Friday, September 9, 2011

The Ali Baba Dream and Elaine and Scott

The Ali Baba Dream, as it was known in a small circle of former friends, convinced me that even though people were not responsible for what they dreamed they were shunned by those they repeated the dream to, even if those people harangued the dreamer into relating the dream. I have a filter now and the filter screens out a lot of sexual energy that I am almost certain occurs in the dreams of people who remember, or who do not remember, what their subconscious is dreaming up for them, no pun intended.
Decades ago I started making an effort to remember and on occasion write down my dreams and as a result I remember them vividly, and sometimes too much so. There is this deep and well meaning suspicion in my mind that I’m in some way sabotaging the purpose of dreams by remembering them, by making them a part of the waking life they were not intended to be. I suspect I make things worse by examining even the small ones for some intention. Considering the number of people who swear they remember nothing about their dreams and in this population there seems to be an overwhelming amount of normality, the conclusion that remembering dreams feeds the fire, or the fire feeds remembering the dreams, is a solid one. If you haven’t a clue as to what I just said, move along, please, this is going to get a lot worse before it gets better, I tell you.

Still with me? That’s a good thing, or not, depending on why you’re still reading this. But think about the consequences of allowing someone to communicate with you who you may or may not know very well. You mind is a lot like that sometimes. Do you really know what that last dream meant? A friend of mine kept having sex dreams involving her female roommate and both were, ostensibly, straight. She had the same dream four or five times and was appalled each time. Of course this was an odd situation because throughout her life she had nearly always had a best friend who was much better looking than she was. The sidekick to the hot woman having sex dreams about women… go figure.
That’s just surface tension when it gets down to it, and all know it. The mistake, I think, is to try to rationalize sleeping brain activity in the same manner that you rationalize thought when you’re driving a car. If you pull into a strip joint on your way home, yes, there are some implications to your actions that are totally unavoidable. Clearly, you have some issue with expectations versus reality, but that’s beside the point. If you dream about strippers then that’s a totally different situation entirely, and regardless of where you stand on pole dancing, your dreams rarely reflect your honest opinion on pasties. Well, I do in fact suspect that your dreams do indeed reflect how you feel about something things, like spiders, snakes, falling, fire, bears, and when it comes to sex, if you’re dreaming about someone you know and love, it may be exactly what it seems to be. But which is which and when?

Suppose whatever popped into your head came out of your mouth. If just one person lacked a social filter then they would be considered insane but if everyone was like this then what do you suppose would happen? Either people would get used to hearing, “Yes, by dog! That dress
makes your bottom look like the back of a bus draped in cloth!”  or they would learn to stop asking.  But we all know a woman asking if a dress makes her look fat isn’t asking about the dress or her weight but some sort of reassurance the person being asked likes the way she
looks in the dress or in general.  If you’re watching a movie with a woman on your sofa and you suggest wine, and she accepts, both of you knows alcohol lowers inhibition.  Now here’s an interesting question; how many of you ( those who are still with me , that is) how often is
kissing discussed before it happens?  The  wine kicks in, a bathroom break is need, the DVD player is paused, she goes to the bathroom, the man in question pours more wine, has an inner debate as if the time is right, gets nervous, she returns, and  they kiss.  She might go into
the bathroom wonder when he’s going to make that first move, how further he might push it, how far she’ll allow considering she would really like to stick around for breakfast, but doesn’t want him to think she’s easy. All of this might be discussed quite easily but when it gets right down to it, to quote Sarah McLaughlin, we are fumbling towards ecstasy.  So the man and woman on the sofa kiss, kiss some more, she gently refuses his advances, he retreats to a safe point but she playfully accepts his banter and the evening ends with both parties wishing for more but with her going home before she’s gets too intoxicated. They meet again and things get serious yet it’s the third date when the clothes fly away like migratory fowl heeding some inner
call at the right season. We couch our desires of other people’s actions in different ways as to express a desire for a certain behavior without expressing those desires outright. In a sense, our
ritualistic behavior has become nearly subconscious in nature. We cannot hope to understand our dreams and what our minds do when we are asleep when we barely recognize what we are saying and doing when we are awake.
            All of what you’ve read so far comes from an American, and a Southerner, and a man. I am also left handed, love canines, and dislike country music. What I have written is tainted, or enhanced, by who I am and what I am. You may disagree with me, agree with me, think
I’m the next Plato or suspect I’ve been smoking meth, but my opinion and your opinion on my opinion, has very little to do with what is true and what isn’t, or what is factual and what isn’t, but rather emotional responses to one another. The fictional man and woman on the sofa stealing glances at one another until their eyes meet and they move closer to one another or hold hands, are becoming intimate in a way that you and I are sharing at this very moment. And just like
those two, either you are liking what you’re seeing, or you’re wondering when the hell I’ll finally shut up. Either way, it’s a form of communication and if you’ll think about everything I have written so far, you’ll understand you and I are using this medium as a form of communication that is not totally unlike how we communicate with ourselves when we dream. Emotion, imagery, and at times, some disjointed and disconnected seemingly random brain energy that may or may not have some meaning, yes, all of it is here!
            So Elaine and Scott, the man and woman who were drinking wine on the sofa wake up in the morning to discover they are lovers. A thousand different control knobs are waiting to be turned. Did they use some sort of birth control? Is there a beautiful sunrise? Is either hungover? Are there any potentially embarrassing marks on her neck? Did Scott snore loudly? Or was the night everything they both hoped and yearned for in every way? Will they awake with an afterglow that warms them both for the rest of their lives? Will the neighbors, who are goodly distance away, be talking about that night for a while? Alas! This is not a dream, yet it is fiction, and the story of Elaine and Scott comes to an end, now. Do you have in your mind some pleasant ending for them, replete with golden sunsets and grandchildren, or did you lose it with the snoring thing? Everything you feel for them is in fact a daydream, and I wonder how much control we have there as well.
            Take Care,

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