Dream Notes

College

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 21:46:00 +0000

I have recurring dreams, in many different forms, of returning to college. Here is one.

I am in my car—a plain model from the 1980s, battered, black, with bluntly rounded contours—filled with all my belongings and parked in the driveway of a modest home in a decaying middle-class neighborhood. Now in my late fifties, I have come to this large city from far away to enroll in college—although I graduated decades earlier. School starts tomorrow, and I urgently need a place to live. I understand that the woman who owns the house, with the help of her daughter, boards many young students. Strangely, living with many other students here is oddly appealing to me. The daughter (slight, attractive, plainly dressed, very busy, and not a student herself) gets along easily with everyone. Too busy assisting others to worry about details, she knows that many issues will have to be resolved among these students but that such things have a way of arising and resolving naturally without her intervention. I have an immediate and deep affection for her. The furniture in the house's crowded rooms are cherished pieces from the mother’s and grandmother’s generations, littered with carefully placed knickknacks and white coverings. I move to a small room provided with a bed, chest of draws, chair, and other necessities all meticulously prepared as if for a family guest, which is to be my room. Suddenly I realize that against all odds my search for a college apartment in this strange city has accidentally taken me to my childhood home. With room additions and unfamiliar furnishings it had seemed tiny and quaint to me at first, but now I recognize the basic layout of home hidden within the remodeling. Elated by this discovery, I hurry down the long hall from my room, thinking I should tell the others. By second nature I skip a step precisely before turning into the living room, deep, unconscious memory guiding my feet!

Our residents badly need groceries, and I accompany the daughter’s ten-year-old brother to a neighborhood store in my old automobile. I feel fortunate to have this occasion to help his sister. The store is hardly more than a shed sitting on bare dirt with a makeshift awning and tiny wood-plank porch. It is next to a steep dirt cliff with barren ground fifty feet below, an old wooden railing protecting customers from the fall. The daughter’s brother tells me something he knows about the cats reclining around the store’s entrance. I look over the railing and see cats running below. Suddenly I must stop. I am overcome with emotion—immense feelings of gratitude and regret. I believe I have happened upon a uniquely secure place for me. I am certain that this is how I should have lived when I went to college in my twenties. I realize I have made many grave mistakes but am now extraordinarily fortunate.

I welcome your comments—and your dreams!

Two Observations by a Layman About Dreams - Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 17:14:00 +0000

While dream events may be fantastic, within the dream, the self of the dreamer remains remarkably true to the dreamer's real self. The dreaming self may behave in uncharacteristic ways, but then the dream context is often uncharacteristic. Therefore, the personality of the dreamer—particularly his internal mental life—is usually revealed in his dreams.

Two Observations by a Layman About Dreams - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 17:09:00 +0000

Dream-like imaginative flights are pervasive in human experience. While awake, we daydream, free associate and plan. As we fall asleep, we associate in strange ways, often representing one action or thing by other, oddly associated, actions or things. When sleeping, we sometimes dream in narrative-like ways, rejecting plainly illogical associations for a more coherent, realistic dream experience. In all states, a kind of dreaming goes on, of varying degrees of coherence, logic, and realism.

Details

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 06:22:00 +0000

We search for meaning in details. For example, it's difficult to imagine a train station in the abstract, without specific features. The station here—a shadowy, grey, stone vault where oblique columns of light and warmth, indifferent accidents of nature, stream down onto somber travelers far below—is, for the thoughtful viewer, a personal space filled with telling detail: my parents hurry along on the cold station floor—in the 1950s, an era of grimness for me—and I, their sole child, an anxious toddler, brushing against the warm, coarse, familiar fabric of my father's suit, follow with my hand in his. Our trip, a reprieve from the protective confinement of my middle-class home, is a small adventure.

A dream consists of meaningful detail as well, which is essential for describing it. The physical world, our thoughts and associations, and our mood and emotions within the dream come alive in many specific details thoughtfully recorded.

This image of New York's Grand Central Station is from the mediabistro blog UnBeige. Buy the poster.

John Updike on Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 22:11:00 +0000

In his novels and short stories, John Updike often describes his characters' dreams. In "Grandparenting," Updike comments on the dreams of Richard Maple, who just visited his daughter and newborn granddaughter and who will spend the night alone.

