Kind of by accident, I ended up in psychology of consciousness and dreams this quarter. I’m already having problems with it, thanks to my background in philosophy (I don’t really care what you say, you are never going to convince me that there is no free will and that everything we do is biologically determined by structures in our brains)…BUT, I am really looking forward to what comes of my dream log. I didn’t think I was prone to remembering my dreams, but our prof told us that, if we take a few moments to rehash what was happening in our dream when we wake up, instead of moving immediately onto thoughts of the day, they might stick. That has been miraculously true so far. I’ve been remembering quite a few, but this is the first one I wrote down (from last night):
The first part I remember is being in a pet store. It’s huge, but I seem to know my way around it. In retrospect, I’ve never been there in person, but I vaguely remember the same pet store from another dream. I find a big cage with a blue macaw in it, and a salesperson helps me get it out. I pet it, and scratch its neck, and it flips over on its back for me to scratch its belly. I tell the salesperson that my dad’s Eleanora cockatoo used to do this, that he bought her from Lynne. I expect the salesperson to know who Lynne is, but she doesn’t, so I repeat it a few times, thinking she’ll get it. Overall, I’m feeling content.
Then, the dream kind of jumps to our lake house, where a lot of my dreams take place. When I have a dream at the lake house, everything is exactly as I remember it being there, right down to the trees. I’m out on the dock by the lake. I’m my age, and I feel my age. My cousin, Adam, who is currently 13 and seems a little bit younger in the dream, comes up from the house with the macaw on one hand and my bird, Pogo, on the other. I’m screaming at him that he shouldn’t have Pogo, because I seem to know that his wings haven’t been clipped and he can fly away if he wants to. I am absolutely panicking. I run to my cousin, who seems confused about my anger, and Pogo suddenly flies away from him and up into a tree. I’m completely hysterical, sobbing, holding out my hand and yelling for Pogo to come back. He immediately does. I start running up toward the house, holding him close to my chest.
It’s not currently a poem as is, but I can see it. I’m thinking I’ll turn this class into a poetry project, making poems out of the dreams.