People sometimes ask me if I dream about quilts. In fact I do. Not really quilt patterns, but fabrics and colors swirling around, which is truly a dream. When I am awake, I am not good with colors. But when I dream they are award-winning combinations of hues and textures, as if they have come from an artist's palette to a canvas and right into the world of my dream. These are nice dreams.
Then there are the not nice dreams such as the anxiety dream. The college test.you know the one.the one you are about to take when you realize you have never attended the class. You have never read the book. How about the dream within the dream? You are dreaming that maybe you are dreaming and if so, then you already graduated and maybe have a life that does not include college tests.
Then you wake up.
It takes a few moments, but you realize you graduated 25 years ago and there is no test. Then you analyze your anxieties. Maybe the deadline is up on an article you need to write (like this one, perhaps?). Perhaps life's anxieties make you need to dream to bring it all to the forefront of your brain.
The naked dream can be either one of the most or least fun to have. And yet it is among the least likely to be posted on the internet. Surely everybody has the naked dream, but how many times do you hear people talk about it? Could it be that the mere mention of it conjures up a visual image, one's naked self, that most of us would rather not encourage?
In a recent dream I found myself naked in church. Oh my! How could I have been so careless to have not gotten dressed? The church was filling rapidly before the busiest service. I hid in shame between my kids. Where's a fig leaf when you need one? I slunk down and crawled on the floor like the serpent, worthy of nothing more, aching to escape, slithering from one aisle to the next. I ended up in a California orange grove. I ran and somehow was miraculously dressed by the time I got to a bustling downtown jewelry store where I bumped into two friends who had a cell phone. I called my husband to explain why I left church so abruptly and without explanation. He was fine with that and appreciated the call.
The recurring dreams my husband loves are flying dreams. His dreams are so detailed that it is as if to have flown yourself. I envied him so, until this weekend my dream of a dream came true.
I took off from a canyon mountainside beneath a colorful box kite with a seat. I held on to ropes at my side that I used for steering. Though the canyon was narrow, the ride was anything but frightening.
The wind swept through me as warm as the most perfect day imaginable. The type of day in which you become one with the weather. The feeling you have when someone touches you without touching you, just a sweep of their hand across your cheek to move a misplaced hair. A breath on your neck. A tingle. Your skin can feel the air. It soaks it in. You wish to bottle it, to freeze time, because it might never be this perfect again.
In seconds I was soaring through the crevices narrowly missing rocks, but without fear, only total control and fascination. I would never quit. I was flying, the kite was barely there. I was sitting and moving through space like the eagles next to me, their enormous wingspans creating secondary wind patterns. I pulled the strings like a professional marionette, waltzing gracefully through the narrow canyon.
I flew through the air over a landscape of hues and textures. I was anxious about nothing and fully clothed. I wish you dreams that are just as sweet.
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