Another recurring dream, another opposite-of-anxiety-dream:

I am walking in the dark, in some windless Dickensian alleyway. There is usually an adult with me, and though it's not someone I know in reality, it's someone I trust.

We walk down the alley, so wet and cold and scary. There is trash up against the buildings. After a few minutes of walking in this frightening and quiet place, we come to a set of root cellar doors. The doors slowly open and a large, silver disc rises to hang in the air above them. The disc is so absolutely in contrast to the darkness around it; the sharp edge of it proves its two-dimensionality. It could cut the darkness. It is made of something metallic with a matte finish, but somehow shines piercingly without casting a beam.

At this point, a disembodied voice would always state something that was, although mundane and unremarkable, utterly true, such as: "Did you know that Michael Landon played the dad on 'Little House on the Prairie'?"

The dream would end then, with a feeling of calm and peace and comfort. I could sigh and sink deeply into sleep.

I don't purport to know what it means. I just have the dreams; I leave the interpretations to the professionals.