Another night with very little to report; another morning when I did not write in my dream journal.
This is not to say I did not dream last night. It’s just that what I did dream was so bizarre that I didn’t want to record it. In it, my body had no arms or legs, no head either, just a torso, but it was hollow, more like the shell of a body, with the rubbery texture of those covers that slip over the Wii remote control. And yet, it wasn’t my body either, because I was looking down at it, and in my hand was something like a lightsaber — so I still had a hand, and arms, and a head to be looking down from — and it was I who was cutting off the limbs of this body. Total nonsense, right?
What am I to do with such imagery? I started the journal as a way to practice storytelling, and to maybe keep ideas for future writing experiments. This, however, is not a scene that I want to revisit in any kind of writing.
And how do I derive meaning from this? I cannot think of anything I had seen recently which could have spawned this kind of symbolism. This is not a repurposed scene from a movie, as sometimes happens with my dreams.
So I woke up and decided not to remember it by writing it down. I didn’t take much time in bed sorting through the memory of it before getting up, which is usually a good way to let the details fade. I had pretty much forgotten about it as my day became hectic with running errands and meeting deadlines. And then after lunch, driving past a construction site, I see their civic banners for whatever new building was going up behind the fences, covered in slogans and inspirational phrases, and the one word which stood out in the biggest font was ‘DREAM’.
I continued my errands, which involved waiting in a line for six hours to pick up badges for a weekend event. Exhausted from standing and shuffling and sitting on a hard floor when the line stalled, I was glad to come home to a late supper and a final hour of television. What did I watch? The season finale of “Awake” — actually the series finale since it was cancelled — that show in which a detective does not know in which reality he might be asleep, or whether he is caught between two equally-real dream worlds.
Dreams are not supposed to make sense — this is what we tell ourselves when a particularly weird dream makes no sense at all. But perhaps those are the most important dreams of all, the ones which surpass the kind of sense we understand in our waking life. It is the nonsense which challenges us to think, until it makes “non” sense.