I stayed in bed late today, or rather I fought getting out of bed. I was having wonderful, psychedelic, wild dreams playing to the soundtrack of Madonna’s Devil Wouldn’t Recognize You.
My dreams always have music, and I’m always amazed at how the music fits the action. When I wake, I usually can’t remember the details of the dream, just flashes of images, but the music stays with me. I hum it throughout the day. My guess is that my subconscious has access to my iTunes library. That would explain why I never dream to a Barbara Streisand song – not that I wish to.
There are some dreams that are vivid - the color is clear, the shadows distinct, the emotion high – and I recall them at the oddest times and see them in my mind’s eye as if I’m watching a film. Even stranger is that some dreams or parts of dreams recur. As I write this, I have flashes of several which surface with frequency.
I’ve never been one to analyze dreams. I know people who do, and it always seems to me to be a bit like the horoscope – if you interpret its meaning a certain way, then you’ll shape the direction of activities to fit that interpretation.
Instead, I enjoy them for what they are – a collage of things that somehow have made their way into my subconscious. To sound really trippy, I’d say that sometimes your mind formulates images from sounds or music that you hear – so while you haven’t consciously seen an image, the deeper part of your brain has. Sounds weird, but it’s the only explanation for some of the things that cross my path in the darkness of night. It’s our imaginations at work. Just like when we read.
I think George Bernard Shaw captured it when he said: You see things; and you say, “Why?” But I dream things that never were; and I say ‘Why Not?’
