I don’t dream enough. Yet, when I do, in my dreams, I’m often
on a journey and most times I have a task to do along the way, or an obstacle
to overcome. (Thinking about it now, that’s not so different than life when
awake, is it?) And the people who populate my dreams are often strangers; I see
glimpses of them along the way, somewhat like the people you see and then don’t
see on the subway. In my dreams, movement is the norm.
But then, unexpectedly, one of those strangers is
suddenly familiar. I’m always caught by surprise and I feel foolish because I
should have known all along because that’s when I realize or perhaps recognize
the stranger is not a stranger after all: it’s a loved one who’s gone, someone
who’s died, someone I’m missing.
Do you have these dreams too? Imagine if we could control
our dreams, conjure at will those we long for. If only.
Once I dreamed I was looking out the passenger window of
a truck, the window open, the sun shining, green waves of wheat stretching
across a field and then I turned to look at the driver. It was my Dad. I hadn’t
seen his eyes for years. Once, I stood up from the patio table at a restaurant
and saw, at another table, my brother. He nodded and moved his chin in the
direction he wanted me to look. Once, I was with someone in an unfamiliar kitchen
searching for ice-cream in the freezer. When I found it and closed the door,
sitting at the table was my Mom. We smiled at each other. Once, I was nervously
walking on a dimly lit sidewalk in the fog when suddenly from across the street
stood a friend from long ago. She waved. I waved back. Once, I walked down a
gravel road next to a garden with rows of potatoes and gladiolas and then
running to meet me was my grandparent’s old dog, Tub.
These sorts of dreams feel heavy and stir emotions but
they don’t make me sad because they are gifts. We have very little control in
our lives about who comes and who goes and when and why. It’s the same thing
with our dreams. We must enjoy who we can when we can in whatever way we can before
we can’t.
3 comments:
So haunting, in a good way. I envy you your dreams. I've only had one, but then I've only lost one person really close to me, my father. I dreamed he could walk again, although clumsily, as if he had forgotten how (he was paralyzed the last eight years of his life). He walked past me as if he could not see me and into the arms of his mother, with whom he had been very close. It was both profoundly sad and happy for me at the same time. And your takeaway? Right on the mark.
I usually don't remember my dreams. On the other hand, I don't have nightmares, so that's good.
Gifts indeed. I want to dream of my mom. :(
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