Dreams are terribly fragile. They shatter easily and their fragments scatter and fly back to their source, making them impossible to gather.
Perhaps a better metaphor would be to imagine those tiny fragments of images and thoughts as fish. If a rock is thrown into their midst they disappear like quicksilver becoming invisible in the water.
There are only two ways to capture dreams on waking, I am finding. I have to write down whatever I remember when I can, preferably during the night when I first wake up from a dream in progress. That is often just too hard to do. The other way is to awaken slowly, letting the fragments find my stillness one by one. Only then can I gather the elusive fragments of the subconscious into the net of my conscious mind. I feel a bit like someone fishing with her hands in a tranquil place. I have to become as still as the water for the fish to trust me enough to swim into them.
This morning, I stretched luxuriously, eyes closed, waiting for the fragments to come to me. Then my left calf cramped sending me shrieking onto the floor. Kenya dashed back to her cushion to avoid being stepped on, any fragments of the dream scattered, and I hobbled to the slate floor of the bathroom to uncramp my leg.
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2 comments:
I can remember my dreams until I eat something, anything goes in my mouth and I forget. I've always thought of it in the same way that if you eat anything, even a morsel of food, in the fairy realm you can't go back.
What a lovely way of looking at it. My dream memory is way shorter than yours though. Without some help, it doesn't last beyond the opening of eyelids.
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