Dream Week | Dream Journal

DreamArt-1

Dreams are thoughts you didn’t have time to think about during the day.

My dreams have been unusually vivid lately—full of color and sound, strange and derivative, a compilation of memories and random bits of information and events. There have been recurring themes, patterns, and people.

While going through my morning routine the last few days, I noticed that a number of troubling questions and past events kept popping up. Each day, I pushed them aside, thinking, I will deal with it later.

Of course, later rarely comes, so I wonder if much of the processing that should happen while I am awake is happening while I sleep.

If I look really closely, I can see there is a correlation between my dreams and those deep questions with which I have had little time to grapple.

I am not into dream analysis, that is, looking for symbols in dreams and attaching meaning to them, but I do believe dreams can be revelatory. I believe God speaks to us in different ways, and dreams are one of those ways. I also believe dreams often reveal what is buried in our subconscious and can compel us to pay attention and maybe act.

So–I’m thinking about starting a dream journal, a place that I can record the bits and pieces of my dreams I remember and see if I can make some sense of them or if I can tease out those things that Spirit and my subconscious are trying to tell me. I’d like to see what shows up.

I’ve never “dream journaled” before, but I imagine it is telling experience.

What about you? Have you ever kept a dream journal?

Dream Week | #ThursdayTreeLove and a Musing from My Younger Self

Double Trees

Today was every bit as intense as I expected. It’s just after 9:30 p.m. in my part of the world, and I just completed my last work task for the day. As I reviewed today’s schedule last night, I knew I had to figure out something  for #ThursdayTreeLove. I had the tree, but what about my theme for the week? 

Happily, I remembered that I wrote some “dream” poems in my long-ago youth. I quickly scanned a couple of my notebooks and found three or four poems! Here’s one of them:

"Dream" [© Chandra Lynn]

Dream controls my thoughts, my actions; rules my day; eventually brings pain Like an addictive drug, a world of fantasy, a smooth path, Leading away from reality.

I was such a daydreamer back in the day, always preoccupied with my own musings and getting in trouble every now and then for not staying on task. I’d probably still spend my days in my fantasy worlds if it weren’t for pesky things like work and dishes.

I am pretty sure I wrote this poem as a creative writing assignment, but I don’t recall much more. For the life of me, I can’t remember what this type of poem is called. Google failed me. Can you help? 


About the Trees: The photo above (in black and white and color) features one of the black walnut trees on campus [donated by the Ecology Club in 2003]. I suppose, adults shouldn’t daydream their way through the workday, so I escaped to this tree for a few moments a couple of weeks ago.

I am joining Parul Thakur for #ThursdayTreeLove every second and fourth Thursday of the month. If you would like to play along, post a picture of a tree on your blog and link it back to her latest #treelove post.

Dream Week | The Rock

Dream-1

Last week, in the middle of the agonizing, true-to-its reputation Monday morning, I dropped by the Associate Registrar’s office to get clarification on a particular policy. While there, I noticed the cutest tiny Zen garden. I was drawn to the sand and calming turquoise, but I fixated on the rock that held the word “dream.” An hour or so later, I sent my friend Cy a text telling her I needed to take a mental break and write a blog post, but I hadn’t decided on a theme for the week. She suggested that I do a Dream Week. Her suggestion confirmed what the “dream rock” was trying to tell me, so here we are—a week later—hosting “Dream Week” on Pics and Posts. 

If you had asked me about my dreams a couple of years ago, I might have told you I have none–if I were being honest. I came to this realization early one morning while reflecting on a statement from Howard Thurman’s “The Inward Sea,” the first section of Meditations of the Heart:

Keep alive the dream; for as long as a [wo]man has a dream in his [her] heart, [s]he cannot lose the significance of living.

I asked myself, “What are my dreams?”

Crickets.

Nothing stirred inside, and I felt like a hollow vessel.

I thought, “Have I achieved so much in life? Am I so perfectly content that there’s no need for dreams? Or have I fallen so far down the “well of despair” that I could no longer muster up the courage to dream?” 

I could have psyched myself into believing that I had no dreams per se because I’d worked my dreams into plans and plans into action. But I knew that would be cute, but not true.

I was troubled. I once had deep, colorful, audacious dreams. Where were those dreams?

The question unsettled me; for I knew without dreams I was merely existing, and that was not enough living for me. 

Then, the more critical question emerged. Why had I stopped dreaming? After I took the time to soul-search, I arrived at the answers:

I had stopped dreaming because I was afraid to dream. I had stop dreaming because I was grieving loss after loss after loss, and while I had to function on all fronts in my outer life, in the inner life I could lay it all down and no one would know. I had stopped dreaming because I was wounded and “stretched out” while I processed the blows that took me down. I had stopped dreaming because there were too many disappointments and too many devastating realities.

I had stopped dreaming so I could pour all my energy into surviving. 

It took some doing—an additional year or so of soul work—for me to trust life enough to really dream again and to know that my dreams can be as boundless and wild as my imagination allows. 

I don’t have any solid plans for this Dream Week, but that’s the nature of dreams. Join me, and let’s see where the dreams take us.