September 23, 2016 by Katia
I used to have the best dreams, even when they were the worst ones. They spread all through me reaching the deepest areas and when I woke up they continued following me clinging to my clothes, leaving their scent in my hair and ringing in my ears throughout the day. I’d be soaked in the feeling of them. I carry some of those dreams with me as memories of actual events to this day, years after I dreamed them.
I know the elevator-like view and the feeling of being on the top floor when a building crumples down underneath you and you watch the building across the street as you make your way down. I know what it’s like to jump on your bed so you could get a taste of a piece of a pink cloud that drifted into your room and what it’s like to lose control over a car you can’t drive, have your husband tell you that his next marriage is already in the making and how to fold one leg and soar up to the sky in a version of the yoga tree pose. I’ve done that often. I know the empowering yet very natural bodily sensation of moving objects with the power of your mind and the terror of having words stuck in your throat refusing to leave.
I know that loved ones who leave us are not as finite an occurrence as we assume, and I choose to accept the version whereby once they get to wherever it is they go after they leave us, they learn. I believe that because of the way the loved person who told me that in a dream looked and sounded when he spoke.
On the day of the Tsunami in Asia my husband and I were sleeping in a hotel in London on a layover on our way to visit Toronto for the first time. We were on the ground floor of the building and I dreamed of water flooding the room through the cracks between the sliding window/doors and floor. We woke up to the devastating news. When I was working for the immigrant visa section of the American Embassy in Israel I dreamt of a popular band coming to the embassy to have their work visas issued for a U.S. tour. They showed up that same morning. Shortly after moving to Canada and experiencing that sense of disorienting shuffle that your life goes through, I had a very personal dream. I don’t think God ever spoke to me, but I now know how it would feel and what the sky would look like and the colours that it would paint the city I was born in and I don’t think I can ever forget.
In a way in recent years I’ve gone from the best dreams to none.
I still dream sometimes but I regularly forget my dreams just as soon as I’m woken up. Sometimes I catch that thread by its end and follow it all the way to the beginning managing to reconstruct my dream but mostly I don’t. It’s as if dreams, like a lot of other things in my life, the life of a mother, became a luxury I can’t afford when sleep is so bad, so my brain, subconscious and memory collaboratively shut off sparing me from tasting what I can’t have.
I don’t feel bitter about the way I dream now. I’m grateful for years of meaningful message-bearing and enriching dreams and I know that most things in life move like a wave or a pendulum. Until the dreams come back to me I’ll be here waiting, better for the dreams I did have.