And No One Shall Terrify You: Dreamscape (Poem) at Insomnia Salon

Performed tonight at Insomnia Salon, so I thought I'd include the poem I wrote. I was part of a collective that spent the year exploring dreams.

Photo by Clément Falize on Unsplash

We say it without thinking in synagogues

As the liturgy nudges us  in prayerbook Hebrew

You shall lie down and no one shall terrify you

The words every one of us needs to believe.

 

My own dreams bring familiar nightmares

Persistent visitors feeding on fear, waiting to terrify

Once in a while, though, a good one gets through

It recurs, holding back wind and rain so I won’t be cold.

 

There is only warmth and a feeling of belonging

What is that? Where is this place?

When Jacob awoke beside a ladder and the angels said

Climb! He knew where he was going. Not so I.

 

Once in a while I find myself in a river with a friend

I never see her face but know who she is, hallelujah

The water welcomes us and I want to stay forever

Is this what it means to have an afterlife?

 

Dancing through a  city square with cobblestones, brownstones

An ivy-covered  bridge that leads  over open water

Rippling as you cross it, whispering sky-cloud songs

You should stay, it says, you really do belong.

 

On nights when I dream these invitations to serenity

I realize they are what I’m always looking for God to say

You shall lie down and no one shall terrify you.

You shall lie down. No one shall terrify. No one.

Flying Dreams (poem)

 

They begin when I am eighteen, dreams
Refusing subtlety, rising from books that say
You can leave your body, it feels like flying.

I don’t believe it. Then it happens to me.

The first dreams take me up, not like wings,
But suddenly, without warning, slowly at first.
Then faster and higher than I’ve ever been or will be
Like a comet, flying high over the trees until

The clouds turn hazy and I swoop, like a bat, 
Past branches, moss, leaves, a sky bereft of animals
Speed is all I have to pull me forward, spiraling
Like rice paper, lifted by the wind.

See more in my post for Medium.

Photo by Look Up Look Down Photography on Unsplash

Dream Visits

I dreamed about a dear friend last night. She walked into my life suddenly, but as in every dream, you just accept whatever's happening and flow with it. (Would that we could do exactly the same thing in life).

In the dream, we had a brief, intense discussion about selling books and exchanged a few tips. Then, just as suddenly as she had arrived, my friend was gone. I can tell you, though, that my spirits lifted immediately on seeing her.

Do you ever dream about the people you know? Are those dream scenarios different than the real interactions and relationships you have?

I don't belieive the Freudian stuff about a person or animal standing in for someone or something else in a dream. If that happens, once a while, I usually figure out what I'm getting at. Mostly, I think the people I dream about are the people I'm dreaming about. 

Friends, family, spouses, acquaintances, parents, even celebrities march through my head in dreams. I have something I need to say to them and there is always something I want them to be telling me. 

I have a recurring dream of being at a certain friend's house, trying to figure out where I am going to sleep for the night. There is an abundance of beds and bedrooms, but finding the right bed sends me from room to room like Goldilocks. When I do find it, I am supremely happy.

I've also had dreams about trying to find an apartment in New York (which is impossibly stressful) and meeting up with one of my dearest friernds, who used to be my college roommate. Somehow the apartment we're in morphs into the apartment we shared together. When I wake up, I think about how hard it would be to give up my current home and try to move to a new one -- especially one on the East coast.

Still, the dreams of moving and talking to friends I miss keep happening. And one thing I believe is we need (sometimes, REALLY need) to pay attention to our dreams. Because if you don't, you're kind of divorcing yourself from yourself -- you know what I mean?

Maybe what I'm trying to tell myself is I need to figure out how to see less of my friends in dreams and more in reality. Right? 

It's really not that hard to figure out.

 

Photo by Bewakoof.com Official on Unsplash

Out of the Basement

Years of recurring dreams have taught me to try and remember them, because if they’re recurring, there’s something important I’m trying to get myself to know. One dream that keeps coming back takes place in the house where I grew up.

That house had a large finished basement with two super-large closets that spanned the length of each side. Inside one were the items my parents no longer wanted but didn’t want to give up; old furniture, plates, a toy chest. The other side held an extra freezer, washer and dryer and a cedar closet full of clothes.

