Dream Time

I had a restless night last night. My cold is leaving but asthma has gotten into the act. When that happens I wake often or am awaken by dreams. When my body is under duress my dreams are vivid and lively. Some are warnings, I was startled awake from a dream of living on an island off the southern coast of the United States in colonial times. It was early summer and too warm for my heavy long skirts, and to humid for my dream self to breathe well. Still asleep I told my dream spouse that I thought I was dying it was so hard to breathe. And then my eyes popped open and I realized that my shortness of air had invaded my dreams. So I trundled off to the bathroom and did the nebulizer thing and took a pill and went back to bed. Later I awoke again from an awful dream about something happening to one of my children. All that hard breathing makes your heart beat hard and sets up a certain amount of bad dream producing anxiety. So I stayed up for awhile and had a cup of tea and returned to bed in peace for the remainder of the night. I really like sleeping and usually my dreams are interesting if not fun. I'm better today. It set me to thinking about dreams though.

When I was younger and painting and designing stained glass windows, I practiced what was called active dreaming to get ideas. I'd try to relax before sleep and then think about the project I wanted to create and its elements. Often I would wake with an idea. I kept a journal by my bed to jot those ideas down before they faded as dreams are wont to do. Another decade later I was making my living as a computer programmer and found that technique worked just as well for me solving thorny computer problems. I'd wake in the morning with a big "I've got it!"

During my adult life I found myself dreaming of those people I loved who had died. They still populate my dreams but at some point in the grieving process I have had what I think of as the "goodbye dream." The person appears in my dream and says goodbye and lets me know it is time to get on with it. Some come right away, some take years. My parents are a good example. Right after my mother died I dreamt I was watching her cross a grated bridge from one side to another. Not very original I realize, but about 3/4 of the way across she turned around and shook her head "no," this wasn't my time but hers. She looked like she did when I was a little kid, 1940's hair, slim, in high heels and a big smile. She was happy. She was telling me to let go. My father was another story. In the intervening years I've dreamed of him often but nothing like a goodbye dream. Then last year about 8 years after his death, I dreamed of him living in a tiny but immaculate cabin (you have to know him, he fixed everything and liked, I think, to live simply) in the woods near a river. He had designed and was building a lovely pond that reflected the sky, the mountains, and the woods. He looked like he did when he died but he was dressed as he was when he was a young man exploring Alaska, and tracking the wild salmon. I woke up knowing he'd gone home too. He was content.

I took a class when my kids were tiny where we were taught active dreaming and to keep a dream journal. The plan was to take something out of it and tell yourself you are that thing, because you are, it all comes from within the self. My first try was with a large wooden desk I'd dreamed. I asked myself who I was as a desk. I was utilitarian, drawers full of records and flotsam, lovely wood but somewhat battered. I realized that I was stuffed with the things of other peoples lives and I was very tired. I was a young mother of a baby and a toddler and hadn't had decent sleep for a couple of years. I had lost track of myself completely, turning into the ultimate household appliance. That wasn't good for me, my husband, or my kids. I changed some things you can bet. I still keep a dream journal and I think it helps me to decipher what is really going on inside my heart of hearts.