On Dreaming (#11)

I almost didn't blog today. Not that it was a bad day. There were definitely good moments. But good times can still be exhausting. Especially when it involves travel and physical excursion. By 3 pm I was already in my pajamas. In fact, it took some effort to get the fireplace going, a traditional experience on Sundays during the winter. However, at some point, I told myself that after the evening chores were completed, I needed to sit down and produce something. Anything. After all, I skipped last week's post. Today's blogging will not be what I intended at the beginning of the week. Nor will it cover my reactions and reflections of current events that arose during the week. Instead, it will be whatever I manage to pluck forth from the maelstrom of thoughts churning in my brain at this very moment.

Here goes...

(I have an affinity for Van Gogh's works, especially his self portraits.)

This week I had two dreams, separated by several sleeps.  The first one began with my standing in a crowd, listening to a woman give a formal speech. I cannot remember if it was academic or political, but I do remember realizing that she was being clever, trying to cover her intentions. And I assumed the audience was not picking up on it. So, I began explaining aloud the true meaning of her words and phrases. Standing there, in front of me, were a close friend and my youngest daughter. Our trio had managed to form a space around us as wee stood in the sea of people, like a bubble. As I continued sharing with them my analysis, they both stopped me. Together they told me to stop overthinking it. They were kind, but persistent. Doubt began creeping into my mind, just as I woke up.

The next day, during our weekly forty-minute drive to her dance studio, I told my daughter about the dream. Channeling Freud and her pre-teen sassiness, she responded, "Yeah, Dad, it sounds like someone is trying to tell you something, and you're not listening to them. Maybe you should start listening to them. Just saying." Then she went back to reading whatever book was on her lap. Probably one of her young adult romance novel. I spent the rest of the drive wavering between watching back country roads fall into deep shadows, and contemplating who or what it was I was ignoring.

[After writing out the second dream, I have decided not to share it. Now that I can see the details listed out in front of me, I am having second thoughts about its meaning. Details like "the only light in an otherwise drab brown kitchen is radiating from a tall pile of the biggest, thickest cuts of heavily marbled raw fish slabs" have given me pause. Yet, I cannot deny the importance of typing all this stuff out. It helps put things in a new light. Sorry.]

What have I learned from tonight's exercise? I need to overcome my procrastination, and plan out my blogging, so that I spread out the work across the entire week. 

Instead of cramming it all in a few hours on a Sunday night.

Oh, and I need to write out my thoughts and dreams every chance I get.

Otherwise, revelations may pass me by.