Dreams. Dreams are where I explore beyond the constraints of this world. Dreams are where my self-imposed inhibitions peel like corn, allowing the kernels of me to fall into places my mind might otherwise refuse to fit, or at least acknowledge or visit.
I’ve not done a good job with my dreams in recent blogging; there was a time when my dreams where part of my usual blogging subject matter. There are dreams in that archive that were quite intense; from the whole of my life, only a few awake moments match the intensity of three dreams in particular.
Dreams, only our mind recreating and replaying? Really? Well, that may be, or then again, that may not be, or it might be both, or it might be lots more. Want to make that call? Is your conclusion provable? I thought so.
So given this unprovable, intangible, perplexing surreality, what do we have when a dream or experience strikes? Probably what we need.
There are dreams in my linked dream history that took care of an open ended lament, that saved my life, and opened the door to me, dreams that kept me connected to children when it could feel like all was lost. There are dreams that expanded my horizons, and dreams that advised caution. I’ve met the First Lady, and I’ve escaped persecution from neo-Nazis through swimming prowess in a local lake. I’ve had a dream where I knew if I went in there, I was never coming out.
Over a year and a half ago, I wrote a semi-short story about sisters, one living, one dead, connected only through dreams. There was unfinished business, a sense of abandonment in death, the loss blamed on fearless and arrogant conduct in a moment of threat. Who was dreaming, and what was dream?
The problem is not our dreams, our imaginings, or things we perceive. The problem is we do not give much play to attuning ourselves to the messages, to developing acumen in sussing out meaning. Humans have a propensity, a tendency, to wish to learn through our own experiences. That is why our children can frustrate us when we attempt to teach them lessons we’ve learned, hoping to spare them our consequences – just as our parents hoped to spare us only to have us defiantly ignore their caution. So we start from some sort of scratch, running the trial and error gauntlet. We do this with a lot of life, and we do this with the things that Belle of the Carnival refers to as ‘paranormal’.
What was her ghost trying to say? I don’t know, the message was for her.