I’ve always been a bit unsure of what to make of those people who say that they can tell us what our dreams mean. All I ‘know’ is that for some reason, dreams are important. I feel sorry for those who don’t dream, although I’m assured that we all do. It’s just that some don’t remember. Although my dream-time appears to be getting less as I get older, I thankfully, do remember.
For instance, I was visited last night by Zeus who had just popped by to inform me that I was his son. I wasn’t shocked by this surprising announcement because One, I knew I was dreaming and Two, anything can happen in a dream. In other words, I didn’t take it too seriously although it was very entertaining and as far as I’m concerned Zeus can drop in anytime. Whether there was any deep meaning to the fact that He had taken the trouble, at his age, to come down from Mount Olympus, is another thing. I just know I appreciated his visit.
I suppose, if I were to search for a meaning from this visit from Zeus. The first thing to spring to mind is that I have a yearning to be special. And let’s face it to be the Son of a God is up there at the top of the Special List.
Of course, it might also mean that watching ‘Percy Jackson – Lightning Thief’ last night on TV might have affected me more than I had thought.
Types of dream.
We are all aware of those nightmarish dreams where we are running away from something aren’t we? Horrible dreams where our escape is hampered by running into a field of thick mud or a gluey substance that slows us right down to a crawl.
If I search out the meaning on the internet the general consensus seems to be,
Dreaming about being chased generally means that you are “being told by your unconsciousness that you’re avoiding an issue or a person,”. Slowing down means that something in your waking life is resisting progress. Yada, Yada, Yada…
The fact that in my case the slow down from whatever is chasing me, is always caused by a field of porridge. Which I think you’ll agree makes no sense at all. Unless, unless… I’m being chased by a rampant Scotsman who has taken a fancy to me. Mmmm. If not a crazy homosexual Scotsman, then the only other connection I can make is I hate porridge with a passion.
Best dream ever.
The best dream I ever had was where I was a WWI fighter pilot.
Flying about the trenches in France and shooting down numerous Hun aeroplanes it was incredible and so real. I remember it vividly, it was fantastic even though I knew from within the dream it was not real. (Or was it? There is a line of thought that suggests we enter another dimension when dreaming. A sort of ‘gaming area’ but without the X Box. A place where we can relieve ourselves of the tension of everyday life). Another thing, this dream was so good that I was able to wake, go to the loo and then resume the dream (like an Ad Break). Amazing.
I have no idea what this dream meant or why on this one occasion it was so damn good. Whatever the reason I’m sad to say it has never re-occurred.
I said at the beginning of this ridiculous piece that I ‘know’ dreams are important. Forgive the simplicity of the argument but I think that dreams are an ‘emptying’ of the brain. The automatic removal of clutter. The same way we put things in order on our computers. A defragment. A sorting out of the millions/ zillions of thoughts that flash through our grey matter every day. Some thoughts we keep and work on. Some we assign to that dark damp room. A room way back in the darker recesses of our mind, saved for a later date. While others we consign to the rubbish pile.
If we didn’t…actually I’d rather not think what might happen to us if we allowed a build up of all the garbage. I’ll only end up having bad dreams.