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war and badminton.

July 3, 2011

First of all, my sleep schedule: I go to bed at 3 or 4 am, usually, and tend to stay in bed until noon.

On the calendar, it is July 3rd, Sunday, but for me it is still Saturday night, late.. as I have not gone to bed yet.

I dream in the morning hours. Or at least, the dreams I remember are in the morning hours before I awake. I have been like this for years.

Lately, I have been writing about my dreams, most of them, when I remember them.

The title of this entry.. you’ll have to wait and read on, and it shall become clear to you later, unless you don’t know what badminton is.

Badminton is a cross between tennis and volleyball. There is a net strung up like a volleyball, but the players – one on each side of the net, use small, flimsy rackets, and hit a strange looking object back and forth, and, like tennis, try to get the other player to not hit the object over the net. The object is not a ball. I cannot really describe its shape. It’s called a shuttlecock. I have no idea why.

Right then..

On with the dream.

Some of the first part I don’t recall, or so I am guessing.

It’s fairly dark out.. night and yet I can see well. I’m in the military, and on sort of a short sand dune with vegetation, thick grass just up the hill behind me. Ahead of me is the sea, a few mild waves. I’m almost on a beach, which is on a very gentle slope down from me.

I’m in the military, and there are other guys standing in the general area where I am. The armed force that I am in though, doesn’t feel as regimented as standard armies are. Perhaps the group I am in would be considered a militia? Other guys and I wearing the same fatigues, but with different patches, and there are some guys that are older, and sort of outrank the other guys, but this is all informal.

I am feeling very confident and eager for a battle to begin, and can’t wait to engage the enemy and kill people. No fear at all, just a devious smile on my face and ready to go. It doesn’t feel like a serious battle though, in some ways. Just fun.

The enemy shows up, out of the sea, sort of.. not out of the water directly, but more like a beach landing, although I don’t see any boats.. I don’t think.

Up they come, up the beach and on the small dune, and I and other guys who I only see in a blur charge toward the enemy.

The opposing forces look like the Viet Cong.. the informal military the American soldiers fought in the Vietnam War. There were two communist forces, the Viet Cong and the North Vietnamese Army, called the NVA for short. The NVA was organised like a regular military, but the Viet Cong were different. More like guerrilla fighters. They were the natives in the area.. had lots of tunnels, were excellent at ambushes, etc.

The enemy charging our bank looked like the Viet Cong – crazed Asians in black pajamas and conical straw hats, bearing AK-47’s with fixed bayonets. I don’t know if the real VC had bayonets attached to their weapons, but they sure carried AK-47’s.

The enemy was fierce, and I think I or others in my group got stabbed, but there was no pain, and we kept on going. The VC kept charging, but it seemed that the same stretch of beach didn’t go anywhere.. like a treadmill. The enemy soldiers kept charging the beach, but didn’t get far past it.

Then, a woman rushed up, carrying no weapons. She was dressed halfway between an Arab woman and a goth. Thick black robe or cape, white dress underneath. Blonde hair, then dark.

She had HUGE breasts.. very remarkable.

Strange look on her face – joy, excitement, but not lustful excitement. More innocent than that.

And yet she was with the opposing force, and she walked up the beach too.

I saw her and thought, “hey she wants to seduce me, I won’t let her do that!” Even though she didn’t look like she was going to seduce anyone. So perhaps her danger was mostly in my mind? No, not quite.

I ran down to her, that same cocky I’m going to plow through everybody and keep on goin’ feeling.

So I sort of jogged passed her to my left of her, leaned over, gave her huge breasts a good hard but not painful squeeze, then I shot her.

I had a black pistol.

Then I just ran forward toward the water.

When I shot her, there was no blood, just as there had been no blood when the troops on my side were bayoneted. It had the feeling like a game.

It was like a videogame, when an enemy character is dispatched, it just vanishes. That is what this woman did. Right after I shot her.

The expression on her face, some shock and also disappointment. She faded out. Her smile looked desperate as she did.

And I charged on.

In my waking life, I abhor violence against women, and have never dreamed of any violence against women.

And in this game of war, it wasn’t real violence, like in real life, it was fun, even though we had real weapons.

