Dreams

Sigmund Freud believed that dreams were windows into the unconscious mind. In the open circle at Woodford Spiritualist Church last night, someone gave me a short message, telling me to start writing down my dreams. Apparently, after three months, a pattern will emerge from the record of my dreams.

I am a little sceptical about this, but I may as well give it a try. Right … one of my dreams last night was about dogs. Clever dogs, which did not like to be cooped up in one place but needed space and freedom to move about. In another dream, I was listening to the end of Brahms’s First Symphony – which was coming to an end but did not end; instead it went on and on, in different directions, even suddenly turning into a duet for two violins.

Since having that message, I have not had any really good dreams that I can recall on waking. Indeed, ever since I made the existentialist decision to quit my inauthentic lifestyle working as a Sartrean mauvaise foi sandwich salesman, my circadian rhythm has been thrown out of sync, for reasons I hardly know. Just a couple of nights ago, I could not sleep until seven in morning – and when I eventually did, it was to wake up at one in the afternoon. The world must be coming to an end.

I had a dream last night in which I was drifting along a river in a boat – which was heading towards the edge of a waterfall. At the last minute, a motor engine started running, and the boat was propelled against the current to safety, away from a steep plunge to death.

My guides are definitely trying to tell me something.