Dreams are funny things. Sometimes the ha-ha funny; sometimes the weird funny. In whatever way they appear, they are a product of our thoughts and our fears and occasionally a rehashing of any given day’s events. Despite what others may think, however, interpretation is purely subjective. Some people can be ace at interpreting their own dreams, but for some of us, we require the input of someone who knows us intimately. Thankfully I have one such friend and she’s usually dead on with the interpretations, causing me to more often than not exclaim, “I should’ve seen that myself!”
Dreams have always been vivid experiences for me, though even as I type these words, I cannot tell you if I dream in colour or not. I never really thought about dream interpretation until I met my friend Liz around 1998/9. She was the first friend I ever truly opened up to about myself, including sharing dreams I had. Prior to 2003, there was a collection of about 5-6 dreams I would have on a pretty consistent basis. Even today I can give a sketchy outline of each dream. When I shared the dreams with Liz, she told me that each of these dreams reflected my desire to move away from my family. I finally managed to move away in 2003 and after I settled in my new life, I never had those dreams again. When I realised the dreams ended, I knew Liz had been right: those dreams were a reflection of my waking life.
I remember one of the dreams was about a cemetery. Rather than a fence around the perimeter, there was a wall. Although there was an elaborate facade resembling an entrance at the corner, visitors could get inside the cemetery only by walking up a staircase that ran up one side of one wall and down the other side. One might think that dreaming of visiting a cemetery would be morbid or scary, but whenever I was there, I always felt at peace. It was more like a park than a cemetery, even though I could always see the graves around me. I even recall a man-made stream flowing downhill through the centre of the cemetery.
Repeating dreams must be a thing with me, because while I no longer have the dreams I did prior to 2003, I have had at least one dream that pops up every now and again. In this dream, I’m always in England and usually travelling on a train. Sometimes people I know are with me, other times I’m alone. The thing is, I never know what is going to prompt the dream.
Occasionally, like last night, I have dreams that are just plain weird with a connection that I simply cannot fathom. In this dream I was a nursing student and attending a class-operation. I remember showing up dressed in normal clothing and being quickly told by a classmate that I was dressed wrong. He brought me to this area where I was supposed to get the proper clothing – oddly enough being all white – as well as a strange looking camera that required two hands to hold and operate which was coloured olive green.
I am thankful to say that I have never had nightmares. The only time I can recall having anything resembling a nightmare was 30 years ago, so I consider myself to never have nightmares. Of course that’s not to say I don’t have dreams that leave me upset once I’ve woken. The other night I dreamt of a friend who I just recently met face to face, only in the dream-meeting, she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. No matter how hard I tried, nothing impressed her and I woke up feeling like a non-person. It’s also the first dream I can recall ever waking up from to use the toilet and returning to the dream upon returning to bed.
I like being able to recall most of my dreams even long after I’ve had them. One of my favourite dreams from childhood that I still recall is one where I traveled around my neighbourhood on a little flying machine. It didn’t fly very high off the ground – 5 feet at most – but I can recall even now how the little device looked and where the controls were located.