Dreams are invading us. My friend Sarah said she had a dream about me the other day. She told me about it as we stood at the entrance to the supermarket. The rain was bucketing down outside.
‘We were on Quest and then we were on a train going to Borth, she said. ‘ I was trying to explain something to you but I couldn’t talk. I had that feeling I was choking. You said, “Show me instead,” but I couldn’t. I’d lost the samples of whatever I was trying to show you. You got annoyed with me, stood up and and walked off. I looked down at myself then and realised I was totally naked.’
I scratched my head. ‘Huh. That is a crazy dream.’
I told Sarah my dream about time re-starting. I dreamt this after the night my heart stopped with anxiety. I told her how Delph and I had held our breaths as the man running down the city street in my dream had jumped up and reached for the clock hands of a clock tower. Followed by the explosion of light.
This time it was her turn to scratch her head. We were talking to each other in the language of our dreams. I made me think; can you imagine if dream telling was a normal currency of dialogue? You bump into a friend and say, ‘Hey, how are you?’ And they say, ‘I’m fine, this is what I dreamed.’ And afterwards you tell them your dream. How would this dialogue change the way we’d communicate with each other? It’d be like being on permanent mushrooms. We’d probably have a completely different way of understanding how others tick.
Dreaming-wise, I often get chased and caught in my dreams. My dreams are often guilty too, so much so that I wake up and thank my relieved stars. I have this one re-occurring dream where I know I’m going to be outed for killing someone. In my dream I remember that I hid their body parts years ago in the attic of our old house. In a box in a box in a box. And the dream always starts when someone is about to find this box.
Every six months or so, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I have to actively probe the depths of my memories. I didn’t, did I? Am I that bad? I mean, you couldn’t get a cheesier theme than the old ‘hid-the-body-in-the-attic’ dream. And yet this dream is so powerful, it’s the first time I’ve spoken about it. So, if I ever do get caught in the future – here’s the first confession. I just hope I wasn’t framed! Typical.
And since we’re talking dreams, here’s my real dream. I’d love to be liked. Embarrassing or what. I’m like 43 years old. And I could have hidden a body in the attic. No, wait, I’m sure that was a dream! Doh! But I’ve come to realise if you stand up for what you believe in, then you can’t always have both. Righteousness doesn’t work that way. Jack likes to say, ‘You can’t be happy and right.’ Sigh. There you go. It’s a lonely place. Let’s talk about it in the language of our dreams,