Morning of September 9, 2015. Wednesday.
In the first part of my dream, which does not flow directly into the next scenes, I am on stage playing a flute for a seemingly long time; a very long version of “For My Lady” (from Seventh Sojourn from 1972, which I had on cassette for a number of years) and I seem to actually be performing with The Moody Blues. From here, I eventually fly from the stage into an (at first) unknown region.
I decide to walk for awhile. Eventually, I seem to be in an undesirable part of town. For some reason, an unknown male approaches me. I first think that his intent is to rob me, so I say how I know (I think) someone named Tony, who apparently leads a group of gangsters. I had never met this person, but the other male walks back to his apartment building, taking me along in a friendly manner.
When we reach the building and the small room which is somewhat kitchen-like, there is a young gangster in a T-shirt who is smoking and who is apparently the leader. He is seated on a small wooden chair. A burly male stands by another door. Oddly, the leader seems to acknowledge me as “David”, which the other male calls me as if that is my actual name (though I can tell he does not remember me - though also can sense he accepts me as someone he knew years ago). I get a vague impression that David was the human name of the Incredible Hulk, but it is not pertinent to any aspect of my dream. I really do not want to hang around these people so I make the excuse that I will leave and do a “hit” for them, as the leader seems to be broke and the idea of a “hit” is supposedly to get money (rather than just kill someone) and not necessarily kill the person you are robbing.
I leave and eventually reach the front of the building. Unexpectedly, the “staircase” is made of old pieces of railroad ties that were split in half and are arranged downward like a diagonal crooked ladder rather than steps. I have to climb down, which is somewhat annoying, trying on both my stomach and in crab position. Two very happy young Jamaican boys (probably only about three years old) are also playing on the diagonal ladder on my left and climbing down. I have a bit of concern for them, as the structure eventually goes down into seemingly deep water. An immensely overweight Jamaican woman is on my right and has to climb over me to get to her children but it is not that problematic and there is no drama. Humorously, now is the time I pick to fly up and away, rather than having done it from the top of the problematic faux staircase.
From here, I fly north down Tenth Street, past the King Street boarding house on the corner and to my left, flying about five feet from the ground. Someone shouts as if annoyed, so I fly much higher, but then fly back down to about ten feet from the street. Eventually, I think about visiting relatives, but soon realize that most of my relatives in this region have died. I fly past an unfamiliar bakery (which is on my right) where there is a red-haired girl visible through the large front windows and seemingly taking something out of a large oven, possibly muffins or cookies. I wave absentmindedly and she waves back but does not seem that friendly. I somehow think it is Anita (who never had red hair) but then I realize it is my wife’s younger half-sister Leila, who we have not seen in years (and she has never been to America as far as I know). I continue to fly on and upward and then decide that I should fly back home so I can “finally” wake up (even though I had not been actively lucid at any point). I am glad to wake up and be “back” with my wife and family.
