I dream. Vividly. Sometimes I write them down but most often I forget and their images dissipate minutes after waking up. Some dreams are bizzare. Some poignant. Most are merely random in nature.
When I was in junior high I dreamt my mom died and came back as a fish. We kept her in a tank in the dining room and every day when my sisters and I came home from school we’d tap on the glass and say “mom, we’re home!” I don’t remember feeling sad about it all because Mom was still in my life, albeit in a fishy form. I don’t think any “expert” in dream analysis could ever come up with an explanation for this one but it probably had to do with being 13 and wanting to keep the power my mother had over me contained in an itty bitty glass bowl.
Several dreams have been covert and adventuous in nature like these two:
One, where I’m hunting Nazis in old folks homes in Afghanistan. I find a few. Can’t remember what I did with them once I found them but I knew they were going to get what was coming to them and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
And the other : my job, if I chose to take it (and I did) was to defuse a bomb at the bottom of a swimming pool. I was doing a fine job until my sister kept phoning my cell wondering “when I was picking her up to go shopping.” HELLO I’m defusing a bomb here!!
A dream that always makes me contemplative is the one where I had to carve feet for one of my students. Shaye was a new student and he had such sad , haunted eyes. I never knew his story but I had a feeling it was one a young kid shouldn’t have to live. The feet I carved were made of a rich red /brown mahogany wood. They were beautiful and smooth and perfect. Then, in this same dream, an older lady unknown to me took the feet, looked at them and told me to “carve scars and blisters and veins because life is a journey we walk that strengthens our soles/souls” (I knew she meant both).
My favorite dreams of all are my flying dreams. The dreams are always the same. All I have to do is move my arms in a swimming motion (usually a side stroke or a breast stroke) and I’m soaring above the ground. I love these dreams but they are few and far between. I wish I could conjure up my flying dreams whenever I sink into sleep. In them, I have complete control over where I go, how high up I go, and how fast I go. I think this dream is wishful thinking on behalf of my subconscience. Once in awhile it would be nice to be in total control, over events that come my way.
Some people have told me they never dream, or if they do, they never remember if they had. There are some mornings (especially after a night of hunting Nazis) where I wish my brain could shift into screen saver mode in order to conserve neuronic energy, but most often I’m kinda happy to experience the impossible and have stories to tell.
Are you a dreamer?