Dreams

About half an hour ago, I awoke from an astonishingly vivid dream.

It wasn't particularly realistic, as it involved me levitating across a conference table; it was the emotions I felt during the dream that were so stunning.

I was in a tent, on location with director Sydney Pollack, attending a script meeting. I am not sure why I was there, but there were a dozen or so of us around the table, and I felt thoroughly out of place. After a few minutes of discussion, Mr. Pollack pointed out a small scene he had a question about...a scene I had written and added to the script without really having permission. I nervously levitated across the table to hover next to him as I pitched the scene idea, and he pointed to the title of the film and asked, "How does this relate to being Singled Out?" As I stammered an answer to the question, he put his thumb on the title page where the screenwriters' names were listed, held it up for me to see, and said, "I like it. It's in. Write it up." I floated back to my seat. Turning to look at a high school friend who's in the Industry, I gave him one of those exaggerated jaw-drop expressions. I was more elated than Pinocchio after the Blue Fairy's final visit. I'm a real writer!

Not a particularly remarkable dream. I'd spent my evening cleaning up a script for a TV producer friend (on spec, but the first time that anyone in the Industry has asked me to do any writing), and had gone to bed thinking about Daisy's compliments about my writing...so let's face it, writing was on my mind.

What was remarkable about this dream was that I remember it at all.

For most of my life, starting in my early teens, I have suffered from hellacious nightmares. For many years, I would wake up screaming, sometimes more than once in a night. They seemed to run in cycles; I would go for weeks or months without them, and then for reasons I could not identify, they would return, and I would be in their grip for days, weeks, months. It was always the same dream...a monstrous creature chasing me. Over the years, I learned (without conscious intent) not to remember these dreams. I simply phased them out of my awareness, and by the time I got married, I could have a bout of night terrors without realizing it. Apparently, I could wake up screaming like a teenage Jaime Lee Curtis and go back to sleep without knowing it.

My ex-wife went to war on my sleep habits, determined to do something about them, with or without my help. She began screaming when I'd scream, and I started waking up to her screaming. Once I was awake, she'd insist that I tell her about the dream I'd been having...and I couldn't. I never remembered a thing. Instantaneous data dump. In fact, I never remembered any of my dreams, ever.

At her insistance, I underwent a psychological evaluation, and based on family history (my grandfather had them, too), they concluded that the cause was chemical and suggested that since I'd learned to cope with them, that my then-wife either learn the same techniques for coping or sleep in a separate room. She was not happy.

After some months in therapy after my ex-wife and I separated, I connected my nightmares to the summer I turned thirteen, and the night my cousin raped me. Once I dealt with the emotions that stemmed from that incident, my nightmares stopped. The great hairy beast that had terrorized me for so long simply ceased his visits. So much for chemical causes.

For years, nothing took his place. When I awoke, I'd have no recollection of any dreams. While I was in therapy, I learned that the dream state is but one phase of sleep that is essential to getting a good night's rest. I felt that since I awoke each morning feeling rested, my sleep was effective, and I must be dreaming...I just had no memory of it.

This bothered me. Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell both wrote about the power of dreams to unlock the subconcious, and I felt that without any connection to my dreams, I could never really know myself.

I found a book about lucid dreaming, and hit upon the idea that I might be able to use some of the techniques to access my regular dreams. Each night before bed, I'd remind myself that I'd be dreaming, and I'd concentrate for a few moments on remembering. I have no idea if this helped or if I simply healed enough emotionally to begin remembering my dreams as part of the natural course of things, but after about six years, I began remembering an occasional dream.

These days, dreams are an integral part of my creative process. In the last few months, I've gotten to know some of the characters in the novel I am writing because they've visited me in the middle of the night with answers to questions I've had of them. (And if you've ever had someone wake you up at 2 am, sit on the foot of your bed and carry on a quiet conversation with you, you know exactly what I've experienced with my characters.) (By the way, Rita Mae Brown says that when this happens, you're on the right track as a writer.)

I've been rambling on about this for long enough, and I should get back to bed. To sleep, perchance to dream...