Dream Weaver, I believe you can get me through the night
Dream Weaver, I believe we can reach the morning light
Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
— Gary Wright, copyright MCA Music Publishing
Who isn’t fascinated by dreams?
For my immediate family, dreaming can be fascinating, but exhausting. We wake up, not refreshed, but feeling as if we’ve traveled through time and space:
“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”
Well, Rod Serling called it the Twilight Zone, anyway. Some people think we travel to a parallel universe when we dream. Others believe dreams are a way our subconscious communicates with our conscious mind. Dreaming doesn’t seem to be the same for all of us — some rarely remember their dreams, and others describe dreams that are flat and colorless, almost two-dimensional. Some don’t dream at all, or if they do, they are unaware of it.
My dreams take on a life of their own, and it’s not always a pleasant experience. I don’t remember every dream, but I do still recall some dreams from when I was so young I couldn’t read. I think the dream I had where I was falling from a cloud with Winnie-the-Pooh was triggered by an A.A. Milne story my parents read to me.
God only knows what brought on the dream of the “witch house,” that I’ve remembered since about age five. It terrified me, at the time — I can still visualize a cutaway of a huge, multistory house, with witches doing nasty things in every room. My family was in a room on the ground floor, oblivious of all that was going on in the rest of the house, and I was a distant observer, unable to warn them.
More recently, I had a dream that I was living in a nice Colonial-style house in modern-day New Jersey, and I looked out into my yard to see Revolutionary forces swarming down my street. I did, in fact, live in such a town and George Washington’s troops came through there. But I lived there a quarter-century ago, and wasn’t particularly caught up in Revolutionary history.
In one scary dream, the sky was filled with tornadoes that tore into the safe, suburban landscape. Then the sky turned black and a neon grid filled the heavens. Scores of spaceships — right out of Flash Gordon — rained down, clearing the path for a massive ship that I somehow knew was Venusian. It was far too realistic, and I still watch the night sky at times, imagining that bright grid stretching to the horizon.
I recently realized I dream about houses a lot. Not fancy houses – just normal, everyday houses. But I can picture every room, every detail so clearly, I sometimes wonder if those images don’t come from dreams but rather from some genetic memory. Maybe my relatives lived in those houses.
What about you? What do you dream about? Do you dream in color or black-and-white? Do you analyze your dreams? I’d love to hear from you!