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WHAT DREAMS MAY COME
Do you keep a dream journal? I used to, back in the 70s when I was dabbling in all things alternative. It was interesting – if not always illuminating – to identify my personal and often recurring symbols, and perhaps see what my unconscious mind was trying to slip past the blocking of the censor. I even got the idea for a story out of a dream (“A Long Way Home”) and the image of someone running with two kids in tow across a dangerous landscape that several years later became the central concept of “Reading the Bones.” Mind you, I had to wrestle the dream ideas into shape before they were ready to see print.
Occasionally, under the stress of a disintegrating marriage, my dreams pointed out things I hadn't consciously seen -- or had refused to see, more likely. Like the dream that my bedroom had no roof and was open to the elements, and that my husband was moving another bed into the room. That one proved prophetic (he was having an affair)!
There've been others that dealt with things not easily explained in the cold light of day, dreams that seemed to come from somewhere outside of everyday experience. And while they're puzzling, they can be strangely reassuring in a way. (If you run into me in the bar at a con sometime, ask me to tell you the story of the moonstone cross.)
Recently, a new friend that I'd roomed with on the trip to Rwanda commented that she'd just read my Guild of Xenolinguist stories and was surprised that most of them had such a dark heart. Quite a contrast to what she'd seen of my optimistic personality (she said); on the whole, I'm happy with my life, I'm busy and have family nearby and many friends. So I thought about that comment, and my first reaction was that the Guild taught that the universe is full of wonder and beauty but that it's also full of danger and pain, so my stories were only illustrating that truth as the Guild teachers saw it. But the more I thought about it the more I saw there was another element here. From time to time my dreams seem to come from a well of sadness and loneliness that I don't recognize in my conscious life. It's not what I dream – the “plots” are typically inconsequential – it's the emotion attached to them. Typically, I wake up anguished and it takes several minutes to banish the mood that bears no relation to my waking reality.
I had one of those last night. It started with a former student – I'll call her Agnes – who had somehow switched my cell phone with hers, so I couldn't make a necessary phone call. We went looking for my car, which she had borrowed, and couldn't find it in the parking lot where Agnes said she'd left it. I was worrying about my two dogs who were caged up somewhere, waiting for me to retrieve them, and the parking lot attendant taunted me about my ability to buy another car if I wanted. But I told him I was only a teacher at the college nearby. I never did find the car.
So far, a rather ho-hum dream story, isn't it? So why was I so distraught in the dream, and why did I wake up, heart pounding, on the verge of tears? I've thought about the symbols that might be in that narrative – lost phone, lost car, lost dogs – but if Freud could see the relevance to my present life, I certainly can't. Dream interpretation isn't an exact science, of course, but I would like to rid myself of these troublesome stories that stir up such negative emotions. Does this sound like an experience you've ever had?
Occasionally, under the stress of a disintegrating marriage, my dreams pointed out things I hadn't consciously seen -- or had refused to see, more likely. Like the dream that my bedroom had no roof and was open to the elements, and that my husband was moving another bed into the room. That one proved prophetic (he was having an affair)!
There've been others that dealt with things not easily explained in the cold light of day, dreams that seemed to come from somewhere outside of everyday experience. And while they're puzzling, they can be strangely reassuring in a way. (If you run into me in the bar at a con sometime, ask me to tell you the story of the moonstone cross.)
Recently, a new friend that I'd roomed with on the trip to Rwanda commented that she'd just read my Guild of Xenolinguist stories and was surprised that most of them had such a dark heart. Quite a contrast to what she'd seen of my optimistic personality (she said); on the whole, I'm happy with my life, I'm busy and have family nearby and many friends. So I thought about that comment, and my first reaction was that the Guild taught that the universe is full of wonder and beauty but that it's also full of danger and pain, so my stories were only illustrating that truth as the Guild teachers saw it. But the more I thought about it the more I saw there was another element here. From time to time my dreams seem to come from a well of sadness and loneliness that I don't recognize in my conscious life. It's not what I dream – the “plots” are typically inconsequential – it's the emotion attached to them. Typically, I wake up anguished and it takes several minutes to banish the mood that bears no relation to my waking reality.
I had one of those last night. It started with a former student – I'll call her Agnes – who had somehow switched my cell phone with hers, so I couldn't make a necessary phone call. We went looking for my car, which she had borrowed, and couldn't find it in the parking lot where Agnes said she'd left it. I was worrying about my two dogs who were caged up somewhere, waiting for me to retrieve them, and the parking lot attendant taunted me about my ability to buy another car if I wanted. But I told him I was only a teacher at the college nearby. I never did find the car.
So far, a rather ho-hum dream story, isn't it? So why was I so distraught in the dream, and why did I wake up, heart pounding, on the verge of tears? I've thought about the symbols that might be in that narrative – lost phone, lost car, lost dogs – but if Freud could see the relevance to my present life, I certainly can't. Dream interpretation isn't an exact science, of course, but I would like to rid myself of these troublesome stories that stir up such negative emotions. Does this sound like an experience you've ever had?
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