Dreams are all about you, the person enjoying a good night of REM (Rapid Eye Movement) sleep, the stage of sleep in which you have those lovely or disturbing visions. It does not matter who or what is in your dream, it’s all about you, at least that’s what my beautiful gal pal, sk, tells me. She’s smart so I’ll take her word for it. Luckily, I do not enjoy many dreams or it might just be that I don’t remember them. . .otherwise I might start wondering what the f*ck is going on with me. What in the hell must I be experiencing in life to dream of a private concert from Garth Brooks? Quit smirking, does it help if I throw in the fact that this happened to me in the early ’90s?
Those dreams that I actually remember are few and usually quite odd, hence I still live with the fact that Mr. Brooks made an appearance one night while at university. Just last night though, there were two of me in the same dream. . . two! Once the two of me became one, this one needed some medical attention, nothing life threatening but my doctor received a call on his cell phone informing him of my condition. His response? Oh, he was stuck in traffic, would be there as soon as possible but first he had to make a stop at his temple for coffee. His temple. . . for coffee! Really? Where does this shit come from? Do I really want to know?
There is one dream in particular from my childhood that comes to mind every once in a while. It freaked me out then and it still does to this day. I’ve never researched or sought to find out its meaning. I’m afraid this might lead to analyzing my feelings. . . something I try to avoid as much as possible, much to the consternation of sk, sinta ko.
On multiple occasions, I dreamt a masked man (think Jason, from Friday the 13th movie fame) came into our house, stood at my Mom’s side of the bed and in a robotic up and down motion, used an axe to chop at her body. Meanwhile, my father continued to sleep while this act was quietly accomplished. After this nightmare, I would sleepwalk down to my parent’s bedroom and stand by my Mom while she slept, ensuring her safety. My Mom would awake, find me staring at her and then she would wake me up. Usually, she failed to convince me to return to my bedroom because I wanted to be there to protect her so she allowed me to sleep in an old La-Z-Boy chair off to the side. There I slept peacefully until the next morning.
Fast forward ten years or so, I’m talking with my Mom over the telephone and we start discussing things that happened during my childhood. The subject of these dreams came up. My Mom became silent for a few seconds then asked me if I wanted to know why those nights scared her so much. Of course, I said sure. She then explained that on those nights, she experienced the exact same dream. . . same nights, same masked man, same weapon, same up and down robotic motion. . . that’s why she was always so startled when she woke up to find that someone was actually beside her while she was in bed.
So, if your dreams are all about you, no matter who or what is in your dream, if you share these visions with someone else, who’s the dream about? You or the other person, who’s having the exact same dream as you? That’s freaky shit.