Night Thoughts On Steroids

Ok, it's early in the morning. Even for me. But I just had this dream and I have to write it down. Dreams vanish into the mist if not recorded. So I'm recording this one because I cannot afford to let it get away. For now ... this is all you will read. Oh, the rest of it is written down. But it's in a safe place. When the sun comes up ... and it will ... I will sit down and read it. And if it still makes sense in the light of day as it does in the dark of night I will print it. But wisdom tells me to take my time.

And time ... time I have.
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Ok, let's just say this and get it out of the way. Most dreams are simply ... dreams. They are often the result of pepperoni on the pizza or salsa on the burrito. Their primary meaning is to urge you along toward certain dietary restraints. Oh, and they help make sure your brain stays sane during the daytime by allowing it to go insane during the night. That's my theory anyway. Just remember that as you read of my latest adventures in dreamland that I scratched out somewhere around 2am this morning...
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I do not remember any sound. No words. No grunting. No crowd noise. Silence.

I do remember color. Vivid color. I was on a football field. I was a quarterback. I was wearing blue and orange and the helmets of the men lined up in front of me had a large "C" on them. They were and I was a Chicago Bear. That is pretty crazy but it gets crazier.

The team we were playing wore all white. They were not dirty. No mud stains. No grass stains. Just pure white uniforms with shiny white helmets. I do not remember any markings on them at all.

My first memory was that I was lined up under the center and was calling for the snap. I did not look down field as far as I can recall. I just looked at their defensive line and our offensive line. The grass was green and torn up in places from previous action. The hash marks and yard lines were all present in their white chalkyness. The crowd was an out of focus Kaleidoscope of color.

I said the right word, not that I know what it was, and the ball was snapped into my waiting hands. I turned to the right and dropped back a few yards. Running toward me was Bears defensive star Brian Urlacher. This did not strike me as odd. It should have. Why was he on the field with the offense? I only wonder about this now that I am awake. I was staring through my face mask and through Brians face mask and he was coming at me like a truck. I remember holding the football with both hands and pointing it out to the right so Mr. Urlacher could take it like a good running back and turn down field.

Before that happened the dream went bizarro. Not that it wasn't already bizarro. I would just call this a "post-Bears-Super-bowl-dream" were it not for the surprise ending.

Urlacher slowed in his run and grabbed the bottom of his jersey. He actually ripped it as he pulled it over his mammoth shoulders and his helmet covered head. He dropped his Bears jersey to the ground. Underneath it he was wearing a clean jersey. It was white. As his Bears jersey went over his helmet it reappeared as one matching the white helmets of the bad guys. (I thought good guys were supposed to wear white?)

I did not have much time to think about this as Mr. Urlacher was running at me again. I remember retreating in a direction that was parallel to the left side of the Bear offensive line. My natural reaction was to slide between my blockers and hopefully they would manage to spare my life. That's when I noticed that they all were now wearing white jerseys and white helmets.

The rest of the dream is pretty chaotic. I do not remember pain. And there was still no sound. But my teammates pounced on me like real bears would if I had been covered with honey. I remember the pushing, shoving, grabbing and eventual throwing to the ground. From there I looked up to find that they were not finished just because I was down. The ground merely formed the firm foundation for the beating that followed. The pushing turned to smashing. The shoving turned to squashing. The grabbing turned to stomping. I remember a quick thought of not understanding. Of wondering why my team had turned on me. I was trying to help them accomplish their goal ... win the game. I guess my goal was not their goal.

That's about it. I woke up. I was not panicking. No jerking awake and screaming. No punching and clawing at the air. But I was soaked in sweat. No, I did not find any mysterious grass stains on my t-shirt as I changed. No cleat scars on my arms. Just slightly trembling hands and a deep and profound wondering.

I believe that my spiritual enemy hates me. Every now and then he gets a really good shot in. My best guess is that he did that a few minutes ago. Still, I am not sure. I am not making any claims. I had a tame meal this past evening and even went to church for bible study. Then I came home and listened to worship music on my ipod with my wife as we went to sleep. Maybe the bully snuck in and beat me up. Maybe he was trying to get me to reminisce about battles gone by. Maybe he was trying to get me to draw conclusions.

Or maybe it was just a dream.