Dreams and Imagination
I keep a dream journal. The superimposition of the strange on the familiar or the familiar on the strange is intriguing. Parts of our subconscious bubble to the surface like random puzzle pieces or bits of mysterious code.
Things look the same, but different. New, but familiar.
And if we look carefully, isn't that what every day looks like?
Same world, different weather.
Same friend, new characteristics.
Same you and me, evolving.
And we create or discern meaning as we go.
The seeds of stories arise the same way. An image or thought emerges from some unknown reservoir, and we ponder it, poke at it, tease apart various facets, stretch it, add to it, to see if it can become something with heft and potency.
Stories, at their best, touch something familiar inside of us even as they explore strange new territory. They connect us.
Some believe that dreams, like stories, connect us to one another through a deeper, communal consciousness. Carl Jung certainly thought so. And why not? What if we are not the tragically (or pridefully) isolated individuals we tend to think we are? What if we are indeed connected beyond time and space?
A friend of mine passed away a few years ago, but I only learned about it later. This was someone who had been dear to me, but we had not been in touch for years. I looked up the date in my dream journal. There it was: I had dreamed about this friend a day after the time of death—a surprisingly sweet encounter that was full of grace and forgiveness. I don't want to impose theories of causality here, nor do I want to deny the dream-gift of rapprochement I had experienced. So, I just hold it gratefully.
There are recurring scenarios in my dreams—
· I move into a new house or back into an old one that has been strangely renovated. Architectural perspective is sometimes skewed.
· Entire neighborhoods appear again and again, connecting through alleys, stairs, and unexpected turns. This is great fun!
· I have a big old dream house that has shown up every so often and has for years— high on a hill in Pittsburgh with inexhaustible inner apartments, huge storage areas, and a ballroom with a gallery and a grand piano.
· I have a dream apartment in New York City I visit frequently, the back end of which somehow has a long, screened-in porch above a woodsy creek. The front is near the theatre district, and people often come and stay with me there.
· I have another dream apartment back in Pittsburgh in an old pre-war building with a secret basement entrance and a garden.
They say that dreams about houses or living spaces represent our inner selves, our psyches, our lives. I love those dreams—even if the spaces are oddly proportioned. Life is certainly that sometimes, right? And there's always something new to discover or work on.
It's like building a fictional world for a story, drawing upon the familiar and imposing the new and strange upon it.
Then there are our super-human dream talents. In my dreams, I am skilled at navigating all manner of public transportation, running long distances tirelessly over hills, and de-escalating dangerous situations. Some people fly in their dreams. I have soared to the ends of the earth, popped up in countries I have never visited, and seen things from the air that astonished me.
Speaking of transportation, in one dream, I had an elephant as my primary mode of transportation. I loved this elephant—it was scary and beautiful—but parking was a problem. The magical and practical showing up simultaneously.
Fictional characters may not have super-human skills, but they allow us to stretch our imaginations to experience vicariously things we would likely never encounter in real life.
And sometimes both dreams and fiction offer us a deeper gift: a jewel of insight, a boost of courage.
In one dream, I found the Hohlenstein-Stadel Lion-Man figure https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lion-man in a thrift shop's dusty, forgotten display case and bought it for next to nothing. They wrapped it in brown paper, and I carried it in my pocket wherever I went, a secret talisman, lending courage and strength.
Perhaps writing and dreaming come from the same place. The strange familiarity that burbles up from whatever parts of consciousness that wake up when we're asleep is, perhaps, related to the active imagination from which characters and plot twists surface.
So, I'll keep dreaming and writing.
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