A blog about dreaming a dream about writing this blog on dreaming dreams

A selfie taken by myself while asleep

… zzz … zzz … zzz … zzz … zzz … zzz … zzz … zzz …. zzz … zzz ..

A couple of nights ago, I went to a ‘workshop’ on dreams.

We sat round in a circle and exchanged dreams.

This was a problem because the reason I am interested in dreams is that I never remember mine.

Maybe once every eight months or so I wake up and remember one. But it is rare. Which I told the other people at the workshop. It cannot have been good news.

I think I am interested in the surreality of dreams because I never took psychedelic drugs. As I have mentioned before in this blog, the only drugs which ever appealed to me were LSD and heroin. Neither was available to me when I might have taken them.

By the time LSD was available to me, I had met and read about too many acid casualties to take it – I thought it might tip me over some psychological edge. And, for me, heroin is a bit like suicide: you would have to be in the right mood to start it and moods pass.

Max Ernst’s L’Ange du Foyer ou le Triomphe du Surréalisme

Max Ernst’s L’Ange du Foyer ou le Triomphe du Surréalisme

The only two dreams I have ever remembered properly were nightmares rather than dreams.

Around puberty, I had a recurring dream with a rhythmic, repetitive, increasingly-loud droning sound and there was a box which I knew I should not open but which I felt compelled by the rising, droning sound to open. I never opened it but, each time I dreamed the dream, I got more and more frightened by the rising droning sound until I woke up.

It was some sort of puberty fear dream triggered, I guessed, by the droning sound of a plane flying overhead during the night. Except I don’t think there were any planes flying overhead at night.

In the other dream I remember – and which woke me up with fear – I was me but also someone else and I was running across a flat, open grassy area lit by street lights outside a house at night-time, being chased by a man with a knife who caught me and then killed me. The killing was very physically detailed and vivid.

The LA Times reports on Manson

The LA Times reports the Manson trial

Around a week later, I read very belatedly about the Charles Manson killings in Los Angeles and that was eerie, because I calculated I had had the dream around the same night the killings took place.

Except, of course, that I don’t think any of the victims were killed outside… and the UK is seven or eight hours ahead of Los Angeles, so a night-time killing in LA would happen when it was daylight morning in the UK.

So linking the two was a fantasy layered on top of a nightmare.

Inevitably, having said I don’t remember my dreams, I woke up this morning and remembered a dream. But only part of one.

And now I have forgotten it except that it had something to do with me having a dream (within my dream) of writing a blog about dreams when I woke up in the morning.

That is true.

I think.

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