I try to remember my dreams. I try so hard, I stay in bed an extra day or two (it feels like) going over them, letting my mind slosh around in that psychic soup. I’m aware and unaware. I’m hovering in that in between place.
I like to pretend that dreams are doorways to alternate realities. The good ones and the bad ones. When I was younger, I’d have recurring dreams about big houses in which I was lost. Room after room after room, staircase after staircase. Most of the time, the I was running through all of these rooms trying to flee from some unseen force chasing me. I’d know that it was a ghost or some bad people, or just some people I didn’t want to see (usually extended family), and I’d end up in some secret place that shouldn’t exist in this structure. Something like a giant library or an outside garden/lake with a hundred islands connected by tiny rope bridges, the stars swirling in hectic, urgent patterns overhead. As I grew older, whatever was chasing me must have gotten tired. It slowed to a crawl, and it was easier to get away. So easy, in fact, that I’d get bored. I’d get bored and go looking for it again. I’d go looking for it, and damned if I didn’t accidentally find myself stepping through the back door and out into the world. I’d try sneaking back inside, but the doors were invariably locked, or there just wasn’t a door there anymore, or the building itself was gone.
But there were other structures near by. There was a scary old barn with dirt floors and a cramped loft. It was pitch black inside, and I could hear the creepy crawly things clicking and scurrying and slithering. That old barn, I’d be told there was something important in there, and I had to go in and get it. Don’t worry, kid, it’s safe if you can find the light switch. There’s a torch on the workbench in the very back, just don’t get eaten. I’d find the light, head upstairs, find a hidden door disguised as rafters, climb my way up into and onto the roof, and then I’d be maybe 9 or 10, watching my brother and his friends jump off. This is an actual memory. They’re jumping off the roof of that barn, and they’re telling me that I’m to little. It’s only a story high, but I’m only a half a guy.
So I jump.
And I sprain both my ankles.
There was one dream, I was out in the yard, doing work or trying to avoid it, and I found a trap door in the grass. It was in the ditch. It was a big, heavy cellar door leading down concrete steps into the abyss. I was scared to go down there, but something was telling me I had to. There was something I or someone else needed. A long, slow journey into those depths, and I don’t remember exactly what I found. I have a vague sense of it feeling like a warehouse, some big open space, something full of forgotten things like clothes and rugs and furniture. Upholstery, for some reason. Dusty and musty and moth eaten. When I emerged, I remember the sun being impossibly low on the horizon – Low enough that the trees should have blocked it as usual, but instead it felt more like some desert scene where the sun is refusing to set, and instead of darkness, the light just gets oranger and oranger, dipping into red, always seeming to glare right into your eyes.
I don’t really dream about secret places anymore, scary or no. Or if I do, they’re fleshed out with some storyline, and the building is a mental ward and all the patients are spontaneously combusting one by one. It’s still an escape style dream, but when I get to the roof this time, I can fly, and I find myself floating down into the neighborhood next, knocking on the first door I come across because I hear a child crying, but no one’s there to let me in because it’s everyone combusting everywhere, the baby’s parents included.
Which Reminds Me
Have you seen Visioneers? I’m getting around to writing something about it sooner or later, especially now that I’ve found the neural pathway in my brain that connects it to something I’d dreamt about. This is probably the thread it was pulling on when I viewed it, the reason I found it so indelibly at the top of mind.
Note To Self
Energy Follows Action.