dreams 2006-05-04

The southern shores of the now-wide, clear, sparkling, free-of-pollution Ottawa River near my house, boasting a stretch of well-used beach, a sunny summer tourist playground. And it's not Ottawa, or somehow we're bordering France; I can walk across the border from where I stand watching, a dozen or so metres from the shore -- and my heart full of fear, for I have in my hands a secret list of a half-dozen nations that France plans to invade imminently, and sure enough Canada is on it. However can we stop this expansion of a New French Empire?
Now turning away from the water and looking uphill, I'm walking away from the familiar Camp Opemikon Beach, and there's the dining hall at the top of the slope. My mother is here, organizing something, giving orders, and I'm totally out of the loop. Then a grey military twin-engine propellor plane flies over, shit, that was low. My mom is talking on radio to the pilot, telling him to come around for another pass, but lower this time. I'm getting nervous, more nervous every second, as the plane banks tightly and rustles the top branches of the forest around the camp. Again, lower! "That's too dangerous," I'm yelling but she won't listen to me, and now it's too late as the plane is flying over, too low, its wings clip the tops of trees and get sheared off by the trunks, then the fuselage ploughs through the forest and into the ground not even 100 metres away, a tangle of metal shards and wooden splinters. I'm shocked, horrified, they must all be dead, I think. I rage at my mother, who doesn't seem bothered. Then I see one figure in a messy flight suit struggle, hurt, out of the crashed plane. I run over to meet him and end up walking with him up the hill to the dining hall basement entrance 'round back. I'm still furious at my mom, talking wildly while the airman limps in silence, but before going inside he turns to me and says angrily, "Don't expect me to help you with this."

Elsewhere, a militiaman, rebellion fighter, war-weary sniper is setting up in a highrise, hunkered down and virtually invisible from outside in his abandoned apartment perch.
Then I'm in a military helicopter, flying over the city, watching a grinning, don't-give-a-shit maniac soldier traversing his heavy machine gun pointed out the side door, across the city, and letting off bursts of fearsomely powerful belt-fed rounds, rattling their way out of a giant military-green ammo crate, across the chopper floor, and into his monstrous weapon. Two loud clangs of high-velocity metal impact, two holes invisibly punched in the crate, smoke trailing out -- it's the sniper! It's gonna explode, I think, and apparently he does too, as he lets go of the murder weapon and rushes to the ammo crate, fumbling with it. What the hell is he doing? I wonder, then I see four giant bolts on the corners are now unfastened and, heave, he dumps it out the side door. It lands on a main road, skidding, sparking, into an intersection. I look on expectantly, waiting for the explosion I'm sure will come. The gunner seems unconcerned. A beaten-up bus has shuddered to a stop practically on top of the crate and I fear tragedy, but it doesn't blow and we fly beyond view.

Somewhere in the wilderness, in the merging of the Ottawa Valley and the Canadian Shield, I'm climbing a narrow path up the side of a valley. As I reach the forest at the top, there lies stretched out before me the river inlet at the valley's bottom, then at one end the lake that spreads further, into the distance. A crowd has gathered on the rocky peninsula on the far side, and the sun glitters on river and lake. This is no deserted wilderness, people dot either side of the valley -- I passed many on my way up here, and here I want to stay...

Even earlier, a vague dream forgotten til mid-afternoon: I start out in a York-CIA architechtural mash-up... in the maintenance tunnels I remember from otherwise-forgotten dreams, not York tunnels, but something totally other. Still dark and possibly dangerous, but more MY tunnels than Theo's at York, strangely (but familiar I guess because I've dreamed these several times). I'm in there with a friend, don't remember who, we're exploring when we hear people behind us talking -- we're caught, it's maintenance/security/doesn't-matter cause we're screwed. We book it and try a side door to hide or get above...
Then not long after, we're rushing through the tunnels once more, when we hear the voices again and it's too late, they're upon us, but we see them up close and it's just two random dudes, explorers like us; we nod in greeting and move on.
Later, I'm above, on my own, in and out of the buildings and grounds of the complex at nighttime. There's some kind of event going on, perhaps a gala -- I'm near the fringes of the activities. I encounter several well-dressed middle-aged folks, People With Credentials no doubt, but they're all pretty inebriated by this point. After speaking with a pair of them I come into posession of 16mm film canisters containing footage that would be utterly, undeniably damning to the current government should it be made public. My civic, moral duty is clear, but I know I'm in grave danger from ruthless power-mad officials and their conscience-less agents. I try to figure out some way to hide this thing, keep it safe, stay free, and get the truth out...