Dreams have intrigued waking man for centuries upon centuries. The "science" of dream interpretation boasts various schools of thought, and philosopher-artists have produced numerous works related to the significance of dreams.
Shamanic traditions hold the dream state in high esteem, its lightness of being a window into other dimensions. The art of lucid dreaming proclaims an unbroken continuum of consciousness between the waking and sleeping state and can be taught to an adept. And last but not least, mediums claim that the spirits of the dead come most easily to us in dreams, when the heavy veil of physicality is lifted.
For that matter, approximately one third of our lives pass us by in slumber, not an insignificant statistic by any measure. (Make it 1/8th for insomniacs.) So it behooves us to take at least minimal interest in this phenomenon.
As for me, formal dream analysis never captured my imagination or piqued my curiosity. Dreams seem too magical to be interpreted with the logic of the waking state; they have a life of their own that reflects a reality back to us through a hall of uniquely designed mirrors.
In that spirit, I would like to relate my most unusual dreams of late. I have been visited by George Harrison, Bill Clinton, Carlos Santana, Hillary Clinton (with Bill in tow) and Clint Eastwood - all within a ten day period. Virtually every other night, an icon of our era has conversed with me as if he or she were a confidant and regular every day friend. No Chagall fantasy landscapes or superhuman acts of flying or walking on water took these dreams into a land of altered space and time.
Normally, my dreams take place in public spaces with lots of people not known to me in waking hours. So this series of intimate conversations was not only out of the ordinary; upon awaking it felt like I actually was with these people.
Which leads to the best line of conversation I had in the dreamtime. I was sitting with Mr. Eastwood in his office and related how I almost died from chemotherapy treatment. He nodded and communicated that he too had had a near miss of some kind, but survived. He then smiled gleefully and said, "Crazy juice."
Need I say more?
Shamanic traditions hold the dream state in high esteem, its lightness of being a window into other dimensions. The art of lucid dreaming proclaims an unbroken continuum of consciousness between the waking and sleeping state and can be taught to an adept. And last but not least, mediums claim that the spirits of the dead come most easily to us in dreams, when the heavy veil of physicality is lifted.
For that matter, approximately one third of our lives pass us by in slumber, not an insignificant statistic by any measure. (Make it 1/8th for insomniacs.) So it behooves us to take at least minimal interest in this phenomenon.
As for me, formal dream analysis never captured my imagination or piqued my curiosity. Dreams seem too magical to be interpreted with the logic of the waking state; they have a life of their own that reflects a reality back to us through a hall of uniquely designed mirrors.
In that spirit, I would like to relate my most unusual dreams of late. I have been visited by George Harrison, Bill Clinton, Carlos Santana, Hillary Clinton (with Bill in tow) and Clint Eastwood - all within a ten day period. Virtually every other night, an icon of our era has conversed with me as if he or she were a confidant and regular every day friend. No Chagall fantasy landscapes or superhuman acts of flying or walking on water took these dreams into a land of altered space and time.
Normally, my dreams take place in public spaces with lots of people not known to me in waking hours. So this series of intimate conversations was not only out of the ordinary; upon awaking it felt like I actually was with these people.
Which leads to the best line of conversation I had in the dreamtime. I was sitting with Mr. Eastwood in his office and related how I almost died from chemotherapy treatment. He nodded and communicated that he too had had a near miss of some kind, but survived. He then smiled gleefully and said, "Crazy juice."
Need I say more?
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