I was getting to feeling sad about my dreams, because in the last several months, they haven’t been reaching the intense and fascinating kinds of levels I have grown accustomed to beginning near the end of my college years–the most recent good ones being the dream where my dream-self was inhabiting an injured person’s consciousness, and they/we decided to burn a house down around ourself rather than allow a vague group of “bad people” to capture us…and the one where I crashed my carriage on the way to what turned out to be St. Basil’s in Russia, and my talking horse insulted me the rest of the way there before bolting back the way we came and saving us when seemed likely that a menacing collective of Russian shadow-people was going to capture us…
My dreams are still weird and definitely me dreams…but not as detailed lately. It’s disappointing.
Still…there seems to be a theme somewhere. Themes.
Last night I slept badly, waking up because–again–the sounds in my dream are so unbearably LOUD!
This time it was explosions. Not sure what kind of weapons were in use, but there was a thick haze of smoke, and the only images I retained from the dream were of a bleak landscape…pitted and burned fields, and shadows moving through the smoke…
Shadows of armed and helmeted…
Wait for it…
That was a development I hadn’t looked for. Although the explosions have been showing up in other dreams.
A few nights prior to this rubber ducky battle, I dreamt I was in a similarly destroyed field, and running from a large black bear (not a bear of that species, but…one that was black in colour) with foam running from it’s jaws and down its short black neck.
There were other people running, but I don’t know why they ran. The bear was pretty intent on coming for me, in that barreling way bears have of running…
And I ran and staggered and…suddenly corn was growing in the ruined field. And it wasn’t so ruined after all. But the corn was a maze, and now I couldn’t see if the bear was chasing me anymore and I didn’t know if I should keep running, or how I should exit the maze (imagine if the bear had taken a different route and we should suddenly burst into each other’s paths!).
It’s my favourite kind of dream, the “being chased” ones.
(In truth, they are terrifying because in every dream the primary feeling is that of the inevitable capture, which is a recurrent idea in all of my dreams, but in the ones where the enemy is actively chasing…they are always faster than I can ever hope to be, and it terrifies me.)
But, this dream quickly and unexpectedly stopped being a “chasing” dream. Because overhead flew a chorus of long whistles in varied tones…and mortar shells began falling on the corn maze.
I ragequit my dream because wtf else do you do at that point?
And I have gotten better at that. Quitting my dreams when they annoy me. (Maybe that’s why I dream less frequently? Or less memorably, at least. Perhaps the ability to ragequit isn’t a good thing.)
Did some thinking about these last two ridiculous ones and wondering where I got the initial ideas…usually I don’t feel like my dreams hinge too much on things that’ve got concrete ties to my waking life, but these have a bit of that.
I have a rubber duck collection, after all, so that’s not such a mystery. Even the explosions and mortar shells. Just ask Netflix about all my recent watches. Too much war movies, probably.
I was stumped about the bear though, and thought a conversational thought to myself, along the lines of, “wonder what the bear was supposed to be?”
My Wolf self immediately says, “Russia.”
To which the rest of me tells him to go die.
It’s probably the biggest anomaly in my trips to the various parts of dreamworld, if only because none of my waking reading or conversations or general interests had any ties at all to Russia as a theme when it introduced itself as a location in my dreamscapes, waaaaay back when I was in college and a winged creature that was part Nazgûl-bird and part wasp dropped me in a snowy wasteland because it refused to carry me the rest of the way to my destination, which turned out to be the Kremlin, although at that time I had no idea what the building was called and had to do some poking around to learn what it was, although I recognized the gold-domed towers right away…
Now I probably just think on it enough that it’s a permanent fixture.
And thinking about all of this, btw, makes me feel hypocritical.
I just read H.P. Lovecraft’s The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath, and was alternately attracted and repulsed by it. It’s a dream-story alright, with ridiculous stuff like being rescued by an army of cats, and having races of supposedly terrifying ghouls and night gaunts (which are described almost just like a type of creature that sometimes populates my mental narratives) as your allies while you try and try to reach the city of the gods who, unbeknownst to you, are stealing your best dreams for themselves…
It pretty well summed up how dreams are for me, I thought. And yet there was none of the creep or dread that I like in Lovecraft stories. Because all of the worst creatures are on your side, so any other terrifying creatures…well, they might just turn out to be misunderstood allies as well, right?
Time to sleep once more.
Perchance to dream.