I DREAMED A DREAM OF TIME GONE BY
Or, Why I Tweet My Dreams…
I woke up this morning with a dream in mind. My custom is to tweet some of the dreams I remember. On occasion they feel too personal to share, and sometimes there is no way to fit them into 140 characters.
I recall a lot of my dreams in vivid detail, and sometimes they feel more significant than others. They seem to give me insight into myself. But also, they just make me—and sometimes my friends—laugh and laugh. Occasionally they articulate a feeling I didn’t know I needed to feel, and my dreams seem to care for my soul in a way my waking state can’t.
But something extra interesting happened this morning, and I can thank my tweeting #dreamjournal practices for delivering a fresh insight.
I woke up with a dream in mind, and I tweeted:
Feb 9, 2013—@MtBarrioz: Group of kids steals my bag. I catch them: “Cops on their way.” They shake my hand, apologize, await their punishment. I cry. #dreamjournal
This dream felt important. I thought about it for a long time. It felt so familiar. Then I remembered another dream and searched for it on my twitter:
Apr 2, 2012—@MtBarrioz: Kids con me, steal my stuff. Catch them. They cry as I call the cops. Smallest one cries in my arms. #dreamjournal
These dreams pair like finding the puzzle piece that was missing. The missing piece had fallen into the couch cushions with pennies and miscellany, and now, ten months later, it returns to complete my 700-piece puzzle.
My dream last night is an inversion of my dream last April. The two dreams mirror one another, even in the form of how I chose to record the dreams. A group of kids are still stealing from me, but now the kids have grown up into teenagers. I catch them, the cops are on their way, and the kids in the old dream cry with regretful fear.
I distinctly remember holding the little boy in the April dream on my lap. He cried, and I loved him and forgave him. I felt like he was my son, and I wanted him to know he could still be with me and could still cry, even if he would still be punished. I held him tight like a father as his tears wet my chest. I still remember it vividly. It still touches my heart.
This time, this dream last night, I called the police, chased the kids, and the group had grown up. They were hooligans in the night, and I chased them barefoot through the streets. When I found them, they didn’t resist. The oldest boy, who was a full foot taller than me, calmly apologized and shook my hand—resignation in his eyes. They faced consequences boldly and stoically. When they didn’t put up a fight, I cried. I didn’t want to punish them. Not without a fight.
There is the description, and here is the interpretation.
All people or objects or scenarios are expressions of ourselves in dreams. I am myself, those kids, the stolen items, and the cops in these dreams.
I have grown like those kids. I am more willing to take consequences for my actions than before. Deeply, unconsciously, my acceptance of discipline seems to be taking root, developing, maturing. Progress is happening.
And yet, somebody still needed to cry. My mature self in the April dream tended to the weeping children. But I was the one weeping in today’s dream. I cried because the lack of fight in the kids gestured to their hopelessness. There was not an optimistic tenderness, but a nihilistic hardness. The kids didn’t cry. I cried for them. I wanted them to want free life enough to put up a fight.
This, too, is like me. I have developed my capacity to confess my wrongs and accept their consequences, but maybe this has come with a sense of hopeless resignation—as if bowing to a mechanistic universe in which what goes around comes around; I get exactly what I deserve; grace is an illusion.
Like I learned from my earlier dream about the necessity of love with discipline, now I feel another urge to embody the reality of accepting consequences alongside hoping for grace. We’ll see what my corresponding dream in ten months has to say about this.
For my friends who’d like an upper after my deep ramblings, here’s a dose:
Apr 10, 2012—@MtBarrioz: Taking a postapocalyptic last stand against massive, mutant pastries. Rip off head of cannoli without being bitten—kill & eat. #dreamjournal
Aug 31, 2012—@MtBarrioz: In a group we list favorite places: Berlin, Chicago, Hong Kong. Last person says, Scottie Pippen’s house. #dreamjournal I woke up LOLing
Dec 1, 2012—@MtBarrioz: Little girl wants to write a play about a little girl whose mom is a republican and who has a pet squirrel that’s a democrat. #dreamjournal