Then a different part of the dream. I go instantly, in my dreams from scene to scene, from situation to situation. Sometimes I am a guy and always unlike in movies, I am seeing things in the perspective of first person, just like in waking life, mostly.. and yet I have powers of observation, sometimes I am viewing things at the same time.. Which is hard to explain and is of course not like in the “real” world. What is the real world? I won’t get into that. For most of us, the real world, is our world while we are awake..

So I felt myself give the woman’s breasts a good squeeze, but when I shot her, for an instant I saw a guy.. myself? Shoot her, but felt it too. Didn’t feel the gun go off, it was a light gun, more like a video game. Sort of.

The second part of the dream.. no slow dissolve or fade out. I’m just in the next part of the dream.

This time, I’m the observer. I can see a person, see through his eyes, sort of get the sense of who he is.

This guy, probably in his late thirties, also military, but in a more formal group, is alone in the cockpit of an aircraft.

I don’t know what the aircraft looks like, but I don’t hear any noise at all.

The cockpit is quite uncomplicated. Just a white horizontal surface with two joysticks poking up, one for each hand, and that’s how the man piloted the aircraft.

He was fairly stocky, had brown hair, not stylish, average length, reminded me a tiny bit of the younger owl guy in that horrible movie “The Watchmen,” which was based on a graphic novel by the same name, but the movie was not well done, over all.

Anyway, this guy looked a tiny bit like the owl guy when the owl guy was not in the suit. But the guy in my dream was not at all nerdy, and wasn’t wearing glasses.

I don’t know what his rank was, some sort of officer. Usually in the military, it is only officers who are pilots, as far as I know.

He is pensive.. in deep thought.. mind uncluttered, but.. not exactly worried, but concerned. Not really wanting to be part of a war, but it’s his job. He’s not a killer, never has killed anyone.

He’s up in the air doing reconissance.. no I am not going to try and spell that word.. what it means is traveling over a certain area, looking for the enemy.. keeping one’s eyes open, so to speak.

He’s a man with a good heart, a smart man, not happy with what he’s doing, but taking it seriously.

This is my awareness of him. I’m in observer mode, seeing what he sees and so forth. I’m in the cockpit with him but do not have bodily form.

The man is flying over a beautiful blue ocean on a sunny day, but the reflection of the sun off the water is not bright, it’s just gorgeous out there.

He is looking for boats. He spots two, but does not deem them to be threats. He watches the wake of the boats and they travel through the water far below.

Then, a third boat is doing something strange. The first two were traveling one direction, heading past us, under us.

But this third boat is going sideways, looking odd. The pilot is a bit concerned by this. He wants to keep an eye on that third boat, which looks suspicious.

Next segment of the dream.

I am very very tired. I’m wearing a grey cotton military jacket, not like the one I wore, which was dark green, and maybe with a camaflgue (hey, it’s after 4 am.. not going to bother with spelling everything right) pattern used by special forces in Vietnam. I think I had this pattern as a shirt, under my mostly buttoned jacket.

But in this part of the dream I am wearing an old grey uniform jacket. The grey jacket was for ex-soldiers, the ones who had done their duty, and had been honorably discharged, commended themselves well enough on the field of battle.. that they were done, they could quit.. tour over, like that. A patch on at least one shoulder, but I don’t know what it was like.

I am so overly tired because of the fighting (which I guess was not cartoonish. although I get the sense that I didn’t especially kill anyone, I was just part of it all somehow..

I slowly getting out of the car.It is after 11 pm, maybe later.

The house I am pulling up to and the street I am on look almost exactly like a place I lived in while in California.

I opened the iron gate, and went inside.

The inside looked far different than the house in which I used to live.

I don’t remember the interior much except that the place was empty and the walls old looking, different older colors of yellowish paint showing through the aging coat of white.. peeling paint..

And something about a steel door in the wall, a piece of metal that didn’t look like a door, that was important.

Door.. has been on my mind during waking life. The art project assignment for the next meeting.. the theme word is “door.” I hadn’t started my project yet, but have had the word “door” on my mind, so maybe this unusual door, sort of like into another dimension, showed up in my dream because I had been thinking about that word. But then, maybe not.

