I don’t often recall my dreams. In fact, I’m mostly uncertain what leads to the recollection of these things. I generally fall fast asleep, and before I know it, the alarm is going off to wake me to the new day. Sometimes, on a weekend, I’ll remain in bed without an alarm and that seems to be the best route to find myself experiencing the dream state.
Last night, though I went to bed at a fairly standard time of 10pm, and was likely asleep at 10:30 after some brief journaling, I found myself nearly wide awake at 3am. Deciding to go back to bed, I fell quickly back to sleep. It seems in the last three hours, my dreams were alive again.
For the most part, I don’t like dreaming. As a kid, most of my dreams were of the scary, nightmare’ish variety. I would dream of a world tied to reality in which I was trapped in some way. Recalling the steps at the Juneau Christian Center at such a size that I could only go down the concentric ring of stairs, but they were just tall enough and I with no tools could not ever climb out. It’s a feeling of entrapment that I could never shake. That sensation would sometimes come to me in consciousness, as recently as last Tuesday while receiving a massage. My brain begins processing things as enormous entities, dwarfing me and creating a sense of fear out of nothing. I perceive things to be a different engorged size which of course is both strange and terrifying, “for we were grasshoppers in our own sight” (Numbers 13:33) as even the people around me are recognized as terrifyingly large.
And then there was the memorable ongoing childhood nightmare of being trapped on a ferry (that had it’s own onboard dock) and throughout the vessel I was chased and continuously entrapped by a host of Cyclops. I’ll save that one for another day.
Last night, it was a dream of sex. I don’t know why they come about, and generally, I don’t particularly mind them at the time – there don’t seem to be consequences beyond my woken response of guilt & regret. Last night I think I recognized the woman initially as Rekann, but then eventually noticed that she was Helen. It was in a place small and rundown by time, reminiscent of a trailer like room just larger than my mother’s own bedroom through my childhood. I don’t often recall the acts themselves, more the circumstances surrounding them. My “suitor” preparing for the act, or other innocuous details of engagement (like her adjusting a piece of insulation on the wall which released a tarp which had somehow been connected to the outside of the residence).
Maybe this links into what I had written last night before bed. Maybe it’s some type of consideration of what the future would be. Guilt in engaging with another in a post marital state. If Heather were to pass on this mortal coil and I find myself alone, would it be okay for me to begin the courtship again? Frankly I have no clue.
I can’t tell if I would rather outlive Heather or if she ought to outlive me. I would like to save her the pain of having me die and leave her behind, but simultaneously, I don’t want to steal the joy she may have in subsequent years with our family and friends. Of course this is easily flipped to myself. Do I want to stick around years beyond her death? I recognize that I don’t really have any control over these things. When it’s our time, it’s our time… As I was just reading this morning “Thy will be done.”
There’s a mantra good to live by.
-cb