Last night I dreamed about storms again.
I saw an article yesterday about dreams, about ways people work to experience dreams more completely and controllably. That’s my night-normal. My dreams are entertainment and inspirations full of old friends and familiar places, with new adventures showing nightly.
Sometimes months go by without a storm dream, but when they come, they come in swarms. Night after night. This week already I’ve had three: hurricane, blizzard, and torrential rains. The details vary–tornadoes, floods, and lightning are all fodder for my subconscious and its unceasing need to make stories–but the theme never changes. The wold is full of dangers no one expects, and preparing for the worst is the key to survival.
The dream dictionaries all say storm dreams are a warning of turbulence and stress in waking life, about processing pain, loss and catastrophe, but mine never feel so burdensome. They aren’t nightmares. The storms don’t frighten. They exhilarate. There’s often an ominous element, a feeling of impending doom, but there’s no fear, because it’s a dream and I know it. The urgency excites. I feel renewed by the sense of purpose my storm experiences bring me.
They’re always about escape and survival, about preparing and repairing damages. No one listens to warnings at first in my dreams (a reflection of real life, perhaps) but I take something away from trying into real life when I wake up–and I always try. I’m never helpless.
There’s real power in that. Keep throwing that wild weather at me, dreaming self. I’ll keep turning it to my will.
Tea: Irish Breakfast
Steep Time: almost 10 minutes. I like typing about dreams.