I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

Yesterday morning ushered in a new era in dream fascination for me. In the darkness of pre-dawn this morning, I awoke with fading visages of a certain actor-come-timelord from an earlier dream. As I clung to these pleasant thoughts, I rose up the ten inches I must strain to gauge illuminated digits on my clock. Realizing I still had over an hour until wakefulness became necessary, I settled back onto my pillow, facing the ‘no serious thoughts’ side of the bed* and drifted back into slumberland.
I dreamt of a rich court in high season, as an observer not a participant, though I felt that I myself was of noble descent. It was a bizarre Inception sort of moment, feeling like I watched a dream within my dream (when my dream itself felt like reality). The occurrences in this lush scene of aristocracy were of great import, emotion and measure, though I could not recall later the specifics.

The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons

I ‘awoke’ in this dream to an elaborate funeral procession, capped off by the reigning monarch’s son acting as pallbearer-of-sorts. After the seemingly traditional pyre on the beach, the son raced down the dunes to the water with a torch, heaving it into the water to the applause of the crowd.
My relationship to this young monarch was unclear in absolute specifics yet obvious in emotional attachment – from both sides. After the wake we retired into a library or drawing room or some such large, secluded, grand room like the royals have (or I dream they have). We conversed, I consoled, and he confronted me about his father’s past and life. Apparently in this dream his connection to his father, though his only son and heir, was distant to the point of never really knowing the man. Information had only been disclosed to me since his father’s death, which I had not passed on to the son as of yet, out of want to spare him greater stress during the time of mourning. Especially since the father was a decidedly ignoble ruler, and man. Rather than understand, or even respect, my position (and our relationship), the son went on a tear – a torrent of emotion.

The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them;

This is where the dream took on a decidedly Merlin-esque quality as it then became apparent that magic was a very real force in this realm. As the son’s emotions stormed, books came flying off shelves, papers flew about the room, furniture overturned, all with mere gestures from him. He then turned to me, eyes full of despair and pain – not even rage – as he uttered a spell. This spell somehow bound my lifeforce to his father’s spirit so the son could will the father into existence long enough to confront the man.

All earth was but one thought--and that was death

I shit you not readers, I felt this ‘spell’ as I have never felt any dream in my life. I half-woke to feeling as though my essence and half my internal organs were being ripped from my body. Within seconds I was awake, though barely conscious as the pain still reverberated through me. I was actually crying.
And yet… I felt tied to this dream. To the extent that I willed myself back to sleep to find some reconciliation to this physical and mental horror.

The father emerged, detailing his reprehensible exploits to the son and begging not only for forgiveness but for his son to remedy the mistakes made by his father’s rule. He then went on to chide his son for using the magic he did to conjure the father because of the damage it was wreaking on me. When the son finally turned to look at me again, his look immediately released the spell and he began to cry. Rushing to my side, he yelled for the court magician. Once arrived, the son continuously begged the magician to heal me, to save me. The magician explained that the spell used was too powerful to allow anything to heal me at the present. He then also chided the young ruler on the perils of using magic out of anger and pain and the damage it could cause. He warned that because of this damage not only might I never fully recover my former self, but I may never forgive him for exacting such pain on me – his best friend and his betrothed. The last bit that I recall as actual dream was the young man crying, apologizing in the most animated language for his betrayal and professing his true affection for me. The magician then sent him out of the room so I could be tended to, and at that point I was awake yet still continuing the story in my head.

I have never, ever experienced such a physical, visceral reaction to a dream... and damn was it terrifying and exhilarating. What can I say? I'm a dream masochist.



*Yes, recently I have needed to designate that when facing a certain direction while in bed, no serious life thoughts are allowed. This has become slightly successful and led to marginally better sleep patterns. Sometimes. Ish.

Vexing Visages

Though not always...
While not always on a wide range of topics, my dreams lately are more vivid and, in theory, inspiring than they've been in months. Apparently actually allowing myself the time to sleep as well as not running ragged with work and theatre (together) allows my subconscious some reign over sleep and let's my fears, thoughts, and fantasies have more sway. Disturbing as some of these dreams have been (woke up in a cold sweat the other night from dreaming about being an 'accidental' baby killer -- of what would be my own sister), the quality of construction and vivid sensory material makes them seem not only ultra-realistic, but a welcome distraction to life -- and so much better than months of dreaming about 'the show,' my cast, work, etc. (Apologies to cast & crew of 'the show' and any co-workers who might read this. You're all awesome, but I see you in waking life and don't need a constant stream of you in my dreams.)

While upon waking and getting into my day these dreams rarely stay clear in my mind (I might need to start a dream journal), some of the images stay clear for hours. Right now I have the image of my dream forest -- a tangled web of decaying trees which appeared more as twisted, skeletal branches reaching in every direction to form a thicketed path to wander through, daring anyone who approaches to enter and emerge from the same location. This dream also featured a young man: tall, pale, with dark, spiky hair and piercing eyes, who sometimes appeared translucent, other times as a silhouette, but always in the realest of real physicality. The only time I remember seeing his features and form in dreamy technicolor came when we were reunited after many separations and he reached out a hand, touched my face and became as clear and solid as anyone before kissing me.

