Dream Log: Mystical Alternative Energy and Elizabeth Banks

I dreamed that a new energy source had been found. Some people, mostly women, were able to gather electricity, like batteries, while they were meditating, and then to discharge it into the grid. During the process of discharge they glowed until they looked like translucent plastic from head to toe. Each one glowed a different color. They were able to sense places where they could go, where there were large amounts of static electricity which they would be able to gather up. Science was not yet able to explain any of this. The people who gathered and distributed this energy came to be known as "batteries." Some compared the process to becoming impregnated giving birth.

By far the most powerful battery happened to be Hollywood actor, producer, director, writer and all-around genius and Nice Person Elizabeth Banks.

During the discharge process she glowed a vivid lime-green. She was able to put several gigawatt-hours into the grid per week. This made Ms Banks even more famous than she had already been. Many people who put most of their time and energy into trying to ensure that we all die from pollution and global warming -- also known as "Republicans" -- at first tried to discount the entire phenomenon of human batteries as a hoax. Then they tried to demonize Ms Banks as a Hollywood liberal. Banks shrugged and replied that she WAS a Hollywood liberal, and she didn't seem very demonic at all. Then the Republicans complained about coal miners and oilfield workers losing their jobs. You know how they do.

Being a human battery, sensing where the electricity was, traveling there, absorbing it while meditating and then discharging it into the grid, tended to be very much a full-time job. Most of the batteries had support teams handling the logistics for them. Banks' team was headed by Seth Rogan, with whom she had worked several times in show business. I was heading another logistics team, for a woman who wasn't famous at all. She glowed orange when she discharged. She could do several megawatt-hours a week.

The Banks operation gave all of their electricity away for free. Some smaller organizations, like the one I was working for, sold our electricity to utilities or consumer co-ops. Republicans, naturally, tried to play things up and make it seem as if Banks and Rogen and all those Hollywood types were taking money away from poor hardworking Murrkins like me and the lady who glowed orange. You know how they do.

Elizabeth Banks set up a conference for human batteries, where advice, organization and, yes, even money could be offered to those in need. 

I had hardly parked our team's mini-van when Seth Rogen was shoving me and yelling incoherently. Then he walked away as suddenly as he had appeared. Then he was there again, sobbing and apologizing and drunk. I assured him that he had not done any damage, and asked him what was upsetting him. He said that he was out of his head because he had feelings for Ms Banks, and they were unrequited. "You and me and billions of other people," I assured him. If I am correctly informed, Ms Banks has been with one guy for several decades. 

Dream Log: Joining the FBI; and Elizabeth Banks

I dreamed that I had joined the FBI, or was in training in hopes of eventually joining the FBI. All of us trainees lived in a dorm. Everyone associated with the training facility, trainees, trainers and administration, all dressed in the stereotypical FBI outfit: black suit, white shirt, black necktie, black shiny shoes. We were all dressed like that all of the time, including during our firearms training, physical conditioning -- long runs and obstacles courses -- and martial-arts training.

Except that I didn't have the shiny black shoes. Instead, I was wearing old sneakers, one with a white shoelace and the other with a black shoelace. I tried to be casual about it and pretend that there was nothing unusual about my shoes, but the trainers made snarky remarks about old beat-up shoes, without ever referring specifically to me, but I felt ostracized.

Finally, one of the trainers came up to me and told me that my shoes were non-regulation. I replied that the sneakers gave me good traction when I was running and chasing someone. The trainer bent a leg so that the sole of one of his shoes was showing. He pointed to the sole and told me that FBI agents wore shoes with soles that gave just as much traction as any shoes'.

Eventually I began to feel overwhelmed. Besides my embarrassment over my shoes, the pace of the training began to overwhelm me physically. (Not surprising, considering that I am 56 years old.) I approached the trainer who had told me that I was wearing the wrong shoes, and told him that I couldn't keep up and wanted to quit. I repeated this several times, but the trainer kept turning away and ignoring me. Finally he took a cell phone from a pocket and made a call. I couldn't hear what he was saying. Then a woman came into the room where the other trainees were doing martial-arts exercises. Unlike everyone else in our suits, she was wearing an all-white outfit, short-sleeved shirt, slacks and shoes, like a nurse or some other worker at a hospital might wear. She looked like Elizabeth Banks. The trainer looked at her and gestured at me and walked away.

The woman led me to a chair, told me to sit down and take off my suit-jacket and shirt. I still had a white T-shirt on. She began to massage my arms and hands. She was very skilled at that, and I felt great waves of tension leaving me. Another woman joined us, also dressed in a white nurse's outfit, and took over the arms-and-hands massage, while the woman who looked like Elizabeth Banks began to massage my scalp.

I began to reconsider whether I wanted to quit the FBI. I also began to wonder whether I would get more pleasant treatment if I continued to complain about not being able to do what the other, younger recruits were doing. Than I woke up.