Dreamworld

I wrote last night that I was thinking about past dreams and the landscape of my mind. I’m still thinking about this. I am still having very vivid dreams, the kind that indicate I am not writing or art-making enough to properly process everything I’ve been observing and experiencing these days. There’s also a lot of anxiety manifesting itself in these dreams, through chases, threats, danger, and urgency. Early this morning I dreamed I stood with Erik looking out an enormous window. Before us we could see the sea: oddly calm, motionless and smooth and shining as a mirror; and the sky, its vast expanse flooded with the rich colors of sunset. It was a scene of great peace and beauty; and yet, the wind that didn’t touch the water raged about our faces, chilling our bodies, buffeting and actually rending the window blinds until their individual slats shook in every direction. We held one edge of the blinds while the rest flew above our heads in an arc: wild, uncontrolled; the wind’s destructive force in every movement. The dream was my usual crazy detailed story, but within it, there was this arresting moment at the window where we stood literally at the threshold between chaos and calm.

Whenever I remember these vivid dreams, upon waking, I’m startled at the disconnect between their extraordinary beauty and creative power, and the rather quotidian creativity of my conscious mind. I do think I’m an unusually creative person, but what I can do when I’m awake is nothing — nothing — compared to what’s in my dreams. You know the lovely drawing I did last week? In my dreamworld she would be in rich color, and in motion. I always think that if only the world could see what I see when I’m asleep, people would be stunned. And yet there is this enormous distance between the two; it feels unbridgeable. Occasionally I have these brief flashes of vision that can somewhat approximate my dreamworld in waking life, but these are so fleeting, and I never know what to do with them. My dreams are replete with colors and physical spaces — I seem especially drawn to heights, either being under them or atop them — and sometimes physical sensations as well, such as speed, or floating. How to depict these qualities?

It strikes me while writing about this that perhaps I feel so powerless to tap into my dreams because they operate in a visual/emotional/mental language that is wholly different from the one in which my conscious artist makes its (comparatively) narrow attempts. It’s possible I’m so handicapped in my waking efforts because I lack the tools with which to express my dream landscape… so these tools need to be sought out and cultivated. I might begin this week by refocusing on perspective, and taking this practice “to the streets” by going out and sketching buildings, interiors, and landscapes — maybe on the Berkeley campus, which has striking architectural and natural features around every corner. If my dreamworld is full of grandeur in the sense of space, I need to learn how to draw that, or at least evoke it.

I wonder if this frustration with dreams vs. reality is what drew artists like the Beatles to take LSD? I would never do drugs myself, but I’m starting to understand the quest for altered states of consciousness… the hope is that they might be the bridge one needs to traverse the conscious and subconscious worlds!!