In Consideration of Dreaming
I’m baffled by the fact that the person whose snoring that I deal with, does not, in fact, remember anything from his dreams. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. But then again, he also doesn’t talk in his sleep. Or mumble thanks for such oddities as volunteering to jump into volcanoes while they are in the throes of slumber. *I* am the one who’s weird like that.
For those few gasping moments of awakeness, my dreams are still flashing against my eyeballs in oft times trivial, but sometimes brilliant glory. For a few moments in the morning, while I’m still trying to wrest myself from the covers, I can sometimes still feel textures, temperatures, and pressure within my skin’s nerves. I feel sorry for folks who only dream in black & white. I see colors. Lomo brilliantly saturated colors. I taste things. I dream of food and I want to sink my teeth into something or someone as soon as I wake up. I smell bitter mangos, sweet pears, and a lover’s skin and hair in my sleep.
Have you ever found yourself so enthralled with a dream that you wanted to stay asleep to see how it turned out? Somehow, after pressing the snooze and trying to return to the narrative that you’ve been seized from, it’s not ever the same. The pace and brilliance of the dream has been tampered by the zealous overconscious and the subconscious feels slighted. Instead the dream takes on the flavor of instant coffee from a dirty cup when before you had been sipping excellent espresso on the steps of a Roman Cathedral with Marco, your Adonis of a lover. It’s not the same but sometimes you still can’t leave a good dream alone and without an ending.
The quality that I adore in Columbian fiction and Japanese anime, that experience of magical realism or superreality which amplifies the intensity of every tactile experience enthralls me and I am ever the protagonist/hero within my dreams. I can be either Man or Woman. I can be a historical figure, a celebrity, or a friend and experience their adventures in the first person. I slay demons. I taste blood. I kiss the girl at the end and ride off into the sunset. I swim underwater with a reptilian tale whipping behind me. I fly without wings but carry a crystal feather between my lips. And if I should I call out your name, I’ll fall, fall. I even dream of jello.
Is it any wonder that I’m not a morning person? And your dreams?
