I am in a season of vivid dreams. I'm not talking about the aspirational kind of dreams; I'm talking about head on the pillow, lost in sleep kind of dreams. This happens periodically and this bout started several weeks ago. I have always been a vivid dreamer. From the time I was small, I would wake up sometimes giggling and giddy but more often than not, troubled and afraid. My dreams have always been very detailed and I have been blessed/cursed to be able to recall most of them in their entirety.
As of late, I'm glad that my dreams have not been my reality. If this were so, all of the doors in my life would be waist high, I would wear cropped linen pants with socks and flip flops to important bank Christmas parties, I would boldly mock musicians I respect (to their faces) for listening to their own music, I would be chased by people who want to physically harm me, my house would be broken into by people wearing ninja suits while I watched, and people I used to be close to would purposely try to embarrass me in front of people I love and not let me finish eating when I was desperately hungry. And that is just scratching the surface.
While some of these scenarios were actually kind of funny, others were deeply disturbing. And while I don't necessarily believe dreams are a reflection of actual life, I do think that sometimes they are the acting out of fears or insecurities, of our forced silence, in the disjointed and fragmented, but all too real seeming world of dreams. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed the sleeping moments where even I, in the midst of a vivid dream, am amazed at my own fluency at an unidentifiable language no one (including myself) knew I could speak. Or the moments when witticisms spring effortlessly from my lips, bringing forth bursts of laughter from crowds of admirers. But lately, I've just wanted to sleep soundly and not spend so much of my waking time trying to sort through or shake off the residue of my dreams. Of course, there is rich, fertile soil in the creative landscape of our dreams. And I'm not ready to surrender that completely. And I wonder, if dreams are prophetic, maybe my prophesy is this: I have stories to tell and they should be told in the light.
As of late, I'm glad that my dreams have not been my reality. If this were so, all of the doors in my life would be waist high, I would wear cropped linen pants with socks and flip flops to important bank Christmas parties, I would boldly mock musicians I respect (to their faces) for listening to their own music, I would be chased by people who want to physically harm me, my house would be broken into by people wearing ninja suits while I watched, and people I used to be close to would purposely try to embarrass me in front of people I love and not let me finish eating when I was desperately hungry. And that is just scratching the surface.
While some of these scenarios were actually kind of funny, others were deeply disturbing. And while I don't necessarily believe dreams are a reflection of actual life, I do think that sometimes they are the acting out of fears or insecurities, of our forced silence, in the disjointed and fragmented, but all too real seeming world of dreams. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed the sleeping moments where even I, in the midst of a vivid dream, am amazed at my own fluency at an unidentifiable language no one (including myself) knew I could speak. Or the moments when witticisms spring effortlessly from my lips, bringing forth bursts of laughter from crowds of admirers. But lately, I've just wanted to sleep soundly and not spend so much of my waking time trying to sort through or shake off the residue of my dreams. Of course, there is rich, fertile soil in the creative landscape of our dreams. And I'm not ready to surrender that completely. And I wonder, if dreams are prophetic, maybe my prophesy is this: I have stories to tell and they should be told in the light.
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