― Richard Matheson, What Dreams May Come
What dreams....
The way that sentence ends could lead you to a thousand
different conclusions.
What dreams? Is different from…
What dreams! Is different from…
What, dreams? Is different from
What dreams.
For me, it is an ever changing punctuation mark. Because of
course, it depends on what dreams you’re referring to. My actual literal dreams
that haunt my pshyche if and when I actually get to fall asleep? Or my
metaphorical “dreams” that have been deferred and left to fester like a sore
only to run away time and time again?
I used to have what dreams!
But lately it feels more like what dreams?
Perhaps this post got off on the wrong foot. I am currently
at a gratitude yoga retreat (which I will blog specifically about at another
time) and I realize how negative and ominous I am sounding.
So, let’s try this again, perhaps with a little more
gratitude and optimism.
The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up. - Paul Valery
My dreams have changed. My life has changed. It is a daily struggle to accept both, but I am learning to be grateful for the insight it has given me.
I have put a lot of thought into dreams and dreaming lately
because my literal, physical dreams bully me on the playground of my pillow and
because I’m playing a game of tug of war between my metaphorical dreams and my
reality and I still don’t know who’s going to win.
My Literal Dreams:
“Na-na-na-na Boo boo!” Is what I hear when I wake up after a
very vivid dream of holding my newborn child in my arms, or taking my kids to school.
“Psych!” Echoes in my temples as I pull my hands up to my
face in the dark and realize, that yes, I’m still missing a fingertip even
though five seconds ago, in the dream world, my hands looked like they used to.
It is a slap to the face. It is sick butterflies floating
around and rotting in the pit of your stomach. Realizing that you’re only
dreaming while you’re dreaming is probably the worst part of it all.
I tell myself in my sleep “this is just a dream, this is
just a dream” really believing that it will soften the blow when I wake up. But
it never does.
I try not to interpret my dreams. I just let them happen.
But I know what they mean. I know what my dreams are telling me. I understand
that I am still in the process of accepting my reality. I know it’s not going
to be easy, hell, it HASN’T BEEN easy. But I really don’t know who ever lead me
to believe it would be.
My Metaphorical
“Dreams”
I had dreams once. Big dreams. I still have them. But I
don’t approach them or anticipate them with the same naïve hope as I did
before. My dreams have lost their luster, their appeal, their magic. My dreams
are tethered to my reality and I have yet to decide if this is the natural and
wise progression of what happens to us as we mature and experience life, or if
it is, at the end of the day just another one of the great tragedies of human
existence. After all, don’t we tell children to “dream big,” and “reach for the
moon?” Aren’t we supposed to want the most out of life? What does it say about
us if we settle for mediocre dreams that only mimic our reality and don’t push
us in new directions?
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| Books I've been published in.... |
Perhaps it is because, in retrospect, most of my dreams have
come true. Getting published. Teaching. Finding love and getting married.
Having a job I love. Performing at the Nuyorican. Acting professionally. (Not very exciting dreams to have, but they are
mine and I believe in them) Of course, I have fantastical dreams also: win some great
literary prize, be on Oprah, travel the world, own a bookstore, be remembered
for my writing and talents.
But I have always dreamed those with caution. Knowing I
would be thrilled if they happened, but never investing enough time, energy or
talent to actually see them through. If I don’t try, I can’t fail.
And yet, there are dreams “post sclero” that I dare to dream
that I know I can and only WILL fail at:
Being “normal.”
Being “healthy.”
Being “whole.”
It is these dreams that I have to talk myself out of on a
daily basis because I know what it feels like to have your dreams deferred. And
I am here to tell you that not only does it stink, fester, dry up, rot and
explode, it also implodes on itself and on you….leaving you all alone to gather
the rubble with nothing but your bare hands and a prayer.
It is these metaphorical dreams that become literal
nightmares, waking me up in the middle of the night, reminding me of all that
is wrong with me, all that I can’t control.
--------------------
But what am I getting at with all of this? In the context of
my illness and in the recent transition into my 30s, why do my literal and
metaphorical dreams matter?
On the one hand, because as I’ve mentioned before, my
illness changed my dreams. Rocked me to the core and made me believe that
nothing was possible anymore. (And on really bad days it still does that) But,
when I finally began to see and understand how these new dreams could be more
powerful, more amazing and more fulfilling than anything I ever dared to dream
“pre sclero,” I accepted the loss of my former dreams and began to embrace the
new journey I was on. It still isn’t easy, by any means. These new dreams scare
the hell out of me. But I truly understand now (after several near death
experiences) that I’ve already been through “the worse that could happen,” and
I’ve got nothing to lose.
On the other hand, my physical, literal, put your head on a
pillow and fall asleep dreams juxtapose my current life and realities with my
former self and my “what could have been self.” They haunt me and taunt me
because they feel so real.
I see a pregnant me. And then I wake up. Hollow and
childless.
I see 10 pretty fingers, shaking someone’s hand, writing a
new poem, baking cupcakes. And then I wake up, still partially amputated, still
not whole.
I feel joy at hearing a doctor say I don’t have PAH. And
then I wake up. Out of breath. Unsure of what the future holds.
It’s like the movie Vanilla Sky had a baby with Inception,
implanted itself in my brain and left me feeling like Eternal Sunshine of the
Spotless Mind.
Both my literal and metaphorical dreams change just as often
as my reality changes, and I’m learning to accept that also. And acceptance, like gratitude and good health is a daily practice.
Dreams are hard. Life is hard. But if and when you’re lucky
enough to have them meet, count yourself lucky, hold on tight, and enjoy the
bumpy, thrilling, unpredictable ride.
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