Thanks for making sure I will continue feeling paranoid about my dreams
For reals though.
I feel like part of why I feel the never-ending compulsion to tell people what I dream is the glaring lack of similar dreams that I hear about from others.
I mean…I don’t know. Are dreams not a thing people talk about? For a while, after Inception came out, I remember people talking about their dreams and about lucid dreaming a lot. But the content of their dreams concerns me more than whether they can consciously act in their dreams. And they seem most reticent about sharing the content.
That’s what I care most about in my own dreams. So many of the most vivid ones are disconnected to my waking world in any way…I’ve never run into anyone else who talks about their dreams and who has that kind of dream on a regular basis.
I would like to meet such a person. Truly, I would. Then I’d feel like maybe it was normal. Because right now, the best I can do is to imagine that it must be normal, on account of these stories I read about dreams…but then the other me is like, “You know those are stories, right? Fiction?”
But dreams are fiction, too, are they not?
I suppose what I mean is that…I want to know why nobody else talks about dreaming the sorts of things I dream: is it because they think it’s dumb to talk about, or because they truly don’t dream this way?
I have a hard time thinking it’s because they aren’t interested by it. It’s hard to not be interested, and I don’t know why I started to be interested in remembering my dreams…but something changed when I was about to graduate college, and had a recurrent theme of being crucified in my dreams. It just expanded from there.
Maybe…another reason it fascinates me is the living of multiple lives. Because I am almost never myself in my dreams, and that has been true for many years.
That being the case…dreams are even weirder than they would normally be, because they are not like books or like watching television. The things that happen are happening in something of a variant reality. Like they are real events from another place and time, when I was someone else.
It’s exciting, in that respect. And it would probably be more exciting if I could just know that other people experience dreams like this, and not just dreams about accidentally showing up naked to an important function, or about arguing with a relative or something that has recognisable ties to their waking lives.
But…I wanted to thank Lovecraft for “The Shadow Out of Time”, and for renewing my vague and laughable nervousness that I may someday come across a place in my waking life that I recognise from the dream world.
That’s the kind of thing that makes me glad when I have dreams that take place in temples overrun with carnivorous fungi, or in the ice-encrusted hills outside Asgaard’s walls. Less excited about the idea that I could ever find myself in the room with the green-brocade wallpaper and the heavy drapes. And perhaps a desk with an oil lamp…
This is why we don’t talk about dreams: because it makes us sound crazy.