This is part eight of a thirty day trial, during which I am going to write and publish a post every day. No refunds. Comments welcome and encouraged!
I slept soundly. I dreamed, but memories of those dreams elude me.
I can feel them still, the dreams, lingering in the fog of the morning. They recede, though.
It always saddens me, to lose a dream, or to be in the process of losing one. It doesn’t often happen, does it, the way it does with other memories — we can often ultimately find our way back to an unremembered fact, or name, or other such thing.
It’s rarer to snatch a dream from the depths of forgetfulness.
They’re too ethereal, aren’t they? But still we reach for them. I do at least. I want to remember my dream.
The process, if not the result, feels important. Dreams always feel just a bit more important, somehow, than mere facts.
The memory of the dream, that it had been there, disappears rapidly now. I’ve been up for several minutes. The sun has burned from red to orange. I’ve been sipping tea.
The day begins, and the dreaming ends — at least, the real pure stuff — until tonight.
But we can dream awake, can’t we? We can relax back, and breathe, and wander through our mind, and grasp after strands of what comes more readily to us in sleep.
This helps, I think. Pursuing dreams awake.
And I don’t mean striving after goals, necessarily. I’m talking about keeping up with that pursuit, that chasing after what lit up our minds and souls while all else was quiet — however fruitless such efforts might prove.
There’s something about dreams — even, I think, those dripping with the stuff of fear — that soothe us.
Their poetry simplifies, clarifies, by mixing the usual and the understood with the distinctly familiar but unknowable. In this way, despite their frequent opacity, despite our inability to break them down into the rational, the actionable — dreams ground us. Don’t they?
I think they do, if we let them. If we continue the chase, continuing trying to hold on, at the same time that we acknowledge that dreams are temporary, fleeting, insubstantial.
No wonder we grasp after them, in the waking world. And yet it seems fitting that the grasping should go on, rather than the dream. Perhaps the dreaming itself is more the point, and the pursuit, of the most-personal of stories, than the content.
Day 4: Circle Up and Laugh
Day 5: On The Future of Labor
Day 7: The Word for World is Earth