Although I rarely post about my dreams, this one has really stuck with me this morning. It was a vivid dream and in such detail that I cannot get it out of my mind. The bizarre quality of the dream leaves me distressed.
I dreamed that I was delivering medications to the top of Mt. Shasta for my late father, Floyd, who was a pharmacist. I don’t know to whom I was delivering the prescriptions, but we made repeated trips, so I assume there were several people there. My husband, David, was driving us up a snowy, extremely curvy road to the pinnacle in my old, blue 1963 Ford Fairlane 500 Stationwagon. We were driving very fast, but it didn’t feel dangerous to me. We made several trips up this 14,000′ mountain. As we got to the top of the mountain on one of the trips, it looked like I could reach out the window and touch the craggy rock outside my car window. I asked David stop the car; as he did so, I got out, and started climbing up the rocks to the peak. There was a little snow along my path, and my late cat, Angelique, a long-haired, grey Persian mix, scampered up with me. I remember thinking to myself that I’d better be careful or I’d fall. Immediately, I realized that I was not at all afraid. Considering that in my wakeful life, I am very nervous about great heights, I was surprisingly fearless. I smiled endlessly as I climbed, and felt a peaceful elation at ascending this amazing apex and seeing this thrilling vista.
The scene cut away to a ski lodge about halfway down the mountain that was in the middle of a small, snowy village that had narrow streets, a row of connected, wooden buildings on either side of the street. This particular village, to which I have never been in my waking life, has shown up in many of my dreams. Frequently in my dreams, my mother resides in this village. While at the lodge, my late mother approached me in the company of other women who may have been her late cousins, looking strong and healthy. Mom demanded that I stop making the trip up the mountain. I told her that I was fine and that I wanted to return. She insisted that I not make the trip again, and I agreed, thinking to myself that I would go when I want to go. I was clearly trying to appease my beloved mother. She was particularly agitated about what she was saying, though. The thought kept crossing my mind that I wasn’t sure why she was so adamant in her remarks.
In several other parts of this dream, I was newly teaching in a boarding school in McCloud, at the base of Mt. Shasta in Northern California, with a huge number of children. I remember only that we were setting the table with mismatched silverware, dishes, and glasses, for a larger group than we had anticipated. The children were rude and paid no attention to the rules. I kept thinking, “These children are not anything like my wonderful students.”
In another period of my dream, in my bedroom at the school, I had a porcelain wash basin, the type used with a pitcher during the Wild West era, in which I was washing myself. I had a large growth on my upper left forehead that looked like a large pimple. I pulled at the white head on the growth and an encapsulated sac came out leaving an open hole to my skull. It was painless, but I kept worrying that I was at risk for infection with a gaping wound in my head. Usually very attentive to issues like this, I felt particularly calm, but couldn’t help wondering what the sac was and why I was remaining so peaceful.
The setting of my entire dream was in my hometown region of Southern Siskiyou County. Although I have never climbed Mt. Shasta, in my dream the peak looked surprisingly similar to this photograph, if there was a road immediately below the craggy outcroppings. I don’t know what the dream means, but I felt compelled to write about it.