I've been inundated with dreams. Unfortunately not the waking kind with aspirations of the future but the kind you have when sleep overtakes.
And I've had all kinds over the years, those that retell the past, foretell the future (yes, I've had those a few times) and most recently a barrage of those that are for want of a better word, vivid. It's so real it could be really happening. Everything in slow motion so that every word, every nuance, every action and reaction is felt keenly, deeply, truthfully. If only they were happy then it'd be a joy to remember each detail in technicolour when waking hour comes round.
The logical side of me says I shouldn't put any stock in it, after all the dreams are not of actual events and neither is there any indication that they are premonitions of the future. But I find it hard to let it go and dismiss it as meaningless drivel product of an over active imagination and a renegade subconsious. This is simply because of the emotion spent in its vivid throes were more real than real. They weren't very convoluted either, each scene, each message was crystal clear.
I know what I should do of course, face the deeper issues I may have rather than consuming them whole and leave the waking reality unscathed by my fictional hurt. That would be easier if the content of this most recent one wasn't so transparent that my ego would deny it to the death and will probably not survive a retelling. And the prospect of having it dismissed summarily doesn't encourage either.
In case you were thinking that you are exempt from such folishness, haven't you ever been disturbed by a dream? Something you find hard to shake off even days after the fact?
I have no conclusions. I guess we wait for it to pass, for the world to intrude with distractions and wipe out the neccesary.
And I've had all kinds over the years, those that retell the past, foretell the future (yes, I've had those a few times) and most recently a barrage of those that are for want of a better word, vivid. It's so real it could be really happening. Everything in slow motion so that every word, every nuance, every action and reaction is felt keenly, deeply, truthfully. If only they were happy then it'd be a joy to remember each detail in technicolour when waking hour comes round.
The logical side of me says I shouldn't put any stock in it, after all the dreams are not of actual events and neither is there any indication that they are premonitions of the future. But I find it hard to let it go and dismiss it as meaningless drivel product of an over active imagination and a renegade subconsious. This is simply because of the emotion spent in its vivid throes were more real than real. They weren't very convoluted either, each scene, each message was crystal clear.
I know what I should do of course, face the deeper issues I may have rather than consuming them whole and leave the waking reality unscathed by my fictional hurt. That would be easier if the content of this most recent one wasn't so transparent that my ego would deny it to the death and will probably not survive a retelling. And the prospect of having it dismissed summarily doesn't encourage either.
In case you were thinking that you are exempt from such folishness, haven't you ever been disturbed by a dream? Something you find hard to shake off even days after the fact?
I have no conclusions. I guess we wait for it to pass, for the world to intrude with distractions and wipe out the neccesary.
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