Dreams have fascinated me for as long as I can remember, so reading Jane's piece about dreams inspired me to take her advice and simply ask to remember my dreams (since remembering them has been a problem lately). Raised on Southern Baptist teachings, the biblical "Ask and ye shall receive" seems natural enough (though I've long since left behind the patriarchal religion), but I'm amazed at how often I don't allow myself to ask for what I need, even when all that is required is for me to personally address that entity, to treat her with respect, and acknowledge her mystery and power.
And what do you know. . . I've been remembering my dreams again, busily scribbling down their essence before fully waking each morning. Somehow this ritual makes me feel more whole, less hurried, and more attuned to the beauty of life. And I am grateful.
Sometimes I have "movie dreams" in which I'm not really a part of the dream but am merely an observer----and elaborate, often beautiful stories develop. Though I have my own examples, I'll refer you to a fascinating one recorded beautifully here by my dearest friend Anita.
Even my little Corgis seem to enjoy their dreams, their short legs twitching as they breathe heavily and irregularly, eyes rolled back in their heads. I remember visiting a friend once who had an Irish setter that apparently dreamed of running after some delectable prey while my friend prompted him on by whispering "Get him, Aesop; get him!" and the dog's legs, no longer relaxed though he was still asleep, would begin to move in unison, faster and faster, as if he were really carrying his body through that field of dreams.
And who is to say that our spirits aren't really visiting these places we dream of, that my father, dead these past four years, wasn't really communicating with me this morning as he pointed out to me the little squirrel turning and turning an acorn in his paws, and I showed him the blue jay perched in plain view.
