

I'm sure if I were to dream about the primitive DUmmies, I would forget it before I awake.  I often wonder if one does not remember a dream, did one really have a dream?

I remember reading once about a primitive DUmmie's dream.  The dream was about a rigid little guy named John.  He was chasing an elusive burning bush.  His chase was not to extinguish the fire, but to pull the bush up by its roots and let it burn.  In the dream there was no way Little John would fail in his quest.  The end of the dream was preordained and there was little or no need for the beginning. 

It seems like only yesterday I read the account of that dream.  I don't think the primitive DUmmie remembers having the dream. 

[USA4ME]

You are lucky to be able to remember your dreams so vividly.  I rarely remember mine fifteen minutes after awakening.  It's a guy thing, I've been told.

I have found that the subject matter of the dream plays a large part in how long I remember it.  If it is something dear to my heart it tends to stick around in my brain a bit longer than usual.

I'm sure if I were to dream about the primitive DUmmies, I would forget it before I awake.  I often wonder if one does not remember a dream, did one really have a dream?

I once dreamed I was awake but when I woke up I was asleep.  Does that count?

.

[franksolich]

I know; dreams are weird.

But for those of us not distracted by contemporary influences--television, movies, music, whatnot--well, we have to fill up those empty spaces in our heads somehow, and dreams are pretty harmless.

I've always been surprised at how many of my own dreams involve the Carpathian Mountains.

I've never seen any of the old Frankenstein movies (or new ones either), but even when young, I had many dreams about what were obviously the Carpathian Mountains.  (My description of the "chase" takes after, obviously, what books have said about the old Frankenstein movies, not the movies themselves.)

Many many years later, when I was wandering around the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants, I visited the Carpathian Mountains of western Ukraine, eastern Slovakia, in the dead of winter.

It was eerie.

For the first time since the parents had died many many years before, I felt as if I "belonged" somewhere, and it was right there.  Not the people, but the place.  I have no idea why.

My mother's mother's family were Carpathian peasants, but I came along in life far too late to absorb any of their Carpathian identity.  Any family member who could recall the Carpathian Mountains was dead by then.  All I knew about the Carpathian Mountains came from history books.

This is a stretch, of course, but I'm wondering if perhaps some feelings, some longings, inside of us are transmitted genetically, somehow.

[Lord Undies]

I know; dreams are weird.

But for those of us not distracted by contemporary influences--television, movies, music, whatnot--well, we have to fill up those empty spaces in our heads somehow, and dreams are pretty harmless.

I've always been surprised at how many of my own dreams involve the Carpathian Mountains.

I've never seen any of the old Frankenstein movies (or new ones either), but even when young, I had many dreams about what were obviously the Carpathian Mountains.  (My description of the "chase" takes after, obviously, what books have said about the old Frankenstein movies, not the movies themselves.)

Many many years later, when I was wandering around the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants, I visited the Carpathian Mountains of western Ukraine, eastern Slovakia, in the dead of winter.

It was eerie.

For the first time since the parents had died many many years before, I felt as if I "belonged" somewhere, and it was right there.  Not the people, but the place.  I have no idea why.

My mother's mother's family were Carpathian peasants, but I came along in life far too late to absorb any of their Carpathian identity.  Any family member who could recall the Carpathian Mountains was dead by then.  All I knew about the Carpathian Mountains came from history books.

This is a stretch, of course, but I'm wondering if perhaps some feelings, some longings, inside of us are transmitted genetically, somehow.

I know a woman, famous - a singer, who had no connection to Spain but had dreamed of Spain all her life.  She was inexplicably drawn to all things Spanish.  When her travels brought her to Spain for the first time, she felt an immediate sense of peace.  She knew she was home. 

There is no explanation for what connects us and our earthly spirituality.  I can't help but believe they matter only in our earthly realm.   

[miskie]

<snip..>
For the first time since the parents had died many many years before, I felt as if I "belonged" somewhere, and it was right there.  Not the people, but the place.  I have no idea why.

My mother's mother's family were Carpathian peasants, but I came along in life far too late to absorb any of their Carpathian identity.  Any family member who could recall the Carpathian Mountains was dead by then.  All I knew about the Carpathian Mountains came from history books.

This is a stretch, of course, but I'm wondering if perhaps some feelings, some longings, inside of us are transmitted genetically, somehow.

Its thought that elephants may have multi-generational memory - there is evidence that behavioral traits seem to pass generation to generation, even when that behavior is no longer necessary. Its also been noted that young raised away from the herd have the same unique behavior as the rest of the herd does. At this point there isn't much to the studies other than what has been observed since we still understand very little about the mechanics of memory.

Anyway, if there is any truth to that, I'm sure that our minds probably have similar abilities. It would also explain your attraction to the Carpathian Mountains, As well as others who have had similar experiences.