On the subtle, beautiful, vicious state of dreams

Pythias on Dreaming

I fear I have become predictable when it comes to casual cocktail conversation.  Like any good party guest, if the chatter grinds to a punishing halt, I will usually casually lay a critique about the most recent conversation topic from the perspective of Sigmund Freud.  While much of his work is tainted with facepalm-worthy homophobia, misogyny and racism, he had some intriguing ideas.  One such point of interest is his analysis of dreams.  He suggested that dreams are often the presentation of experiences you have had but will not address.  They are a manifestation of stuff that you mash down because you can’t, or won’t, deal with it.  Like the monsters under your bed (or in my case, Darth Vader), they come out when you let your guard down to sleep.

The other night I had a dream.  At least I believe it was on the cusp of waking and sleeping.  I perceived that I was my current self but placed within the body of my teenage self in my teenage world.  I could operate and make decisions based on all that I know at my present, older age.  The prospect was terrifying.  Unsure of what to do, I sought out the advice of Damon, who at the time would have been barely 20.  The search was not easy, but I knew that if anyone would understand and believe me, it would be him.  I found him on the street of Fort Collins and tried to explain that he was to be come my dearest friend and that I needed his understanding more than anything.  I was willing to provide any information that he needed to prove that I would know him, including showing his future residence and work. Looking him right in the youthfully fresh face, I mulled the possibilities at my finger tips.  Do I try to relive my life as I lived it previously or try to save old relations and save the world?  I could not escape the press of the decisions.  I had to act.  As these things seem to go, I awoke feeling as though I still had weighty matters hovering over me.

I find this is the most terrifying/beautiful dualism of dreaming.  The lack of control.  While lucid dreaming would be interesting as I could dabble in all the possibilities that could ever be, it does not speak directly to heart of my experience.  As anyone who has ever suffered with a broken heart can attest to, dreaming can be the cruelest bitch.  I really don’t feel the need to qualify that - if you have never felt that sting, you have never had your heart broken.  In fact, a friend of mine said she smoked pot before bed every night because it assured her a dreamless sleep.  When she stopped, the dreams came back.  To go to such lengths to avoid inner reflection makes me wonder what monster lingers in the tangible dark of her repressed experiences..  However, there was an experience once of my own that might need a bit of explanation.

Experiences that are completely beyond my ability to explain tend to frustrate me.  It appears the most I can offer is empathy, which at times seems little more than the callous cousin of sympathy.  Words have always been a powerful vehicle for the transfer of experience and meaning in my life.  For those who have never felt like their sexuality is non-acceptable socially, perhaps this will crack the door.

When I first moved out on my own, I did so with the explicit condemnation of my parents.  In their socio-religious world, a child remained a child at home until marriage and then became an adult.  I knew I could never be open to the world while under their roof.  Announcing I was moving out, I got tears from my mother and a fist from my father.  Living on my own was exciting but trying to mesh a harsh, learned religious identity with my homosexual identity produced a caustic result in my unconscious life.  I lived in a very old, drafty apartment in the same crappy twin bed I had always slept in.  

The dreams were the same.  They always incorporated loving companionship and supportive family.  Everything was light and beauty.  Waking up was an unusual experience.  The last moment of the dream lingered into waking, like the warmth from a shower before the bite of the cold when you slide back the curtain.  When you go to bed depressed, sweet dreams involve a hangover the next morning and there was a time I spent months on a bender. Things have improved immensely but I have never forgotten the dark burn.

Damon Responds


I don’t know where to start with everything you covered here...it’s probably going to ramble. But I think I’ll start with dreaming, Freud, etc.
Pythias, I think we’ve talked about my theory of dreaming. I believe there are three types. The first if ‘junk-process:’ random bits of information assembled by one’s brain into bizarre, occasionally amusing adventures for your sleeping self. In general, I find these fun. Not many nightmares in this category - unless I’ve been watching too many crime procedurals.
The second category is ‘spiritual information.’ These are the dreams I believe come from outside myself. They may be narrative, even adventurous, but the texture is different, and it usually takes me very little to find the message from the Divine in them. And often, the message is built right in; a god-figure or friend-of-God walks up and says, “Hey. You. Please observe ______. Please stop _____. Pray for ____. Love you.” That kind of thing. My own dreamscape when I am in this ‘type’ of dream is familiar now, in general. A continually expanding world of narratives, work, messages, persons, etc. And not stuff inspired by my waking life, but a separate universe. In most respects.
The final type of dreaming I ascribe to is the ‘therapy’ dream. This, I believe, is one of the small points of intersection I have with Freud. These are the dreams where my subconscious uses any number of methods to self-direct a message to my attention - “Hey. Poke, poke. Look at this. Deal with this. Think you’ve put that in the past? Ah ha ha. I think not.”
This seems to be the type of dream you’re talking about, Pythias, yes? Believe me, I’ve had them. Mostly therapy-dreams, trying to cope with my own version of the loss of family.
The point that’s interesting me at the moment is your mention of power & control in the dream. [As a side note, I can lucid dream often - but for me this does not mean I can change or adapt the dream. I am not just some canoe-rider in it. My whole self is present.] It doesn’t surprise me that in dreams I attempt to exert control over something completely beyond my ability to control in waking life - in this case, the loss of my family (and other bad things I could mention). But again, what interests me more deeply is what this desire for control in dreaming says about: I feel powerless, yes. My waking self could tell you that. But moreover, IF the power were mine, I could singlehandedly fix the problems of the past. And the present.This is the dissonance I suspect in your piece above. The positioning of a self as ‘victim’ (I use that word carefully) to those things that other people are able to do TO us...and our seeming inability to bite, fight, spite back. Of course one could bite back, but at what cost? And to what purpose? A full awareness of the intractability of the situation, and a certain fatigue caused by previous fights and losses, means we just push these things away.
And then, here they are in dreams. A safe place (sort of) for our brains to say, this is a still a vital part of what made us who we are. I think some dreams need to be taken to therapy (I always say YAY THERAPY!), but the constant re-dreaming of certain themes teaches us about our interior dialogues, which our waking brains ignore. And the constant re-dreaming, can, I believe, allow your brain and spirit to complete unfinished business; say things you want to say; or at least, be honest with yourself and reach some kind of healed or healing place.
Of course there’s still the hangover in the morning. I HATE waking up from a dream about family, or a lover, having cried in the dream, only to cry when I’m awake. And the waking thought, “Great. Now I have to look at this AGAIN. And wander around all day with the images in my head. Charming.” Yet I cling to the truth that it’s an important part of my self-awareness and journey toward healing. Letting the nasty parts of the past go. Someday.
That said, I prefer my fun ‘junk-process’ dreams or spirit-messages. A lot.
Oh, and PS - I’m glad I showed up in your dream as a fresh-faced youngster. Let’s keep me that way, K? I don’t want to be your wizened guide anywhere.