I have never been very good at remembering my dreams and making sense of what I do remember. My mom always seems to have these great dreams full of suspense, drama and action. She will describe her dreams as if they came straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. My dreams are always random fragments of images, most of which make absolute no sense and by no means can be pieced together to create a rational storyline or thought. In the past I’ve gone for long stretches of weeks or months where I can remember none of my dreams. I wake up knowing I have been dreaming but to my conscience the recent hours of sleep have been an empty space in time.
Recently I have read a book where a small portion talks about dreams and their significance. I have never been an avid supporter of analyzing my dreams and discovering the hidden meaning behind the creativity of my sleeping brain. To this day I cannot recall a dream that unveiled any hidden meanings behind my life or directed me down any paths paved by the unknown power. However, the comments in this book persuaded me that it might be a good idea to begin paying attention to the mysteries of dreams. One reason being so that I can be on the lookout for signs from the divine which tell me how I might create my destiny. The other reason is, which I find a bit more plausible and reasonable, is to further connect my scatterbrain conscience to that of my subconscious. The subconscious is a powerful source which dictates our actions, thoughts, and bodily functions on a daily basis without us even realizing it. If you convince your subconscious to do something, most likely this task will be achieved.
So I told myself one night that I was going to begin paying attention to my subconscious while I sleep. There was one problem however, I could never remember my dreams. How was I going to pay attention to them if they were always hidden from me? Very interestingly, the predicament was easily solved for the minute I consciously told myself to pay attention to my dreams, I began waking up remembering the stories of my sleep. They still don’t make much sense but my subconscious and I are becoming close friends.
I had a dream early this morning which as usual was jumping around from image to image, not really making much sense. I was walking down the street and ran into a childhood friend and told him my face got smashed in a few months ago. Suddenly I was in some sort of a classroom which quickly jumped to another scenario where I was driving around in a car. For some reason I felt the need to buy some roses but never actually did it. I was making u-turn after u-turn trying to get to my house I think. I turned into the entrance of my neighborhood and that’s when the interesting part began. The part where the conscience and subconscious intertwine and dream becomes reality.
The car disappeared and I was standing on a street of my neighborhood. I had a cane in my hand and was putting a lot of weight through it. It was obvious that at some point I had been paralyzed. My upper body was fine but my legs were very weak. I began to slowly take steps but it was very difficult for me and my knees were very stiff. Slowly walking became easier and I began to take more fluid steps. The image then changed again and I found myself in the halls of what seemed like a hospital. As I walked down the hallway a sense of pride and accomplishment came over me and I realized I had overcome paralysis. With each step I took I could feel my quad muscles tightening and relaxing. I began to look around for someone to share my joy with but I saw no one. I peeked into some sort of cafeteria and saw some therapists I knew. I tried to get their attention but no one noticed my presence. I continued down the hallway still using the cane and having some difficulty taking each step. I entered what seemed to be a dormitory of some kind where rows of bunk beds lined the walls. I began to walk towards the end of the room and passed through a class of people learning how to feed themselves. Still no one noticed my newfound ability to walk. I sat down on the last bunk bed and rested my cane beside me. Vicki, one of my therapists appeared from around the corner, smiled and then her eyes rested on the cane. She was overcome with joy and ran up to me.
“How did this happen?” she asked.
“I don’t know” I replied. “I just stood up.”
I then rose from the bed with some difficulty and looked at her. I was so happy someone was finally sharing my joy with me and then it hit me. “Am I dreaming?” I asked her.
She affirmed me that I wasn’t but I didn’t believe her. I grabbed ahold of the bed post and slowly began to lower myself to the floor. I began to cry. “Tell me I’m not dreaming” I pleaded.
“You’re not” she replied.
Someone else appeared from around the corner out of curiosity and asked what was the matter. “He is afraid he’s dreaming” Vicki told them.
I sat on the floor, hanging on to the bed post. An explosion of emotion came forth, tears streamed down my cheek bones and down my jaw. Tell me I’m not dreaming! I screamed hysterically. Please, tell me this is not a dream! Tell me I’m not dreaming!
Electrical impulses turned off, neurons shifted and my eyes opened. A dream, it was a dream. There was a dim light in my room streaming in from behind my curtains. The crescent shaped sunlight was not spread against my wall notifying me of a sunny day. The only light coming in was from an overcast sky filtering raindrops down to us on earth. The humming sound of my air conditioner did not leave me feeling cold. I was hot and anxious, eager to roll off of my right hip which was aching and sore. I stretched my neck to look over my shoulder and saw that it was 8 o’clock. My mom would come in shortly to cath me in bed, a horrible feeling which almost always spreads a scowl over my face. She came in about 10 minutes later, trying to be quiet as to not wake me but my eyes were wide open. I began to repeat a mantra in my head as I felt her maneuver the shaft of my penis in the correct position. One disadvantage of having some feeling down south.
Normal routine continued and she rolled me onto my back for my daily morning contemplation time before I must begin my day. The dream was still fresh in my mind and the urge to write was strong. Lines were emerging in my conscience concerning the subjects of my dream, paths to spirituality, and the direction of my upside down life. My thoughts would have to wait because a bowel program and shower was necessary that morning. I laid there, not wanting to accept my life but knowing I had to. I finally called my dad signifying the start of another day. Another day which feels like a dream I should wake up from after screaming out for the truth.
“Is this a dream God?”
“Yes” he answers. “It’s time to wake up.”
I grab my book bag and walk to class, paralysis only a passing dream disguised as reality.