Dreams

My favourite dreams are not the ones I remember, nor are they the ones I forget. The dreams I remember are detailed and complex, full of information and mystery; the dreams I forget are lost to me.

I like remembering my dreams. I try to keep paper and writing utensil near me whenever I sleep, so that when I wake up, I can capture the dream on paper before it disappears and fades from reach. If I do not hurriedly pour out the dream onto paper, it vanishes, leaving only the lingering taste of it on my memory, though none of it remains.

These dreams have meaning, have mystery. I desperately cling to the details, even as they fall though my fingertips like sand, because something can be learned from them. This is my subconscious speaking, desperately trying to reach through to consciousness with its knowledge and wisdom. Sometimes, all is lost, but sometimes, I gleam one grain of understanding, one tiny new insight into who I am and how I relate to the world.

The dreams I forget are dreams I never even knew existed, but for the knowledge that I, like all humans, dream. I awake from these unaware that my mind has been in never-ending motion whilst my body savoured its much needed rest. The dreams I forget are a kindness: though my subconscious has spent the night wrestling with my fears and anxieties, my hopes and dreams, my conscious remains untroubled, unconcerned by this exhaustive work. The dreams I forget are the gift of ignorance, for some things I simply do not need to know.

My favourite dreams, however, are neither remembered nor forgotten. My favourite dreams have no plot, no story, no details to be recalled, and yet they are not lost or forgotten. They cannot disappear for they do not appear. My favourite dreams are a feeling, a powerful wave of something indescribable which consumes me and fills me up as I slumber, dreams which, when I awake, remain just as present. They become my day dreams.

I awoke to find myself lost in the embrace of my favourite kind of dream this morning. I awoke in peace, without the worry of trying to capture mist in my hands or the lonely silence of already forgotten dreams. I awoke unafraid, untroubled, and yet not ignorant. I understood the dream: I dreamt of nothing but of peaceful rest, of safety, of liberty. My subconscious gave no warnings nor shielding from its labour: with full honesty, my subconscious spoke only of peace.