In my dream, though, the closet also contains a room—and not just any room. When I open the door in my dream, I find a light-filled room furnished with a high brass bed, books, a white-curtained window and sometimes even a friend or two, though they are not really friends I know.

What’s happening? I have no clue. Why would I place an airy, bright room in a basement closet? Why would that room be in a house I haven’t lived in for years?

Opening the door to that room always makes me happy in my dream. It feels like I’ve found the key to some sort of freedom, and a very special place where I am safe and surrounded by beauty. I always get a great sense of peace and well being there.

Is this my mind telling me I want a safe place to write, or a whole new environment? If so, why I am I setting it in the old one?

I’m looking (very hard) for something. The room in my dream sometimes has a single bed, sometimes a double one, but it always seems like it’s a room for me, and no one else. Am I looking for space, a refuge?

I read somewhere that when you dream about a basement it’s because there are emotions you are neglecting—or are burying because you don’t have time or money to address them. That would be me, I guess.

My husband often tells me how amazed he is that I remember my dreams. I can’t imagine not remembering them, because I’ve always thought they give me clues about my deepest fears and desires and about how I process life in general.

I keep opening this door, but only in dreams. Maybe I will have to find what I’m looking for—peace, success, a sanctuary of sacred space where I get to write only what I choose, not what is chosen for me—before the door will open in reality.

For some fun articles on dreams, try these:

14 Common Dreams and Symbols and Why They’re Important

30 Common Dream Symbols and their Meanings

Dream Moods – Dream Dictionary

Bedroom: Walter Schärer

Bedroom 2: LilyRose97

One Imaginary Table, No Waiting: Dream Diaries and Kids

My son once told me about a dream he had when his stepmother was dying. She was awake and happy and her disease was cured, and they were talking together as they always had. 

He woke up and then realized it was all a dream, and the sadness in his voice when he was sharing this story broke my heart. At the same time, I wanted to believe that the most eternal part of his stepmother’s soul was visiting him—and that could, perhaps, provide some kind of comfort to him in days and years to come.

Last May, when a close friend died, I dreamed about seeing her in Springfield, Illinois where she lived. I got off the bus and she took my hand (and I can still remember how warm it was). She said, “Let me show you my town,” and I turned to her, smiling, and then I woke up.

She died a few days later, but she’s visited my dreams a few times since that happened. And each time I wake up, I feel the same loss—and want to go back into my dream again.

A friend once said she started taking Ambien so she would sleep well and stop having dreams. My own dreams tilt and weave, tending to be super-anxious exaggerations of my fears. A lot of times I wake up like Cathy in Wuthering Heights, nearly sobbing with joy and grateful to be back on terra firma.

But would I trade my dreams for “a good night’s sleep?” No, because I think the fact that I’m dreaming at all means I’m doing what my sleep needs me to do. I believe dreams allow us to talk to ourselves and process all the fears, losses, desires, relationships and even other dreams we are having.

Dreams are a rich source of stories. So if I’m dreaming about a stomach specialist who can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, I want to pay attention. If I can remember that dream coupled with a dream about a close friend taking pictures of a landscape using a beautiful blue filter, I can knit those concepts together when I wake up—and see where they lead.

I never started a dream diary with my son when he was growing up but I wish I had, because his dreams were fascinating. We did try and tell each other our dreams whenever we remembered them, and I always thought they gave us great insights into how we felt about life and what we wanted from it.

With hindsight being everything, I’m recommending to you, now, to start a dream diary with your child or children. Ask them to try and remember everything they can as soon as they wake up and jot down a few notes (before school) and more detailed notes (on weekends).

I hope you’ll find these dream diaries open up new worlds between you and your kids. Even if they don’t, though, I bet they’ll yield up some fun conversations. One imaginary table, no waiting. Hold (off on) the Ambien—forever, if you can.

For more on dream journals, you might try these articles:

Keeping a Dream Journal: Rebecca Turner

Science Says Keeping a Dream Diary Can Make Us More Creative: David K. William

Why Children Have More Control of Their Dreams: Ann Lukits

Girl Opening Door: Rachel Titiriga

Bridge photo: Peter Budd