Dreams

After being inspired by a local blogger, I have decided to include two of my most impressionable dreams I have dreamt during the night in the coziness of my bed. I wish to include only one dream for this post and will include another after discussion of this first dream. This dream may have taken place 3-5 years ago, but I can not pinpoint an exact date. I remember it as though it were last night’s dream. So, enjoy.

The following is transcribed from a handwritten, personal journal the morning after the dream.

Driving down a two lane, orange clayed pavement, with a double yellow stripe to my immediate left, my windshield is clear of all water and mud, as though I had no windshield at all. I see no steering wheel; feel no chair in which I shall be sitting, no passenger seat to my right, or any console to detect how fast I was traveling down the orange clayed, paved highway. Through my eyes, as though I were floating along the highway, fields gently roll to either side for eternity, never seeing the end of these plains. And, ahead of my line of sight, no end or turns to the road, no sign indicating when I would reach the next town, and definitely no soul or country horse close to me, except the barren country road that goes straight ahead.

Above, in the sky, it is nighttime, for all the stars are able to be seen by the naked eyes. And, as dark as a crow’s beak, the outline of the orange sun is also in the sky. Is it midnight or noon? Is the universe flipped up or down? Am I asleep or awake?
Whatever the case may be, the night sky filled with the sun, dripped with rain, with no sound or scent. Not even felt by my car, as though it didn’t even touch my car, the rain was still close enough to be seen.

I continue to drive/float, and out of the horizon in front me comes a police car, driving towards my direction. But, then suddenly, the police car loses control and runs off the road into an embankment in the upper left corner of my windshield. I slow my flight of travel to peer closer at the police car that was lying in the embankment. No movement inside or out. No flashing lights to be seen and no sirens to be heard, but I paid close attention to the pure, white color reflecting the sun’s rays. The blue print detailed the side paneling, and inscribed was: POLICE, in a modern font. I suddenly see out of the corner of my eye another police car coming from the horizon, and with lights flashing, chasing after the already wrecked police car that lies in the ditch. With no sirens sounding and no tires screeching, the silent rain falls silently on both the police cars.

By now, I have come to a stop to attempt to figure out why this second cop car was chasing after the first cop car. Suddenly, I noticed the difference between the two cop cars. The second cop car, stopped and blocking the road in front of me, has side paneling that says… “What does it say?...What does it say?”... I realize that it is cave like drawings, Indian calligraphy, or all nonsense to me.

The moment I notice the drawings from another time, the door swings open at me and out jumps an ancient Native American, appearing to be unaware of modern culture and untouched by modern times. With his dark-tanned, tall and athletic muscular physique, a sun tattoo shown on his left shoulder, for this is the side that was facing me. His rawhide garment covered his pubic area, strapped on with a leather rope wrapped around his waist. No shoes, but a warrior headdress looking to be ready for battle. His eyes peered, as thought he were ready to kill, at the wrecked cop car in front of him in the embankment. He raised his right arm, and in it gripped tightly and confidently, a tomahawk. Still, there was no sound, only the sense of sight. I see him run up to the police car in front of his, when the native flings open the driver’s door. All I see is, not the policeman sitting in the driver’s seat, but the tomahawk rising above the savage’s head and swinging up and down in a rhythmic motion. With each swing, the downward force grew more violent each time. With each swing, the rain continued to fall in the night sky with the sun looking on. And, with each swing, time froze on a two lane, orange clayed, paved road.

Little Tom

The year was 1847, during a cold, crisp winter in Milan, Ohio when a baby was born to middle class parents, who they would name Tom. Tom was the baby in the family. Coming from a usual Midwestern sized family for the times, Tom had six older siblings to contend with.

At age four, after learning to be in the shadows of his siblings, Tom finally spoke his first words. It is not unlikely for geniuses to begin talking later than their peers, but the school in which he attended at age 7, thought Tom may have been "slow" or even "retarded". Tom's teacher noticed that Tom's forehead was rather large and misshaped, and blamed this for his hyperactivity and frequent questions that would disrupt the class. After only 12 weeks in school, Nancy, a daughter of a well-respected Presbyterian minister, decided to teach Tom herself.

His mother drilled Tom in the 3R's, and before too long his father was giving him ten cents a classic upon completion of each book. Tom took a fondness to Shakespeare. He would read the plays and soliliqouys and act them out for himself, and even dreamed of being an actor. There was one problem, Tom's shyness and introverted personality made him scared of large crowds.

Tom began reading books in enormous numbers from the library, after his mother and father taught him the wonders of research. On a diet of Newton, Physics, and Mathematics, Tom would soon lose most of his hearing, making a traditional secondary education virtually impossible.

After delivering papers for a short while, at the age of 14, Tom decided to begin his own publishing business. He was so successful at this practice, he was earning ten dollars a day. But, science and technology had more in store for this young lad.

At 16, after serving in the military as a telegraph operator during the Civil War, young Tom would soon find himself in Boston, considered the information and technological centers of the world for the time, working for Western Union as an operator. Working long hours at Western Union, he would spend his nights tinkering with new technological ideas. His first...a rather efficient vote recording machine, which turned out to be a complete disaster, proved to be 'too risky' for the Massachusetts state legislature, and they turned it down.

Now at the age of 21, Tom started attending lectures at the local Boston Tech, which we now know as the famed Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Another man, of the same age, was attending these lectures with Tom, and they immediately became friends. His name...Alex. Another friend of his, Ben, would also play a crucial role for Tom's future. Paving the way for men like Bill Gates and Steve Jobs; Tom, Ben, and Al were taking on new ventures in the world of technology.

Soon, Tom was off to New York City where he was earning $300.00 per month for fixing a company's stock tickers. A life of success and fortune was starting to come his way, one step at a time. After tinkering and improving the company's machines to be the most efficient in the world, the company gave him $40,000 for the rights to these new machines he had developed. Tom was stunned, but soon repaid a $35 dollar debt he had to Ben back in Boston.

Making more money, after the selling of a firm that held a few patents he came up with after work, Tom had enough money to open his own laboratory in New Jersey.

In New Jersey, Tom was in frequent competition with his old friend, Alex, from his Boston days. Tom beat him and 1877 invented and held the patent for the first phonograph. Alex beat Tom for the invention of the telephone. Tom, then flustered by Alex, invented and held the patent for the incadescent electric light bulb.

And who is this man who changed the way we look at indoor lighting...If you haven't already guessed...young Tom is the inventor Thomas Edison.

And, his friend from Boston who was in a battle with Edison for all those years making Edison the best inventor he could be... We know him as Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone.

And, the story goes... that if Edison had listened to his teacher when he was 7, and stopped inventing when the Massachusetts legislature turned him down, we may have very well still be sitting in the dark.