Dreaming

I almost never swear, but I give you my oath. I knew nothing about any of this until yesterday.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I must digress. I only remember two dreams from my childhood and one was not a dream at all, for I was awake. In the second, I dreamed that I was a little girl about my own age and that I was a sister to one of the disciples. I was tattered and torn, following along, dirty clothes and worn-out sandals. The whole dream was a poem and I have never forgotten it. I was not the only child there. I was neither hungry nor thirsty. I was spellbound.

In my dream, I realized that I was taking part in the greatest series of events in all of history. Also, even dreaming, I promised to remember everything I saw and heard in that dusty place for the rest of my life - as I have done. 

When I was a young woman in my twenties, I boasted that I never dreamed. In fact, it seemed as if I died rather than slept. I never turned over in the night, nor got up for water, nor gasped, groaned, nor muttered. I woke up just as I had gone down; two hands under my chin, on my side, all curled up, probably smiling.

I only remember one dream from the time period of around thirty years old, but it recurred for at least a year. I spoke softly in Spanish; I don't know what I said. I came down a dark stairwell, terrified, as I was all alone and surrounded by a crowd carrying torches. I awoke, each time, just after thinking of the inquisition. I suspected, in my dream, that I must have said something about my childhood experience with Jesus and his disciples to someone without thinking. In spite of the fact that my experience, itself, had been only a dream, I was going to be burned at the stake for talking about it.  

During all the time that I was growing (mostly) dreamlessly older, science was making great strides. The general public soon realized that sleep has patterns and that everyone dreams every night. That didn't worry me. I thought that I must be one of those who don't remember dreams instead of (as I had formerly believed) a rarely participating dreamer. All the better for me, I thought. Psychologists and others began to try to interpret the sleeping activities of their patients/clients. Dreaming was de rigueur.  I, myself, seemed to be exempt.

When I was forty years old, or so, I began to have those simple little dreams that everyone experiences. I chalked it up to a new marriage, business responsibilities, and mild performance anxiety. You know. I was falling. I hadn't studied for the test. I couldn't find Mother, I was in a burning house trying to get out. Those dreams.  I didn't often have one. When I did, I realized what stresses were causing them.

In the past few years, I have more and more remembered that I have dreamed. Lately, I have also remembered what I have dreamed. I know, for example, that I live in a whole other world while asleep. I dream of friends, strangers, and those who have passed on.

In my recurring dream-world, I live alone in a huge, Italian-style apartment building with balconies, gargoyles, and an ancient elevator. I ride a bicycle; sometimes, a motorcycle. I have friends who own a restaurant on a beach near the sea. In reality, I've never even seen them. The ocean is on my left side when I face north instead of my right. It is as if I lead a double life. 

I remember what I dreamed last Monday night. I was in my sunny apartment opening the windows to the balcony. Corey was there but, as I was talking to him, he became his Dad. Nothing to worry about. I'm used to that happening in my dreams. At second glance, I realized that it was neither of them but was Danny, my facebook friend who committed suicide this year. Characters often become blurred in my dreams.

We (whoever the other party really was and I) were going to an optical trade show. I'm used to that. I see a lot of old friends in my dreams. There wasn't much of a storyline in this particular nocturnal scenario. I attended a meeting, was late arriving, and was elected treasurer of something. Danny got some food for each of us. We were betting whether or not our bikes would be stolen before we got back to them. Ordinary. In my dreams, my bike seems to have a starring role. Sometimes, I do stunts. I never get winded. While dreaming, I am young and strong.

Suddenly, without warning, and to my right side, I saw a drawing hanging in my field of vision. I turned my head so that it was hovering in front of me. I saw the image of  a woman whom I've never seen. She wouldn't get out of the dream so that I could continue it. She just hung there, a sketch on a white sheet of paper.

I startled myself awake. Something about that face. Red pigtails hugging both sides of her head. I thought of Three and a Half Men. What's her name? Berta. No. This woman had such a blank expression. She frightened me for some reason. Nothing like Berta. Dangerous to know, somehow. Seeking something of me.

I could/should/would have forgotten the dream, but that face (like a police drawing, really) kept popping into my mind - etching itself there. Like a caricature or a cartoon gone bad. Something just not right about her. 

Yesterday, on my facebook page, a friend posted an article about collective dreaming and about a hoax thought to be perpetrated by a website http://www.thisman.org/.

I read the blurb and popped the page up innocently enough. Obviously thousands of dreamers world-wide have supposedly dreamed of this one man - causing his features to spread by happenstance (or not) throughout our collective consciousness.

I could have screamed. The man appears as a line drawing. Yes I have seen him in my dream. Only in my dream, he is a woman. Same face, same expression, same eyes, nose, and chin - but a woman due to a pair of red braids casually added on.

I'm sure it can be done. Somehow, someone may have subliminally superimposed an image among the things we routinely see on the internet.  Yet, for some reason not clear to me right now, I never want to dream of that face again. Even as I posted the website for you to see what I saw, I never re-opened it and I won't. Hoax or innocent prank, mysticism striving to be heard or a new reality emerging,  I don't want to dream what others dream. Or even what they believe they dream. But yes, I have seen this man.