Dream #5: Doughnut Baby

I haven’t posted a new dream for a while, not because I haven’t had any lucid enough to write up, but because this is the first one that wasn’t too sick and disturbing to repeat in writing. I had this dream last night and it is still really clear in my head, there are so many striking and symbolic images in it I woke up wondering what it all means. Needless to say, I have no idea.

I was in a big house with my mum and a man. I don’t know who the man was but he was a middle-aged bloke and was just sitting down quietly. Outside a storm was raging. Rain came down in sheets, it hammered on the windows, rattling the frames and threatening to break the glass. The wind howled.

The man had two children, both boys. One was about four years old. The other was a chubby baby, not yet crawling properly. They were playing with four or five other young children.

The chubby baby boy had a hole through his middle the size of my fist, and I could see his shiny, colourful innards, though the boy was oblivious and just giggled while the other children poked and prodded at his internal organs. I was a bit concerned about this, and I told the man I could see his son’s guts and I didn’t like the way other kids were playing in them. He wasn’t bothered at all. I felt decidedly uneasy.

The next thing I know one of the kids has actually squeezed himself into the baby’s cavity, and the baby continued to giggle as the other kid squelched about inside him.

“They’re playing in his guts!” I shouted at the man, but he didn’t care. I was furious but he wouldn’t do anything about it.

The next thing I know we are all somewhere in the middle east – me, my mum, this bloke and his two children. We were in a dusty ruined street in a war zone, there were a lot of people there, all facing the same direction down the street, like in a news report from a street battle. Some were hiding behind crumbling walls. There was a bloke on a chair over the road with a massive machine gun on a tripod and he was firing it in the direction everyone was facing. I could hear a lot of gun fire and there were a lot of men with AK47’s running about.

I turned away from the battle and faced a patch of waste ground.

The “doughnut baby” was old enough to run around now, and he chased his older brother, the wind blew dust into his exposed innards. I wondered why his dad didn’t at least put a top on him to cover the hole, it was getting filthy. I followed the children, worried about what harm might come to them in this hostile place.

As I followed them I saw more friendly faces and there was a more community feel. Locals played a game of 5-a-side, I asked if I could join in. They were friendly but said they already had ten players and smiled apologetically. I continued to follow the children as they ran further into the neighbourhood.

The doughnut baby and his brother ran towards a huge crater filled with filthy water.

“Don’t go in that water!” I shouted at them, I didn’t want doughnut baby to get poisonous water in his hole. But the little bastards ignored me and jumped in. Then I realised there was a crane about to cover the hole over with a huge slab of concrete. I ran shouting and waving my arms.

“Get out of the water, you’ll drown!” I screamed at the boys, who were splashing about having loads of fun, oblivious of their impending doom. To my relief the crane operator stopped, and the two boys climbed out of the water.
At this point I decided to assert some authority and grabbed hold of doughnut baby’s hand. I marched him back the way we had come. His guts were all grimy and caked in dirt. As I walked back past the 5-a-side game, one the guys watching walked with me. He was friendly and kept me talking while his friend came up behind me and picked my pocket.

I knew he was doing it, even though I couldn’t feel his fingers taking my wallet. But he didn’t steel anything, he just started re-arranging my pockets without me feeling a thing. My wallet would disappear from my trouser pocket and suddenly appear in my breast pocket, then it was gone again, only to appear in my back pocket or my inside pocket. His slight of hand was impressive. We all laughed when my mobile phone suddenly appeared on top of my head.

Then I said goodbye and took doughnut baby back to his dad. As I walked away I checked my wallet. All my money was still in there, it was some foreign currency and reminded of Egyptian pounds (the only currency I’ve seen from that part of the world). The guy whose friend had re-arranged my pockets smiled and assured me they had stolen and nothing and just to prove he meant no harm he gave me a five pound note. I frowned at him and asked where he got a five pound note from when we were thousands of miles from England. It looked out of place in my wallet.

Then I woke up.


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