Have you ever wondered of what dreams are really made?
I dream in digital Dolby Surround Sound, with Technicolor imaging and full scent and taste ability. My dreams are the things you watch on television, the movies and images flowing and coalescing into one beautiful product.
Except, most of the time, my dreams are terrifying. Or, they are utterly bizarre.
Last night I had a very long dream sequence in which several events occurred, leaving me perplexed when I awoke. It started on the beach, East Beach, on one side of my Island. It was sunset, not the most conducive location for watching, but there nonetheless. I was walking along with Dragan, and then the sun went behind the trees and it was BLACK.
Switch to a scene where Dragan and I are laying in bed, talking, and I look out the window. It's early morning, probably near 6am. I see four teenagers breaking into Dragan's car and stealing things. I jump up and shout to Dragan that we're being robbed and to call the police. I grab some shoes and yell to call 9-1-1, but shi hollers back that shi can't because shi has to check hir email. I run outside and holler at the kids to put back what they took, and the two boys look at me like I'm crazy and they're not scared. So I grab a grrl standing near me, pull hir hands behind hir back, and drop hir (face down) onto the driveway. I tell hir (and them) that I'm not letting hir up until everything is back in the car. I yell for Dragan to call 9-1-1 again, and finally I hear the sirens. The kids start to panic, and I just yell at them that they won't get away because I know the license plate number and I'm not letting the grrl go. They panic and start to put stuff back just as the police pull up the lane. BLACK.
I am standing in the center of a circular room at the end of a hallway surrounded by high school and college students. I'm giving a lecture on Trauma, and the three kinds of Trauma (???). One is the trauma that experience physically, from abuse to dangerous situations to any other physical trauma we can experience. The second is emotional or psychic or mental trauma, which often accompanies physical trauma, but can happen without any physical trauma. The third type of trauma is "secondary" trauma, trauma we experience indirectly. The aftermath of the World Trade Attacks, the Pentagon attacks, and the plane that went down in Virginia is an example of secondary trauma for the "rest" of America and the World. I wasn't in New York, DC or Virginia, but I know that I experienced some trauma after that event. Hell, I experienced secondary trauma when Shari Lewis died. I grew up with Lamb Chop and the gang. So I'm giving this lecture to a bunch of apathetic students who talk and are rambunctious and don't want to listen and get up while I'm talking and so I finally dismiss them because it isn't any good for me to talk when they're not listening. BLACK.
There is an old wizard possessed by dark magick and it is my task to expel the darkness from him. This is something I'm more used to, as I am often visited in my sleep by people troubled by darkness and seeking respite. But they are usually spirits, and it is an entirely different setting. That usually happens somewhere on the Astral or in the Ether. But this was real, with a living person, and in this (currently 3-D) world. I didn't really know where to begin. I got really nervous, and didn't trust myself and my ability. I got scared. BLACK.
Same man, same place, same problem. This time, he's not human and I'm not totally human either. I know I can do it, and he needs it in order to cross-over. I do my thing, he gets un-darkness-ized, and then he crosses in front of me. BLACK.
I wake up because I hear someone walking in the house. It's Dragan, coming to crawl into bed with me because shi is cold. Shi climbs in, and we fall back asleep. I start to dream again.
I'm eating brambleberries while sitting in a large meadow. They are sweet and slightly tart, with a juicy texture that runs down my chin. I can hear the birds and know that it is about June, near Midsummer. I'm not in Washington, not even in the US. I'm pretty sure I'm in the south of England, near the Welsh border. But Wales isn't there yet, it hasn't become a country. In fact, neither has Scotland. The entire island is a series of clans and lords and landowners. My dress is made of fine linen and silk. My long, shiny hair is clean and flows down my back in waves. I must be well off, or something. I think for a moment, in my new-found existence, and realize that I am the only daughter of a wealthy lord, but what my father doesn't know is that I apprentice with a midwife and medicine womyn, one who many have called a witch in these days of heightened panic with the influx of the Catholic Church and the Church of "England" and the increased illness. My mothir knows, but shi hirself is sick and will die soon. That is, only if my father continues to deny hir medical care by the midwife. My mothir gave birth to hir fifth son and got a uterine infection which is spreading quickly. I'm in the field getting drunk on brambleberry juice and seed in order to gather the courage to treat my mothir myself, with the guidance of the midwife. I will be going against my father and his Church, and I will perhaps not even be able to save my mothir. But I will do it. It is all I know to do. I was born to catch babies, to soothe the pregnant and usher in new life. It's in my blood, as thick as mud, and I will not ignore that. I get up from my rock, sway as the brambleberries rush to my head, and run, knowing the task ahead is a grueling one, but one I must complete, even if it means losing my family and my home. I have a home with the wise womyn, the sage, the midwife, the friend.
These are my dreams from this morning. They are intense and difficult to rouse myself from, their pull strong on my heart and my head. I want to midwife, feel that pull every day. I left behind (in Minnesota) a womyn willing to teach me, willing to help me learn. I knew it was what I needed to do, and yet I said "I will return, someday." Now I wish I hadn't left quite when I did, because I don't know a midwife here, don't know where to start to learn. But that dream, it tells me that I need to consider it again.
I often wonder what dreams are made of, where they originate and what they mean. I know one thing, though: even though the dreams are sometimes scary, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes too much, I wouldn't change them for the world.