Dreams are so weird. Well, mine are to me. If I told you about them you would probably find them really boring, so I will spare you that. I did have one last night where it was a dream inside a dream. Those are rare. In my dream I was telling two people about what we were doing in a dream, and yes, their eyes were glazing over as I spoke… in my dream!
Although most dreams are strange and hardly seem worth remembering when the alarm goes off in the morning, some dreams seem to demand our attention. Those dreams feel more lucid and not like a dream at all. There’s something different about the light, the feel, the sounds and the overall intensity of them. Have you had one of these lately? Do you know what I’m talking about?
Mine was simple and non-threatening. It was a red crayon. It was just lying there waiting for me to pick it up. I remember exactly what it looked like. It was one of those big chunky crayons, made for little hands. It was new and perfect in shape and form. The tip was an unpressed cone of wax, still shiny from the processing plant. The paper sleeve on the crayon was free of wear and tear. I could tell it had not been handled much, if at all. It was as if this crayon had been perfectly preserved from childhood. My childhood. It was being saved for now. Saved for me to take and use in my 48th year of life. Perhaps in the past I have used other colors. Maybe those have already been worn down past the paper wrapper, but not the red. I’ve never used the red. Why? Is it too bold? Is it too everything I have never felt qualified to do until now? Continue reading