Of all the things to change during this sabbatical season, the most unexpected is what happens at night.
For three days now, I’ve drifted off to sleep with the knowledge that I have no meetings or agenda awaiting come morning. I’m guessing that this empty space is being filled with my creative impulses, subconscious desires, and perhaps a small tinge of anxiety, because each night I have had the wildest, most detailed stories unfold in my dreams. This is a new thing.
Each dream stars a known entity – someone I love dearly in my conscious life. But the plot that unfolds seems so far off the beaten path that I wake up shaking my head with wonder. I’ve always wanted to write fiction; perhaps my dreams are doing it for me.
Last night’s escapades featured my youngest daughter, captured by a cruel ruler in another land, impregnated to give birth to his heir, and then kept far from her family until we plotted a daring rescue mission to bring her home.
It was full of drama and tension; in the middle of the rescue operation, while she still believed that we didn’t recognize her, that she’d been forgotten and abandoned, I whispered, We’re here. We didn’t forget you. We’re bringing you home. The release of powerful emotions woke me up.
I’m currently reading (among other things) The Body Keeps The Score, fascinated by the way our brains and bodies work together to manifest truth that we sometimes don’t recognize. It might be good to pay attention to my dreams.
(And, yes, I get it. I miss my daughter. She married a guy who loves the West Coast and has no plans to leave – ever. And eventually, they’d like to start a family. I guess my maternal instincts fuel the desire to plot a daring rescue for a girl that seems too far away for this mama…)