Dreamy Thoughts. Picture this...

Are dreams real emotional experiences that satisfy or disappoint like real life?



With all my heart, I wish I were more creative. That is my dream. Better yet, I wished that everything I wanted to say could flow onto this page automatically, as if I were some conduit of the flow of life. I wished it just happened, and that I could tap into the perfect words, the perfect language. Do I write to be loved or to inform or entertain?

Look, let me say to all my friends, supporters, family, enemies--all of you who read these words--I am lost. I ache for perfect dreams because I can't create a perfect, or even relatively perfect reality.

I remember two early dreams I had as a child. One happened when I lived with my grandmother and grandfather, and my mother was away for an extended period. I was perhaps four. Somehow, in my dream, I lived in a windmill house. My mother came to visit me, and she held out a ball as a present. Then, her smile--this smile that I loved--began to turn monstrous and threatening as she held out the ball. Her features became evil. I awoke screaming, and my grandmother came to comfort me. Yes, I realize this describes a nightmare and that is why I remember it.

In the other dream that I remember, I was living with my father and his wife, not my mother. I am unsure if this dream came before or after the other, but I dreamed that I was at a carnival, among a bunch of tents. I haven't any idea if I even understood the whole carnival concept. Then again, I must have since the tents and the atmosphere my mind conjured were so perfect. In the dream, I was watching this carnival from beneath my blankets, looking out the opening as if it were the mouth of a cave. Suddenly, the carnival faces, the clowns, the merrymakers, the monsters of big, overblown emotions began to rush in at me. These visions mocked me and poked at me beneath the blankets. I could have sworn it was real. The absence of my real mother is the only consistent factor in both these dreams.

I used to have nightmares quite often. Bad dreams disturb me less frequently now. Always, an idea of betrayal permeated these. Faces changed or people, seemingly harmless sorts, always became horrible people. This particular sort of dream has seemed to disappear. Now, if I have a nightmare, or bad dream, betrayal is still the key ingredient every time. I have dreamed of family members doing terrible things to me. Not my family now, my children, or wife, or grandkids, they never vex me in this way. My father and my mother do though sometimes. Often, I am awakened as I curse these people aloud, and my poor wife wakes me.

Admittedly, I dream that my wife hates me sometimes. In my dream world, she has finally had enough of my transgressions, and I can't get through to her. Sometimes I wake up angry. Sometimes, when I realize the extent of the estrangement of our dream relationship, I wake up crying.

I have nice dreams as well. I dream still of flying, soaring, or being able to cover great distances in a single step. Sometimes, I dream I fly to great heights. Often, I ply my avian abilities for the amusement of others. Always, in my dreams and nightmares now, I am a young adult or teen. Yes, I have sensual dreams as well, often involving flying. These dreams are very welcome events admittedly.

I never have ghostly dreams or visions. I would welcome such experiences.

When my back was at its worst, I often dreamed of having to crawl. I have dream-crawled over the trails in Yosemite, the trails at the open space down the street, and in other familiar outdoor sites. Quite obviously, in my mind, I was contemplating a future of extreme disability.

For everything that's lovely is but a brief, dreamy, kind delight. Yeats.

Did Yeats have it right? Is everything that's lovely but a temporary imagining?

Do our minds create dreams, or do dreams create our desires?

My waking dream is to create perfect lines of text. I want to reach out to you. I want to display my inner goodness if you will, here, at this moment, in this space. Really, do I want to create to enlighten or to explain or justify my taking up space on this planet?

I want to create dreams here or on paper or as I whisper in your ear. I want you to imagine the dream of a breath upon the back of your neck. Imagine the sound of heartbeats within your lovers breast. I long to possess God's finger of creation, to enliven your passions or your hopes.


Isn't every single act of creativity a vision? Art, poetry, music, there isn't a test to evaluate its value. They are derived from dreams and are but scribbles or movements of air. Our dreams and hopes give them clarity and emotional impact. That humankind creates is not the point. The real skill involves seeing what is there and understanding what is meant. Isn't all understanding a leap of faith? Aren't all dreams extensions of our ability to see what is not there?

Well, it's time to sleep now. Wish me a pleasant journey.