To Dream or Not to Dream

 

Dreams. Those strange, half-life images that entrance and haunt and linger upon waking with melancholy, with sadness, with unease.  Or at other times tease with the suggestion of a magical story that evaporates before I can get pen to paper. Like last night, for instance.

I dreamt I was in a tiny village from which I couldn't escape. Every road out was under deep snow, although the village itself remained untouched. So I passed the time by wandering along the cobbled lane lined with olde worlde shops, peering through their leadlit windows with bottle-thick glass, and the first shop I entered sold smells. Not perfumes, but smells: cut grass, and horse sweat, and the first chill wind of autumn. Immensely frustrating, because upon waking I couldn't recall the wares of a single other shop in that village. I shall have to resort to conscious, effortful invention for turning this into a story; always a poor second best.

But most intriguing of all, and rare for me, are those dreams that have a life beyond their own. For example, my story Summerland. This story came to me in its entirety, and I thought it odd, but wrote it down (as always) and eventually, a year or two later, turned it into a story. I wanted to change the name, which sounded terribly Enid Blytonish to me, but at the same time I felt strangely loyal to it, as if I would betray the entire dream if I altered anything. After writing to it, I sent it to my closest friend in New Zealand, who is generally my 'first reader'. She replied, 'Where did you hear about Summerland?' which I thought was a strange comment. After a brief exchange of emails, it came to light that there was an entire belief system in the 1800s, originating with theosophy and neo-paganism, about a place of rest called Summerland where souls can rest between their earthly incarnations. ' A common element,' says Wikipedia, 'is that the soul has little, if any, recollection of the Summerland once it arrives on the mortal plane again.' My version of Summerland wasn't quite the same as the one described by neopaganism, since the souls in my story had no recollection of their life on earth. But what was uncannily similar was that in the next incarnation, 'you may choose what form you take and even a little about your situation. You decide this based upon which lessons you wish to learn in your next life.'

Now what I should clarify here is that I have had no interest in theosophy or neo-paganism or wiccan beliefs, and I'm not even sure I quite believe in reincarnation, at least not in the form that many people seem to ascribe to. But if I had ever read anything about such a belief, with or without the name 'Summerland' attached to it, I would not have forgotten this; it would have intrigued me. So it seems very unlikely that I came across this and did not consciously remember it. The only other explanation I can think of is that I tapped into what Jung coined 'collective unconsciousness'.  It seems the most plausible option, anyway.

There are many 'dream interpretation' websites and apps out there.  I've explored some of them and not found them very illuminating.  However, I am somewhat intrigued by on approach: that of Dr Ian Wallace, a psychologist who gives interpretations which aim to offer helpful points of 'action' as a way forward for self-development: http://ianwallacedreams.com

I'm still not sure what Summerland may mean, but it should be fun trying to find out.