Created February 14, 2018 Dreamland

I love to dream, so much so that at times I long for it. When I was little, dreams were a way of continuing to watch TV when I’d go to bed. I used to decide what channel to watch, into which TV show I wanted to insert myself to become part of the story.

My mother used to say she could write a book on her dreams because they were such great stories. My niece proclaims her dreams to be prescient, but she does not take up my dare to prove it by writing them down and mailing them to herself. My dreams tell me about me.

HA! My dreams are all about ME! Figures….

Two days ago, I simply had to rest on the couch, as I often do, and fell into the most telling dream. I was outside a building in which there were stacks of Debras or rather shells of Debras, each in the same pose – one arm over the head, one knee crooked, the position in which I slept long ago. I had no reaction to them, standing there, gazing upon myself – if anything, it was interesting. But I do remember thinking- these shells are not to be used again, so what now? Is there a Debra I could be? Do I even have a choice, or will a new persona merely become me, without my knowledge or consent?

In a flash, I was in a store – dark paneled wood, shelves full of what I do not know, as I was immediately drawn to the shoes. They were beautiful, and exactly the kind of shoe I can never wear – high heeled, “strappy” and shiny, in all sorts of leathers and all in my size. The thought hit me – to what event or place could I wear these? I felt nothing as I put them back on the rounded, corner shelf upon which they had been resting.

This dream happened because at some point lately, I’ve gotten lost. I cannot pin-point when this happened, but it seems like a part of me has gone missing. I’ve a feeling of being crushed inside, overwhelmed by life, bereft of something unknown and unidentifiable, wanting it all to be over.

I had a very telling dream long ago in the first months of my biggest breakdown: I stood on a large white circular disk, whose surface had lines all over in black. I cannot remember the pattern of these lines, but the disk kept changing its horizontal plane so that I could not keep my balance. The dream ground was literally shifting under my feet. That was my life then, I think, shifting sand. No stability. No solid position to hold.

Later still, I was driving fast on a road the surface of which shifted, and caused the vehicle to swing wildly from one side to the other, but always with forward motion. I’m not sure if there was something chasing me or I was merely running away, but as I went along, large black bears popped up in the road, looking past me as I drove. I was not afraid. It was as though they were an escort. I looked up bears in one of those dream interpretation books (I’ve done that from time to time, but usually I work out my own interpretations), and apparently bears are a spiritual symbol. Huh.

Two dreams from years ago stick out in my mind – in one, my ex was a squalling baby. I plunged my hand into this baby and ripped out its heart. Afterwards, I felt relief, and a lot of hate drained from me. The only other time that a dream created a palpable feeling of relief was one a very long time ago in which I set down 2 heavy suitcases and walked away.

Last night, I was in several places, all of which needed to be fixed in one way or another. In one place, flowing water needed in part to be re-routed to prevent a spillway from being clogged with debris. In others, there were people trying to keep order in some way – lists were made, people were sorted, a leader arose. I cannot recall explicitly what was going on in these latter places – it just felt like order was trying to be maintained.

And that’s the way my dreams work, at least in my adult years. They seem a reflection of my current mental state, or seem to be formed for the purpose of processing a thought or a feeling from real life.

My dreams when I was younger were interesting and usually fun. There were those that weren’t particularly engaging in a positive way: I would hide under a table with a long tablecloth and a pirate would shove his sword through my temple. Or I would be at the top of the stairs to the basement in the home of my youngest years and fall. That last one was more of a memory, as it actually did happen.

A dream that often played in my head started when I was about nine, when we moved to the house on the river. I could fly. I usually flew over the tall poplars growing on the near bank of the river behind my house. That feeling of flying! So wonderful and freeing. I wonder whether I was flying towards something or away from something?

I used to have this amazing recurrent dream, part fantasy and part remembrance of my childhood years. Traveling down the Clinton River in a boat, passing by other boats, the banks covered in fantastical multi-colored trees. At the mouth of the river just as it entered the lake, seeing those funny houses on their island yards. Those “floating” houses actually exist, and were always an amazing sight when my family took our boat down the river to the lake.

I wonder where my dreams will take me tonight?