“So what do we think it is that dreams actually do?” This is the reason that after thirteen years of being together, Remi and I never run out of conversation. We can and do talk about anything. This morning, as I was hovering over a cup of Lady Grey that just wasn’t cutting it, dreams were on the menu. For if I was run ragged it was because my night had been especially long with a non-stop film of them looping through my head. And they are indeed like movies, my dreams. They are utterly realistic and hold such nuances in color, sound and details that I don’t ever pop out of them save on the very rare occasion when I stop to think, “Wow, good job brain.” When I do wake in the middle of the night – and I often do – at times I have to pull myself out of the grip of those images by telling myself where I actually am, my current age, that Remi is sleeping next to me, that everything is ok. In the mornings, I count on the sun to burn off their last dregs as it does the dew. If I have had cauchemars or nightmares, that process can dawdle into the afternoon.
And yet my dreams are rarely fantastical, nor – save for a period a few years back when my teeth kept falling out in them – are they particularly symbol laden. Remi is hardly ever present, something I account to our spending an inordinate amount of time together during our waking hours. But they do tend to go in cycles where I am in participating in the same event or environment (and sometimes a lot of ground can be covered within one neighborhood) for several weeks straight. Lately, it has been within the offices of the luxury hotels that I worked at between acting jobs in Manhattan, previously it was on the grounds of my alma mater, the Yale School of Drama. All of the characters involved, including myself, are busy and the interactions complex. I wonder what these people, all of whom I haven’t been in contact with in twenty years or more, would think if they knew that they were popping into my head on a nearly nightly basis, these strangers that aren’t so strange. At times my Dad, who passed away five years ago, is present but rarely in a way that seems to have a specific meaning or connection. The only thing that can be exaggerated is my emotional life. Recently, anger has been coming into play, an element that I am aware deserves both recognition and attention (thank you, Mr. Jung).
Remi, it turns out, is not only a lucid dreamer but is able to shape the form of his dreams. Leonard, my Mom’s Husband, has such extraordinary adventures as to make us gasp with surprised laughter when he retells them. I know that we all are different and I don’t wish to be obsessed by dreams despite their hold on me. There is character in the evocative Wim Wender’s film “Until the End of the World” who, thanks to science, is able to see video taped versions of the nights previous events and is nearly driven mad by it. But I am fascinated by them and have a grateful respect for their purpose, even if I can’t begin to answer my own question as to what that might be.
I stumbled upon this interesting article from Scientific American : here.
From the “Until the End of the World” soundtrack, Jane Siberry and K.D. Lang’s utterly magnificent “Calling all Angels”:
And what about your dreams? I rarely turn the tables but so many of you have been extremely generous in your comments lately that I am curious…
Good. Look it up and you will see why!!!
Emilia, I am so fascinated by your response…but I have seen in my own life that there is still so much that we aren't capable of understanding or explaining. And I have to say that most of the time – especially lately – I don't like dreaming either, as fascinating as it can be…
Very cool, R. Happy that it is over…
Grr…I have trouble leaving comments on my own blog! But what I just typed out was a little something like this: that yes, I did it and I was really inspired by your last phrase. I think that it helped a lot so thank you! And that I really like the rhythm that you used to describe the act of dreaming.
That is awesome, Silke and makes me wonder if we knew more instinctively how to take care of ourselves when we were children than we do now? All I know is that I am glad that you were able to put it behind you at such a young age. There was a period when I was afraid to go to sleep and it sucked. Yes, it is a ghost story…
Sister, I did it! I stopped a dream the other night! I had – for some wack reason – totally set myself up in the dream to get mugged on a walk home through a dangerous neighborhood in the dark – so I just up and woke up instead!!! Whooohooo!! I was so proud of myself that I could barely get back to sleep. 🙂
And yep, that song…It might be up there in the top ten favorite songs of all time list for me.
Thank you for the comment Caroline – I am sorry that I am so late in responding! And if you look to the other comments, you will see that you are definitely not alone in your dream. What I find fascinating about it is that duality of both I'm here and yet there too…Hmm….
Your life has been pretty fantastic from what I know of it Joan, so I think that you answered your own question!
And of course the doggies go to town in their dreams! Barking, running…
Then they must be pretty positive dreams. 🙂
That is amazing and very beautiful, Rebecca. I had heard that others have had such experiences – it is why I was so surprised that my Dad wasn't in my dreams for so long after he passed and then one day just showed up. But if you say my Sister, Robin's comment, it was the same for her so I guess that says something about my Dad. I can only imagine how comforting that must have been.
Thank you for sharing that with me.
Gros Bisous.