I've had several Colin Morgan centered dreams, likely due to my playing Merlin every night to fall asleep. Some are with Merlin, others with Colin. All are pretty damn pleasing ;)

Whatever the content and caliber of these dreams, all those I remember upon waking leave me with very specific emotions tied to the dreams, as though they continue even during wakeful hours, and a pressing need to do something about or with the images which my mind creates. I don't know what that something is, but I hope my subconscious continues building new worlds long enough for me to get something productive from all this.

The Dangers of Taco Bell Dinners

Or: Why I should not watch anything involving technology and Summer Glau before sleeping

I'm pretty sure it was the new burrito with the flaming hot Fritos which tipped the scale...

Last night I experienced some of the most vivid dreams I've had in quite some times. Some of them involved friends and co-workers, which is a trend as of late since all I do is work, theatre, occasionally binge drink and pass out from exhaustion. Still, others became quite imaginative.
In one, hummingbirds hounded me like I was a sugar-coated feeder, which would have been cool for anyone who likes little objects flitting around them incessantly like nature's hurtling disco balls. Though there was a point where Merlin (don't judge) managed to slow down the little aerial monsters so I could appreciate their minuscule beauty before they resumed chasing me... and then my sweater became coated in bird crap and I washed it with a sponge which turned its deep turquoise into sunshine yellow -- a color that looks terrible on me and caused me much sadness.
Another dream involved tossing and turning in bed, constantly looking at my alarm clock and dreading the time when my alarm would go off that was so real when I woke up I was extremely vexed with my subconscious as I thought all that had actually transpired and yet still had fifteen minutes until my real alarm went off. Brought back memories of the dreams where I wake up, start my morning routine, sometimes even leave the house, all realistically vivid, only to wake up and still be in bed needing to 'really' do all those things.
The one that made me pat my subconscious on the back, however (even though it's a warped idea), was this dream:
In the not-at-all-distant future, scientists working for the government were either ordered or decided it would be a nifty idea to implant long-term suggestions into our minds to lead us to one specific event. After much trying and some success with mundane and even inspiring ideas, they decided, as science and the government working in cahoots always do, to attempt using this power for military 'gain.' Using some sort of sketchy brain technology (it was never clear if was an implant or Dollhouse-esque electrical mind manipulation or some combination), the idea they implanted in two individuals was for them to become involved, romantically, with each other in college, marry shortly thereafter, then enter into a suicide pact and kill themselves. The concept being that an idea that serious and intense might not take because it defied inherent survival instincts.
These two individuals do connect in college, but don't end up together. The woman meets another guy in college, she marries him shortly after and they start a life together. The guy dates a string of women during and after college, finally marrying in his late twenties. Just before he turns thirty-five, his wife unexpectedly dies of an illness. Having long ago given up on their Romeo & Juliet of mindwashing, the government leaps with joy when the implant kicks in for the man after the death of his wife (Yes, they keep tabs on them. Their parents are plants for the love of conspiracy.), while the scientists start to worry (guilt after the fact -- that's science for you). The man becomes obsessed with the woman he dates in college and reforms a friendship with her. Though she's a little creeped out by the guy, the woman is also inexplicably (she thinks, poor soul) drawn to him. They embark on their odd and slightly creepy friendship and all seems eerie-yet-well until hypno-boy starts getting a little obvious with his obsession. Woman starts to worry just about the time her husband becomes suspicious and before she can say, "I've made a horrible mistake and something terrible may happen," her faux-Romeo goes nine shades of Godfather assassination attempts on her and her family and, well... then I woke up.

My subconscious was apparently too uncomfortable to follow through with this story line, so I offer it up to the universe for a conclusion. Unless I come up with one first. And if some day I see this unfold in a movie or bestseller which doesn't come with a paycheck for me, consider yourselves served.

Dreamy Writing

After almost a week of dreams involving nothing but work (grading, proctoring, answering phones that never stop ringing... it's just like being there only worse) and traffic (when you live in a major Metro area with a two-hour daily commute, you will occasionally dream about traffic *sigh*), between 5:40 and 6:30 yesterday morning I experienced the most uplifting dream -- about writing.
I basically got a pep talk from an unexpected source who encouraged me to write and write and write, while said source made me food. I had needs being taken care of by someone other than myself AND encouragement to do what I love. This is something I am so not used to that when my alarm went off I did that thing we do when we want a dream to linger. I smacked the alarm off, leaned back in bed, closed my eyes, sighed and tried to re-envision any and all parts of the dream. More importantly I tried to hold on to the feelings it stirred in me. On the surface those feelings held out until about twenty minutes into my day at work, but in a deeper, more hidden place those feelings took hold. If they had not, I believe I would not be sitting here writing right now.
Whatever theories exist on dreams and their meanings and effect on our conscious mind, the fact remains that when a dream impacts you deeply in any way, you can use that dream and its associated feelings. Channeling those emotions and thoughts can lead to great and terrible ideas and actions, but ignoring the power of them ignores a primal aspect of our emotional and mental make-up. For me as a writer, to ignore the tales my subconscious spins is like ignoring the lighting ideas which strike without warning and the most random times. Inspiration comes in only so many forms and we have to grab it where we can.
So thanks, dream buddy, for instilling a little more writer's courage in me... and for making me realize I deserve (and may even need) someone in my life who is that supportive. There's been far too much 'me' time in my head lately. Time to let others inside there to rummage around a bit.