Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Dwelling in dreams (whilst not forgetting to live...)

I read a magazine article recently about dreams. Not the usual stuff where they pretend they know what your dreams mean, but about how the way that people dream is changing. They seem to think it's all to do with television. Apparently, before colour tv, most people dreamt in black and white, but now most dream in colour. I think this is complete rubbish. Does this mean that before tv, nobody had dreams at all? My cats dream, but they don't watch much television - they get twitchy legs and make little noises, so they're probably off in someone wonderful world where they can beat up next-door's cat and pee on whatever carpet they want. 

The article said that many people have silent dreams, so that surely disproves their original idea anyway; or is that referring to the many people who obviously watch television with the sound muted? I've spoken to loads of people, and they all dream in colour, with sound. (Actually, I just mentioned it in passing to Ms Fab, when we should have been discussing maths plans, but that was enough proof for me.) I dream every night, and usually remember what happened. A couple of nights ago, I dreamt I'd had a baby which I left on the floor and forgot to feed for a few days - that was weird and probably signifies something I'd rather not know about.

In dreams, I've lived in the rainforest in a hut made of money-spiders. I've had a dog killed by chimpanzees (I hate chimps, they scare me), I've climbed to the moon on a tower of scaffolding, and I've died twice. Stairs are a recurring theme - in all sorts of houses. When I've been stupid enough to consult a dream dictionary, I'm told it means I'm 'confident and moving up in the world.' I disagree. I don't think I'm ever confident in anything I do, and I feel I'm stagnating, not moving up. 

I think that dreams may be handy for writing, though. I read a wonderful book called The World House, by Guy Adams, which is like a long, strange dream. It's about a box which contains a door into a house. In that house, one room may contain a forest, another a ship on a sea; the library holds books of everyone's lives and are gradually being eaten away. It's bizarre, but brilliant. I would love to write something like that. 

I really want to do Na-No-Wri-Mo in November, but don't think I have the discipline to write fifty thousand words in a month, and do an OU course at the same time. Something else to add to the list of 'When I Finish Studying.'

No comments:

Post a Comment