As a child, the night before I was getting sick, I was repeatedly having not the same dream, but always a similar one:
I am sitting in a room, often at home, doing some dull work that always repeated itself, like weaving with an uneven brown wool thread. All the while there are voices talking quietly somewhere but I can't understand a word. It feels like they are talking to me and they don't feel friendly.
Then my eyes are getting weary and my head spins. The thread turns liquid and washes in tiny rhythmic waves over my work. I look up at the window. Suddenly the voices are getting louder, but I still can't understand and the window is moving towards me.
It made me wake up and vomit.
Nice dream. So prophetic.
And there were the dreams where I was running from something behind me. I was running at full speed, but couldn't move forward, whereas the pursuer came nearer. Then I realized, it's a dream, and my father once told me, how he changed a falling dream to flying when he was a boy. And I slowly begin to lift myself up in the sky. I have to keep floating up there. If I sink to deep down, the pursuer will catch me. So I stay up and watch everything from above.
And there were the Indiana Jones dreams, as I called them. I liked those. They were different all the time, but what they had in common was that you had to find some hidden treasure in an ancient building, jungle, old factory ... There were traps and it was an adventure. Often you had competition. That made it more exciting.
Actually I think I made myself dream the Indiana Jones dreams so that I didn't have to dream the scary and ugly ones. And the ones of past events.
