I roll over in the fog of early morning to grab my pen. I feel the binding of my journal between my fingers and open to a blank page, barely discernible in the dawning light.
At the top I write the date.
Then I begin to translate images, feelings, colors, a few phrases I spoke out loud.
“That’s step number one.”
After all has emptied from the fog to the page, I draw a star and allow any associations.
The conversation I had last night
The movie I watched
Then I close the book, click the pen closed, and lay back down, pulling my sleep mask back over my lids for the darkness to return.
The darkness that actually illuminates.
I’m a vivid dreamer. I have been my whole life, and in the past two years began to journal under guidance from a teacher on interpretation. I started to realize my sleeping hours were a time of processing, pointing to my waking life.
There were answers there.
As I was dealing with incredible loss after my divorce, confusion and pain, my dreams were teachers. As I felt the fire of massive changes in my life, my nighttime landscapes were laying a path.
It had been there all along.
Prior to this, I used to half wake from my dreams, sitting up in bed, talking in my sleep, even once got up and completely stripped my bed before realizing it was 2 a.m.
I would dream of bugs and crawling spiders, waking in a sweat. I would dream of being a secret agent, a part of a massive adventure, dodging bullets and just escaping in time.
But what did it mean?
In my waking life, I believed in control, grew increasingly frustrated with myself, and began to let go of my dreams. I was exhausted. Maybe they weren’t possible. Maybe I wasn’t a strong enough singer or dancer or actress. Maybe all who rejected me were right.
My mind raced during the day, and at night I would wake in the early hours, running in circles next to my bed.
There was a breakdown in communication.
When I accepted help and guidance, I began to see. I was no longer running in circles, and for the first time in my life I held a tarantula in the palm of my hand and saw it was actually soft, light, and just as frightened as I was.
I didn’t need adventure behind my closed lids, because I was forming the life I truly wanted.
And in this life, I knew my creative strengths.
I embraced community, rejoicing in collaboration, and grasped the hand that reached out so many times as I tossed and turned.
Now I was connected. Now there was possibility.
And I found you.
So, if the answers lie within, my question for you is:
What are you Willing to Explore for Your Dreams?