On A Home for Dreams:

I had an odd dream last night. I used to like dreaming. I still do in some ways. But since my son died it got a lot harder on me. At first it was the grief that would rush back when I awoke after a dream about him even though in the dream I knew he was dead.

Then after a few years, I had a dream about finding him again. In it his death was just a mistake. When I woke I had to give him up all over again. It took me days, no weeks to even start to get over it a second time. I was so devastated by that one dream I just didn’t want to dream again.

Of course I did dream again. I’d dream about solutions to problems. I’d dream about the places in my head that I was writing about in my stories. I’d dream about places I don’t think I’ve ever been in the flesh but I have visited all my life in dream time.

Most of my dreams are a collection of thoughts and experiences from the day before all scrambled into a new and interesting way. I like unscrambling them again in the morning like a puzzle only I can play with.

Some of my dreams are perfect worlds that leave me with a wonderful feeling of true beauty inside and out.

Some of my dreams seem to have messages for me for the future. They are different and stick with me until I figure them out. Later something will happen and I’ll have a moment of clarity where the dream will suddenly make sense. I’ll find myself saying, ‘I dreamed about this.’ or ‘Now I get it.’

The trouble is the dreams that don’t fit into any of these categories but still haunt my waking mind. They are not solutions, visiting, stories, puzzles, perfection, or messages. They just seem to be odd dreams not connected to me at all but more like they are looking for a place to rest, a home. Am I dreaming in someone else’s dream while they sleep? That was the kind of dream I had last night. Am I a home for lost dreams?