When I wake up early in the morning,
Lift my head, I'm still yawning
When I'm in the middle of a dream
Stay in bed, float up stream
Dreams are funny things. Sometimes we sleep and dream remembering every detail, while other times we dream and wake barely having recollected that we even dreamt at all. Sometimes we remember nothing. And maybe it is better that way.
From a psychological standpoint, most people associate dreams with names like Sigmund Freud and Swiss colleague and psychiatrist Carl Jung. Freud and Jung believed that dreams were a window into our unconscious, that unrestrained and uninhibited, dreams reflect our hidden desires-- those we hide from the world, and those we hide from ourselves. While having similar beliefs, Freud and Jung did not agree on everything. Unlike Freud who believed everything should be broken down into simplistic elements to be interpreted, Jung supported a notion of synthesis—that all elements of our dreams fuse together to create the larger picture. That is to say, our thoughts are not entities to be explored separately and dissected into elemental features, but rather it is by a collection of these thoughts bound together where we find a more accurate interpretation.
When I was a kid, I had a dream catcher. It hung for years dignified on the wood paneling of my bedroom walls by a cheap thumb tack. When I think back to it, I can still remember making it, sitting at the kitchen table with my grandmother, and I, hopelessly consumed, swimming in my surroundings of string and beads, feathers and fantasy, elated in my own prepubescent reflections. Being a child of only seven or eight years, I was caught up in the mystery and mythology that most kids, influenced, among other things, by one too many Disney movies often are. Putting my dream catcher together, carefully weaving the string back and forth across the circular frame, I remember grinning ear to ear as I placed the very last feature onto my dream catcher—an arrowhead that dangled straight down from the center. Tying it to my masterpiece, I felt like Pocahontas. I was fearless and bright and brave. Against all odds I defended my tribe and my morals. I was a Native American princess.
You know, some Native Americans believe there are two main cases for disease. One cause being external—toxins, pollutants, etc.—which may be cured by herbs and medicines... and another cause being internal, existing in the mind of the person him(or her)self. They believe that everyone has certain inborn desires, often unknown even to themselves, upon which happiness depends. To cure this, they summon soothsayers to delve into what a person most desires, in hopes to resolve these hidden aspirations. They also believe that such unfulfilled desires may be presented to us in the form of dreams, elucidating that which is concealed in our awakened consciousness. In this case, it is up to the person to fulfill these revealed desires and by this fulfillment-- and only by this-- can the sickness be cured.
Now, I don’t know about all of that, but I have woken up from dreams before thinking, “Wow! Why hadn’t I thought of that before?” Dreams, as I have found, can be extremely helpful in guiding us on or away from paths we, for various reasons, should or should not pursue. Of course, I have also woken up in a state of complete and utter bewilderment, left with many more questions than answers, thinking “well THAT was strange!” You know, sometimes I think if people had the ability to really see my thoughts- both while I’m awake, but also and especially as I dream—I’d probably be in a nuthouse by now getting fitted for my straight-jacket.
But how wonderful it is in this world of seven billion people with whom we are constantly surrounded, that among the hustle and bustle of city lights and whirlwind traffic at lightning speed with blazing, burning, chaotic energy, we are able to for a moment—if only for a moment—escape into our own personal worlds of fairytale and candor. And even if it makes us crazy in a world gone so incredibly mad with order and structure and haste and hustle, spellbound in wild frenzy of fast-paced schedules and routine— how splendid the blessing to be able to break free from this and retreat into our own ideas and enter a world of mystical utopia, of Disney princesses and talking willows.
It is six a.m. and I am very sleepy. My eyelids heavy and exhausted. My dream catcher in a tote in the attic; once collecting dreams, now collecting dust and dirt and the stale smell of moth balls. I inhale and exhale slowly and drift off into a celestial abyss of rushing water and wooden canoes to find what I dream the day might send— what's waiting for me: just around the river bend…
Please don't wake me, no
don't shake me
Leave me where I am
I'm only sleeping
