Creativity is the ability to separate the mind from the shackles of reality. Until last night I didn’t really understand those people who claimed they never dreamed, or claimed they did not remember their dreams, and finally, I got some insight on why there are some who either do not dream or whose minds eliminate dreams from memory more quickly than others. By remembering a dream I allow my mind to take ownership of a construct that cannot exist in the real world. By doing this I admit to myself memory is selective and faulty to a degree that may frighten or confuse those whose creativity is stored away like an unlit candle both pure yet un-illuminated.
But the dream started out oddly. The first part centered on a conversation I was having with a friend who described the work habits of a mutual acquaintance as predatory in nature and almost immediately I awoke from this dream and felt a sense of dismay that I knew was not supposed to be real. I know the conversation did not take place but I also knew there was little I could do about how I was feeling at that moment in time. I felt as if I should have gotten up and gotten away from my attempt at sleep because I didn’t think I would sleep again but I did.
I woke up trying to see the clock. There was a round container of some liquid in front of the clock, not a glass of water, but some other fluid. If I edged the container one way I could read the numbers more clearly and if I edged it over the other way the numbers would become blurred. I woke up and was reaching towards something that disappeared in front of me. The container had not existed. There was no fluid and the clock read 3:00.
Again, I felt as if I could not sleep but once again I drifted off. There was a walkway, where a stone stairway came down, first to the right of where I stood, and then directly towards me and on either side of the stairway were lush gardens of ornamental plants and flowers. The stairway was not very steep as it led down to the right and there was a small stone landing and several broad steps for the transition before the stairway led towards me. The sun was nearly behind me and to my left, and the shadows cast on the stairway from the plants made an assortment of patterns on the stone. There were many containers made of red clay, but not the orange colored red clay, but bright red, and it seemed a happy place, this garden, and I had a sense that this was happening in the future and this was not earth.
Suddenly I was back in my old room, back in my father’s house, and I was the same age as I am now, and it felt very strange to be in that room again. Even at Christmas I do not go back into that room, and likely I will not again. But in the dream there I was and the ancient telephone that I used as a teenager rang. It was my father. He has the habit of saying “Mike1” when I answer the phone, and I’ll say, “This is he” as if he doesn’t recognize my voice, ever, when he calls. So the phone rings and its my father and he tells me, “ I got caught by a buzzsaw” which makes sense because I was at a bonfire earlier in the night and someone used a chainsaw to cut some wood. That isn’t the strange part. The strange part is that in the dream my father walks into the room and starts talking to me while I’m on the phone with him. Back when I was a teenager he would do that, just walk into the room and start talking if I was on the phone. In the dream I told him I was on the phone, and in the dream I told the father on the phone to hold on a second, because someone had interrupted us. The father not on the phone kept talking and like the days of old, I had to tell who I was speaking with on the phone, who was also my father, that I would call him back.
And so this is why I think there are many people who cannot remember their dreams. In my dream there was a mutually exclusive pair of events occurring simultaneous. I write so my mind is more geared towards something not based in reality being more acceptable to how my mind operated. The idea of time travel, a futuristic society, bilocation, and so much more are things I think about on a regular basis while someone who doesn’t write may never address even one of these issues as the subject of something he or she might create.
This isn’t to say the creative mind or the creative person is a better person simply because that person can remember dreams while another cannot, but I do believe there are thoughts in our dreams that invade our normal thinking processes and being able to identify what they are and why they are there might help some people.