Tangible, And Terrifying

They're back again, you know. The nightmares. They had been oh so beautifully rare for such a long time; I had almost forgotten how lengthy, intricate and absolutely terrifying they can be. It's not that I dream of monsters, although I do - I suppose they are the brain's metaphor for things we're worrying about - it's that these dreams are so REAL. So tangible, like I could touch them. Sometimes I dream something that's perfectly safe, and maybe it isn't technically a nightmare; but it becomes one as I try to reason with myself in the dream. I've tried lucid dreaming and the techniques for achieving that, it doesn't work. The only time I consciously managed to effect what I see and experience on a deep sleep level of dreaming was when I was sick and tired of being chased by spiders in my dreams (one of those metaphorical monsters...). I repeatedly told myself while awake that if a spider showed up in my dreams again I would automatically be able to materialize a weapon and blast it to pieces. That worked for a while and I can still somehow get my hands on weapons in my dreams by using this "rule", but I guess I was never persistent enough in any of the other changes I tried to make to my dreams. Either way, does it matter? There's just no way that I could make up enough rules to cover it all, anyway. 

The problem, the nightmare feel, as I said, doesn't come with the fact that I dream of unimaginable evils. It comes when I try to reason with myself and it's not linked with lucid dreaming. It comes when everything in the dream, that seems so incredibly real to me - so real that I accept it as real without ever questioning it, no matter how wacky it gets - is too bizarre to be possible. When that happens, I can hear my brain tinkering with the unsolvable logic of it. I can feel it. When that happens, I reason thus. Since the dream events instinctively feel real and I can not question any of it while I'm dreaming, I have to assume the next logic step. That I am insane. I am bat-shit crazy, wack in the head, I am lightyears from normality. The realization that I am insane becomes bizarre in itself, the whole dream world shivers, as if it felt me caving in under it and is about to seek me out to deal the final blow. The dream, the world, the whole universe is out to annihilate me, masking it in surrealism so I won't see it coming. THAT'S when the dream ceases to be a dream and becomes a nightmare.

And if you set this whole reasoning aside, I'm left with the fact that when I recall the dream, it IS bizarre, or deceivingly simple. It's often a long and intricate series of separated events that have nothing to do with one another. I rarely dream that I'm being me. I rarely dream something that can be summed up in a single sentence. In my dreams, I've been a man, a woman, a mother, a father, I've been children, I've been inanimate objects. Once I had a terrifying nightmare that had me waking up bathing in sweat and shivers. The dream? I was a chunk of meat lying in a blazing frying pan, looking up at a giant chef cooking me, and I was boiling. 

You might attribute it to the fact that I have a very vivid imagination, but in that case, where does this imagination come from? Why does it take the form of nightmares? Why does it make the nightmares take the form that they do? 

You might attribute it to the fact that when you're in a life crisis or pondering something in particular, your mind needs to sort it out while you sleep, but in that case, what is the crisis? What is it that I'm not willing to think about when I'm awake? I have met with much suffering in my days, but I attribute them all, I see them as pieces of the puzzle that is my self-awareness. I acknowledge them all, and even the things I don't write or talk about, I think over in my head. So what is it? What's the missing piece?

You might attribute it to current or recent events, my feeling of a doomed Earth and constant notions of being a failure of a person; but in that case, how do you explain that they started as I was a kid? How do you explain that my mom, after hearing me recount my dreams, wanted to force me to go to a shrink?

Is that the answer? Either something happened in my childhood that I didn't process - and believe me, I have heard all the tales, and I have processed all there is to process - or I am simply insane? Just see a shrink and I'll be fine? The dreams will stop?

I believe the nightmares are a sign from my mind that I'm miserable. But what does that help, really? I'm taking every step that I can to become somewhat happy again, I know this is a work in progress, and I know I'll manage somehow, eventually - so why do I need reminders from the dormant parts of my brain, when I already ponder all of this while I'm awake?

Do people in general have these periods of nightmares, and periods when they have calmer dreams? Do they have times in their lives when they do not dream at all? I can't remember the last time I had a dreamless night. It doesn't happen. Even if I forget the dream as I'm waking up I can always remember the fragments. My dreams have such an impact on me that I remember dreams I had as a child. When I dream I sometimes revisit known places. It's like my dream world is a complicated network of places and people that are seemingly unconnected or the events are impossible, but when I'm in the dream I know that they are meant to exist like this. When I'm in the dream I believe it all and don't question anything. It's as if my dream world was a videogame, a created universe where nothing is unthinkable, a universe that has its own made up world laws, rather than the workings of the real world.

I'm tired of dreaming. You could say the dreams are a muse. That they inspire me to write or create or think. I'm sure they do, to some extent, but there are many dreams I'd rather have done without. Why let me dream of a boy who fell naked down a drain pipe and is forced to live there forever, naked and alone? So I can paint it, and then feel terrible and grieve for him whenever I see the painting? That happened a few years back. The painting is in my room the very moment I'm writing this. Thanks, dreams. What the hell was the purpose of that specific creative outburst?

I could spend the rest of the week recounting dreams and still never finish. I might tell you everything I've ever dreamed and achieve nothing but giving you nightmares, too. There's really no use in passing on every graphic detail. If that's what you want, if you want me to point to examples, because when I say "crazy and very real" it doesn't tell you anything specific; go ahead and read about that time I dreamt about a city made of quilts (click here!).

I guess I've got a lot of sleepless nights to look forward to. Cheers,
POET IN THE JAR OF DREAMS