Life: that's what dreams are made of.
Dreams: odd reflections of experience and collective unconscious knowledge.
"To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come" (Hamlet, Act III, Sc.1)
I can certainly appreciate that your sleep patterns would be completely out of whack and can only wish that the fatigue which inevitably must accompany the emotional and physical strains of your condition will grant you that peace of mind in which dreams can flourish. Many years ago, during my college days, I conducted an experiment on myself which lead to some very interesting and satisfying results. I kept a pencil and pad on my bedside desk, and the very first thing I would do, every single morning, before anything else was to write out whatever little ethereal whisps of dreams I could grab before they entirely dissipated like warm breath in cold air. The first few days, I was only able to capture static images of places or persons, but within a week, I was writing out entire sentences describing vague disconnected activities, and within two weeks, I was writing out paragraphs of scenes. By the end of a month, I was writing pages. In fact, this exercise had taught me how to capture my dreams, and at the end of this experiment, it was taking far too much of my morning time to write it all down. Several years later, I saw an interview on the television with an older lady who had conducted a similar experiment which corroborated my results. In my opinion, she had taken the experiment a bit too far, for she declared that she could go to bed at night and reenter a particular dream sequence that she enjoyed. I believe that dreams should be treated with greater deference...I don't believe they should be treated as opportunities for enjoyment as this woman proposed, but rather I see them as opportunities for enlightenment. To me, dreams come as messages from the depths of our soul and have the potential to reveal some remarkable characteristics of our inner self which, I believe, can sometimes be revelations of our relationship with the Maker and which cannot possibly be captured with rational thought. To willfully attempt to control the process is surely counter-intuitive. Augustine wrote that we should not be held accountable for our dreams because they come from a source we do not control. Job warned that there is something in the depths which we must respect and which we can never hope to control or own...in the end, all things whatsoever belong to our Maker. "Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.....None is so fierce that dare stir him up...Whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine" (Job 41). A few decades ago, I read an article in the library at Loyola where I spent most of my spare time, that anesthetized patients do not dream. Although I couldn't know it at that time, I can assure you that artcile was incorrect. Regardless of whatever brain waves were measured for the author of that article to reach such a false conclusion, I know for a fact that one of the most vivid dreams in my memory occured while under an anesthetic during a kidney biopsy. This dream was etched permanently in my psyche becuae it was so clear and, to me, personally, highly significant. In that dream, I was flying fast and very low over still water. The water was like a mirror reflecting the beautiful autumnal colours of the thick grove of oaks and maples on a small island directly in my path. I was not flying with volition, but rather was being drawn inexorably, without fear or reluctance, toward the wooded island. As I approached the shore, I rose in the air above the tree tops and slowly descended into a small still and quiet clearing where sat a shadowed figure emanating pure peace. At the time, I didn't know who it was, but to this day, whenever I reflect upon this dream, I am convinced it was our Maker. Without speaking, the shadow figure conveyed to me the thought that these doctors were only doing what they thought they should be doing, but assured me with these words "but I am in control of this region". I then rose, involuntarily, in the air, and returned over the still water along the very same low flying path that only moments ago had lead me to the island. All was peaceful, all was calm, and the dream ended. Because of my age (22) at the time this biopsy was performed, I had, according to the nephrologist, less than 5% chance of recovering from my condition of glomerulo nephritis, but it disappeared. I thank our Maker for that. I believe that God can speak to us in our dreams, and it is only for us to learn how to listen. So, however banal and godless they may appear, whenever the opportunity of sleep arrives, try capturing your dreams on paper and see what you can discover. I am certain that you will be rewarded with new insights of what and who is inside you.
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Job 41 (a la King James...my favourite version of this passage as it highlights, better than any other version I have seen, the futility of any effort to capture the beast within the depths of our souls)
"Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down? Canst thou put a hook into his nose or bore his jaw through with a thorn? Will he make supplications unto thee? Will he speak soft words unto thee? Will he make a covenent with thee? Wilt thou take him as a servant forever? Wilt thou play with him as a bird or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens? Shall the companions make a banquet of him? Shall they part him among the merchants? Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons or his head with fish spears? Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more. Behold the hope of him is in vain. Shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him? None is so fierce that dare stir him up. Who, then, is able to stand before me? Who hath prevented me, that I should repay him? Whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine."
Hamlet Act III Scene 1
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