"His room at the Best Inn was on the ground floor, its wall-to-wall shag carpeting laid over concrete poured right on grade. The walls seemed subterranean, breathing out a deep freeze, their surface cold to the touch. . . . The cold pressed in upon him from the walls like a force that wanted to compress his existence to nothing, that wanted to erase this temporary blot of heated, pumping blood. It's a lot to give up, Joan had said of the womb, and indeed the cosmic volume of lightless, warmthless space hostile to us is overwhelming. He felt, huddled up, like a homunculus frigidly burning at the far end of God's indifferently held telescope. He was a newly hatched grandfather, and the universe wanted to crush him, to make room for newcomers. He did fall asleep, a little, and his dreams, usually so rich in suppressed longing and forgotten knowledge, were wispy, as if starved by his body's effort to maintain body temperature."

A good characterization of dreams by Updike: "so rich in suppressed longing and forgotten knowledge."

Intruder

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 20:15:00 +0000

All my life I have been somewhat of a loner. I'm unmarried and have always lived alone. I often have dreams of someone invading my "space."

I come home to my apartment (larger than my actual apartment) one afternoon and find a young black man (in his 20's, conservative, middle class, amiable, outgoing) sitting on the floor before a large bookcase. He is casually looking at a small object in his hand—an unidentifiable item of my own belongings. I realize that he is here because he will be my new roommate and that my landlord has always had the option of placing another occupant in my apartment, although I had long ago forgotten that. I'm opposed to having anyone living with me, but I realize I'll have to begin thinking about how we will work this out and how I can approach this new relationship as diplomatically as possible. A small door in the back of the apartment leads to a suite of unused rooms. I remember this and realize I may be able to live in those rooms and have some privacy. Behind the door is a very narrow corridor with tiny rooms on each side. The stale air, dust, and sunlight have made the drab colors pale variations of the same light pastel. A door frame leads to each room, but there are no doors. An old iron stove sits on the faded carpet in one otherwise barren, cramped room. The opening to the room at my side is only a few inches wide—I can't possibly enter. With a dull, depressed feeling, I realize these rooms are hardly habitable, but I but decide they will do.

I welcome your comments about this dream.

Samantha's Dream

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 03:09:00 +0000

20-year-old Smantha's dream. From DreamBank with permission.

Julia, my sister, had just been married. I was supposed to be getting married too. I went home with all of my friends. People slept all over the house. An attic was filled with rows of bunkbeds. Eric, my brother, slept in the garage with a little red MG that he was rebuilding. I put on Julia's wedding dress. My mind went blank. I couldn't remember who it was I was going to be marrying. Where did I meet him? What's his name? I began balling my eyes out with my mother. Crying and crying and crying. I didn't want to get married—I'm only 20 years old. Who was this guy anyway that I was supposed to be marrying? The wedding invitation said Mark Fasta was his name. The wedding party list had a name called the "Fasta Mouse"—an advertising slogan for his cheese company. Apparently one of his groomsmen was going to be the Fast Mouse—a guy dressed up in a mouse costume. I was outrageously crying. Finally I told my mother, "I've changed my mind, I don't want to get married." I went to go seek the comfort of my friends. I wanted to see Walter, my ex-boyfriend, but he was in the attic with Shirley, his new girlfriend. All of my other friends were doing stuff. I heard the tail end of the conversation with my mother telling my father that the wedding was off. He went berserk, pointing out all the things he had paid lots of money for—he was almost broke because of it. He said, "Well, if she isn't going to marry him, she isn't going to live here and continue to suck money from me." I kept balling—I was being kicked out of my home for cancelling a wedding I didn't even remember the details of. I had a lawnmower and was pulling it to this field I was going to mow. Hal, a friend of mine, yelled funny things from the building, "Hey Baby. . . ." But he couldn't see that I was crying.

Post a comment to interpret young Samantha's dream—which reveals a lot about her life concerns.

Getting started

noreply@blogger.com (James Abbott) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 08:56:00 +0000

Waiting for my first dream since creating Dream Notes. . . .