Dream Journal: Marriage Adventurer (Jan 5th, 2013)

Here are the high and lowlights from last night's dream:

• DREAM LOW-LIGHT: I lived on a modern-day, family-owned farm, located far away from “civilization.” (It should be known that I am not a farmer. However, I’ve always thought a farm is a great place to raise a family.) A grand party was thrown on our estate and to my delight the girl of my (literal) dreams walked in. Naturally, I proposed marriage on the spot.  Later, as we were walking into the marriage room, my dear old dad was waving around a large, wrapped present—arguing with everyone regarding how and when it should be (inappropriately) presented during the sacred ceremony.  (FYI, Dad's always been particular about arranging Xmas presents under the tree.)  Amidst the commotion, I seized the opportunity to lean over to my mom and ask my bride's name, having completely forgotten it.
• DREAM HIGH-LIGHT: I didn't care for that dream very much so I decided to fall back asleep and try again.  In another place and time, I was a medieval adventurer and had reclaimed an invaluable artifact from the enemy strong hold with my fearless adventuring partner. We had fooled the orcish guards multiple times and had barely escaped through the front gates with our lives when we were relieved to find a small band of fellow soldiers clearing a path for our escape.  We were about to join the throng when a small (witchlike) girl playfully approached us, along with a handful of her courtyard friends.  "You'll never survive if you go that way.  Come this way." Immediately, I turned to follow her.  My companion at arms reluctantly followed me.  (He was always more confident with the sword than I.)  We neared a well. The witch girl silently looked at me and pointed towards one the flagstones surrounding it.  The area was mucky and my boots sunk deep into the earth as I made my way to the secluded area.  I tested the stone's integrity with the tip of my boot.  It sunk a good 3 inches before I jerked it out.  It was as if I were vandalizing wet cement.  The weird thing was that as I jerked my toe out, none of the substance clung to me at all; it slid right off (see GIF). I screwed my courage and used my arms to lower myself into the goo, chest deep.  My toes stretched and waggled searching for the bottom—to no avail.  The dirty, little girl calmly explained that the well was enchanted and that only those who surrender themselves to its power would be granted access to its hidden escape.  I clutched my breast like Indiana Jones did just before taking his leap of faith in The Last Crusade.  My friend stood there, terrified, sword in hand, guarding our rear escape. Our window of opportunity was quickly closing.  I thought he was going to bug out. Despite the flood of orc hot on our tail, I had the strong impression that the witching well was our only chance for survival. I swallowed my fear and shot my arms up in perilous disregard. Slowly, I sank into the magical cement. It was emotional torture—I had plenty of time to rethink my decision as the goo crept up my body. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.  (The most challenging moment was when my mouth and nose were fully engulfed by the stuff and my arms flailed freely above the surface.)  When the cement knew that my entire reserve of air had left my body, an air pocket filled the space immediately around me. Moments later, I was spontaneously expelled from the goo like a geyser onto the cold, hard ground below. The story continues, but that was definitely the most exciting part.