Last night’s dreams were fragmented and murky. I was struggling to remember them even while I was dreaming. But there was surely something there…some kind of narrative, but it just didn’t have the staying power to stick in my awake consciousness.
I’m the type of person who believes that dreams can have a deep significance to our sense of self. They may seem a little random or without meaning if you just think about them in your own head. But when you start to talk about them, or in my example, write them down as if you are narrating their unfolding in real time, you’ll receive insights to your own inner workings. People like myself are deeply invested in what you are trying to tell to yourself. Trying to pick up those broken seashells of meaning awash on the roaring shores of my subconscious mind. Usually I’ll pick up broken bits of something that had it’s own life…but sometimes I’ll find those perfectly intact seashells gleaming in the bright sunlight.
I went to bed with a touch of despair, but woke up feeling more hopeful.