Before I could rest much, my brother and a couple guys walk in the door. I was not expecting them. I can’t see the other guys clearly. They accompany my brother, sort of his buddies. These other guys are hispanic, I can tell that much.

They are all in a jovial mood. My brother is in his slightly manic happy state I sometimes see him in real life.

He tries to convince me to go back in the military, that it would be a really good thing.

My attention then focuses powerfully on that steel plate on the wall, that old looking steel plate of metal that is somehow a door.. and a door to peace, a peaceful life, nicer greener country perhaps, and I should somehow go through it and find peace.

I stare at it, and feel regret that I cannot or don’t feel right about entering it, going through it.

Very very tiredly, I resign myself to going back into the military or whatever armed force I was in. My brother is happy about this, he has convinced me without much effort.

I have such difficulty doing good things for myself. This is the case in my waking life too, but not like in the dream.

I felt I didn’t feel right about experiencing happiness, that I was just doomed to my fate, so I in such a tired and reluctant and resigned way, agreed to go.

4th part .. nothing like the others at all, no military connotations.

It’s night time, 10 pm, maybe, in a nice neighborhood of white two story homes, with short porches and their porch lights on. There is plenty of light to see.

Two hispanic boys are playing badminton. In one scene there is a net, but otherwise there isn’t.

Why is badminton on my brain? My mom bought a set a little while back, so we could play in our huge yard. While we (mostly I) were house hunting, mom kept saying she wanted a house with a backyard big enough to play badminton. I guess she had played as a kid? Hmmm? Seems so, but regardless, she’s mentioned it several times, so some place in my mind has been badminton.

She and I will first refrain from setting up the net, and just try to hit the shuttlecock back and forth to each other, a small distance away from each other, until we get lots more coordinated.

In the dream, along the sidewalk just past the lawns, there are two boys playing badminton, mostly without a net.

I am observing them, but they of course do not see me.

As I watch, I notice that the boy aways from me is a bit older than the other boy, two years older perhaps. This boy has a mean expression on his face, and is clearly and intentionally dominating the other boy.. hitting the shuttlecock over the younger boy’s head, or somehow making the younger boy hit the object with his racket, but knowing the younger boy won’t be able to hit it back at all well, and the object will land less than halfway to the older boy.

The boys are both hispanic.

The younger boy is a sad and lonely boy, a true innocent, young.. not sure of his age, but skinny and small for his age. He is wearing a light yellow shirt similar to the color of a shirt I have in my closet, and he is also wearing brown plaid shorts and yellow socks and old sneakers.

He has very low self-esteem, no confidence, and is sad. There aren’t any kids around to play with besides the older boy, and the younger one is the kind of kid that wouldn’t fit in with other kids anyway.

He’s stuck playing with the older boy. The younger one, I don’t know why he just doesn’t go inside and go to bed. He has nice enough parents and a good house, his parents are asleep, yet he stays out. Enduring.

I see him once lean down to pick up the shuttlecock because he has hit it to the ground not far from him, because the other boy did a tricky serve.

The younger boy bends down and I notice the sidewalk looks shiny in such a way like it looks shortly after a rain, and the grass is somewhat damp too.

I get bothered by this unfair match.

I’m not just observing now, I’m interacting. There is no surprise at all by the boys..or almost none.. only the surprise of an adult showing up.

First I try to encourage the younger boy. I don’t remember exactly what I say, but take heart, your life will get better, you’ll play better eventually, be patient, you’ll be happy one day. Very nice to the kid.

Then I go over almost to where the mean kid is. I beckon him to me. He doesn’t want to talk to me, and looks irritated, and still cocky, and still looks mean. But, as I am an adult, he feels he should walk nearer to me.

I tell him to not be mean, and instead play nice with the younger boy, cooperate, and try to hit the shuttlecock in such a way that the younger boy will be able to hit it back.. in other words..telling the older boy to make it so they hit it to each other. To do the right thing. He doesn’t much want to do this, but he says alright.

And he tries a couple serves that the younger boy can just barely return but manages to do so. The younger boy is very slightly relieved.

And that was it. I woke up.

There are the dreams or the dream in four parts.

I don’t try to interpret dreams, but I do find them interesting. And I’m glad I dream.

War and Badminton.

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