When I was a little kid, I kept a dream notebook. It was a small, Sanrio book with curling wire at the top. The front and back covers were the image and shape of the front and back of a blue penguin.
I kept the notebook on the nightstand beside my bed. Every time I woke up with the memory of a dream, I wrote it down.
Decades later, I rediscovered the notebook. It had been tucked away in a small box. I recently moved from Massachusetts to Arizona, and each time I move, I find and lose many of my possessions.
I would tell you about the contents of the notebook, but I have already tucked it away somewhere safe (i.e. I now have no idea where I put it and will likely not be able to find it until my next move or the one after that).
It has been a long time since I kept a record of my dreams, but I have not stopped dreaming.
I go through stages where I have numerous, vivid dreams each night and remember them clearly when I first wake up in the morning.
I move to a stage where I cannot remember a single dream or if I even dreamed at all.
In the final stage, I remember them in bits and pieces and try to make sense of where one left off and another began.
And back to the beginning.
My dreams are often linked to each other. At times, they seem clearly connected to my life’s current events, but sometimes they seem to come from out of nowhere. Perhaps, they are derived from past lives? A message from a former self across time?
In the dark, rainy hours of this morning, I left my dream slowly. It was as if I was in the dream but also knew that I would be waking from it. I was preparing to leave for a prisoner internment camp and was preoccupied with getting my two cats ready to go the animal care facility. I had heard that they take very good care of a person’s animals for the duration of their time at the camp.
I found both cats on a kitchen chair; it was a chair at the far end of the table where my family ate during my childhood. In fact, I was standing in that very room. I am only making this connection as I write. Strange.
Arwen, my female, grey tabby, was ready to go. She was sleeping in a canvas bag with long handles. Fin, a fluffy, greypoint Siamese, was lying on the chair beside her.
And then somehow they were both on the floor, and I was struggling to pick them both up at once. It was very important that I be able to pick them both up, but I just could not.
And then I was awake for a few minutes.
I must have fallen back asleep because the next moment I awoke, I was close to my dream world and could recall that I had just returned from the internment camp.
I imagine that I should find it odd that my greatest concern prior to going to prison was making sure that my cats were looked after, yet I cannot say that I am surprised. In times of urgency, I am able to stay grounded by focusing on logistics and details that need to be taken care of.
Also, I love my cats.
I know there can be deep meaning from dreams, but I am not well-versed in the analytics of the unconscious.
And what of your dreams?
life of m 