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Dreams oats

Found 150 dreams containing oats - Page 6


Explore a collection of the latest dreams shared by our community. Discover common themes, intriguing narratives, and unique symbolism. From vivid adventures to thought-provoking scenarios, these recent dreams offer a glimpse into the subconscious mind and may even spark insights into your own dream world. Browse the "Latest Dreams" to find inspiration, connect with others, and delve deeper into the fascinating realm of dreams.

I was on an island enjoying vacation and it started to sink. Everyone is scared and starts looking for wood to build their boats. I start searching for wood! I notice everyone is done and starts sailing away, no one ask if I needed help now I'm watching in fear. I don't know how to build a boat! The towns people ask if I need help, I notice they aren't scared! They continue with they everyday life singing, dancing, playing and cooking. They offer me food, so we're eating and Trying to build the boat but it's harder then we all think I would have been. I'm scared and just start crying but I notice the island isn't anymore by I continue to cry

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Shopping with a friend for a black dress/coat. She had seen one in a shop for me but when we got there all the black dresses/coats had been sold. We decided to get train back home but missed the last one. I told my friend I would drive her home but she said she would get the train in the opposite direction to Thornside and then get the train to Petrie. Her daughter was with us and I needed to go to the toilet. All the toilets at the station were locked so my friend said there would be a toilet on the train. When the train came it was one that had an upper and lower section but as I kept going down to look for the toilets I said "There's 19 levels". We didn't find a toilet so when the train stopped I went out and found a grassy spot. We got back on the train and headed to Petrie. As we went over the bridge we were able to put our hands out and feel the water washing over them and water splashing on our faces. It started to go up and down like a roller coaster ride.

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My dream involved me traveling to Russia and then to some weird Polynesian island and then to California, with new people in each place, and ZERO memory of how I had traveled from each to the next, or even any memory that I had traveled at all, and I had no idea how much time had passed and everyone seemed to be annoyed with me when I asked basic questions about those things. Also a long portion of the dream was me riding in this convoy of armored jeeps in this island and both sides of the road were just LITTERED with the corpses of disemboweled animals, like big goats with huge slashes in the stomachs where everything had been taken out of them.

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I was traveling through the Middle East, a rare sight of a woman alone with her children. Everywhere we went, small children with large, dark, haunted eyes would watch my son and daughter as they laughed easily, teased each other and tried to talk to one another in Arabic from a small red phrasebook. One day we sat on a hot, dusty, crowded train. As the vista flashed by outside the window, a young boy, close to the same age as my son, sat across from us with his father. He watched quietly, seriously, as my children giggled, poked at one another and pointed out goats, mountains and beautiful rolling dunes awash in browns, soft pinks and ochers. My daughter turned to the boy and spoke a short phrase to him - "Hello; how are you?" - and suddenly he smiled, huge brown eyes lighting up and his face transformed into that of a beautiful and carefree young man. He began to answer when his father, eyes flashing, gave him a sharp reprimand in the universal language that every parent understands, the tone conveying words I understood in a language I could not. The boy cast his eyes downward. I looked at the man and attempted his language. "I'm sorry and it is not my business yet...why is it not alright for our children to speak with one another?" He looked at me and, with a small sigh, said "Our children are not the same." I said, "We are not wealthy people; you have no reason to dislike us." He barked a short laugh and said, "You, wealthy? You have riches. We -" he pointed at his breast, "we have wealth. We have the wealth that comes from true knowledge of our Creator, of our thousands of years of history, of our struggles. Of our losses. Of our families, of our heritage, of our culture. Your children have riches. Riches of the promise of a future. My son has wealth. But the promise of a future...?" He raised his arms heavenward in a fatalistic gesture and slowly turned his head to look out the window of the train. His proud face looked resigned yet strangely at peace. I woke up with tears running down my face.

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