Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
-Thomas Dekker
Golden are the sleeping ages.
-Anon
Dreams say what they mean, but they don’t say it in daytime language.
-Gail Godwin
Sleep is the doorway to a world of ravishment, suffocation, exhilaration, boredom, terror, joy and all places in between. One may travel a continent or two, another may live a lifetime or more. Who has not also occasionally vanished helplessly into oblivion? Then, in an instant, been teleported back to waking and a rapidly receding sense of … longing?
Where do you go at night? Would you share your memories? Tell your stories and I’ll tell you mine.
This brief post is a lullaby and invitation to log your dreams here at Doves & Serpents. Leave your dreamlog as a comment, or send it to dreamlog@dovesandserpents.org. Do it anonymously, pseudonymously, or out-of-the-closet-ly … whatever works for you. Starting with next week’s post and then sporadically thereafter we’ll explore the landscapes of each dreamlog together. I’m so excited!
Sweet dreams, friends.
— —
NOTES:
- The Image – clipped from an image shared by Judaic Sound Archives. From the cover of a book of lullabies including Cradle Song, a lullaby written by Thomas Dekker for his play Patient Grissel, 1603. And, yes, also the inspiration for Paul McCartney’s gorgeous song.
- Resources – Special thanks to our own Heather Olson Beal for posting the Gail Godwin quote on my Facebook wall — found in Dream Big, starring Olivia by Ian Falconer. Also to Erin for reminding me that Golden Slumbers is perhaps the most awesome track on one of the greatest Beatles albums ever. And to Kendahl whose dreams of mashed potato dance choreography should be an inspiration to us all.
- About – Cipher on a Wall is a weekly column and forum here on Doves & Serpents which explores the realm of mind, memories, and dreams. You can find an introductory post for Cipher on a Wall here and a full archive of posts here. My name is Matt, and I’ll be your host for the duration.
Cool idea Matt. I rarely remember my dreams, but, if and when I do, I’ll contribute.
It’s difficult to do, true. But now you have a reason and that’s a major plus! :D
Wait–are you saying you think you can actually will yourself to remember your dreams? I probably remember a dream once or twice a year. ??
I think Andy just answered the question below. :D For me it’s a matter of awaking from the dream and spending some time contemplating it — even then I’ll forget all but the most lucid, repetitive themes unless I write things down. Something I almost never do, until now that it. But look at Andy. He’s been practicing.
With a small amount of effort, you’ll notice a huge improvement in dream recall. It’s mostly about will, in fact: if you want to remember your dream, you’ll succeed before long.
What I’ve recorded below is one sleep cycle – out of 5 that are part of an average night’s sleep (90 mins per cycle, approx). The later cycles will be more extensive than earlier ones – but it’s possible to attain more than 5 times the amount of narrative I included below, from a single night’s sleep.
You do that every night, unconsciously. The extent of the mind is overwhelming – and (to me) irresistable!
I’m really excited about this – I’ve been meticulous about recording every dream of the night at times in my life… it’s hard work, but it’s worth it for the view into the sleeping mind. This week I’ll try again… I’ll use it to try to do some lucid exploration!
BTW, love the Abbey Road track… :)
Recorded from the night of 12/12/10. All these dreams occurred in one sleep cycle, at the end of an 8 hour sleep (12.45am-8.45am).
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Upstairs, I explained to the older man that everything seemed to be changing: watching an advertisement on TV, I noticed how websites were given as the primary place to buy an album. (I really saw an advert like this, last night). It was a beautiful house — I admired the interior, and left.
Outside a building that I now recognised had been acquired for the church’s Institute of Religion, I couldn’t believe how small it appeared from the front. I knew that they could save money by getting the missionaries to share a car with the facility: but that would mean asking the members for rides in the evening — extra inconvenience. I looked at the plaque by the doorbell: it had the name of the department store that the owner used for so many years.
* * * *
At the rim of a natural crater formation in the Yorkshire Dales, I stood with my sister, talking about having the opportunity to hang-glide off the edge, into the thick cloud. How long could you hover there, before you descended to the bottom? I didn’t think it would be very long.
I knew that she was about to go away for some activity for a while, so I walked on her way with her, along towards some hills. She was visibly upset, and we talked. As we approached the hills I pointed to a gap in between two high points, where the perspective of the earth seemed to be inverted: we could see the land on the other side, arching up, and off into the distance! We decided that it must just be a ridge of higher ground. Still, I was surprised that I didn’t know it existed before now.
Near the hills I saw my youngest brother, coming down the slope with a group of men, carrying long stone blocks, about a metre long each. Some carried them together, and some on their own. My brother dropped his side of the stone, hurting the man who carried it with him. I was worried — but soon the man laughed: it was alright. They rolled the stones down the hill now, in two carved paths that ran parallel.
* * * *
In a later scene, I found myself in my Grandparent’s house (my Grandad died about a month ago). I knew it was time for me to leave to church, but I could hear Grandma snoring upstairs. I would have to go without letting her know. I looked at what I was wearing, and thought it inappropriate: one of my jumper’s sleeves was cut off, and place back on my arm, so you could see the shirt underneath it. I considered rolling my sleeves up, but didn’t think that would work. I went and looked in the mirror, and had an uncanny moment: I saw my Grandad, looking back at me. I moved closer, and focused on my eyes — I discovered that from that centre, I looked just like him. My reflection returned.
I have to say, I didn’t expect such a ready response. I’m thrilled! Thank’s Andy!
Holy crap, it’s going to be fun exploring this and your practice is an inspiration. We’re putting ourselves out there with these and should expect a respectful, profound and fascinating conversation will arise from each. For now … contemplation. Step back, walk around, look up close and from every angle … for dreams are the art we do while sleeping.
Wow, I’m having a similar response to this. How exciting! I need to commit myself to keeping a dream journal and see what part of my mind opens up. It probably helps that I watched Inception last Friday, right?
That film is inspiring to me: the whole bit about dream architecture.
Okay, I wrote down my dreams from last night and it was so fun. I am going to keep this up and see what I glean from the process. Any pointers, Andy?
This morning I awoke with the strong sense that I’d had this dream before, at at least that the horrific device in the dream was not new to me.
I’d been dreaming for some time, it seems, that I was a Jew in Nazi Germany (I watched Fahrenheit 451 last night and think this was a response). At first, like Montag, I was hiding and working among the Nazis but then was outed … oddly, by a bump on my shaven head. This foreplay of the dream has that feeling of epic span and I guess this is the most important feature, vague as it is to me now. The climax of the dream is most memorable as, after a long time hiding in a house with other Jews, and after many one-off skirmishes and simple victories, the house was overrun by Nazi hordes. Something like Nazi Zombies but only vaguely. I was among those who survived and remained captured within the house by a contingent of the larger group that had been left behind to guard us. One of us had a very odd device. A horrific kind of weapon made of, I believe, a wood block with a long strip of rubber attached. It did not look like a weapon an this was its charm. One by one we isolated our captors and eliminated them with this device. It had at least two methods of use: the first, wrapping the rubber strip or band around the victims neck in a playful way that seemed to the target like a kind of comical gag, then flicking the rubber band would kill the victim in an astonishingly sudden way that I could not quite understand. The second, we applied as the need to kill more quickly began to arise and this method was more brutal and grotesque — one would point the device at the target’s head and pull its trigger and blaaamo! a silent hole in the head and gore all about. At one point we were running out of parts for the device. I was aware that we’d hidden parts outside the house in a hole against the chimney where it meets the ground. One of us, seems like my sister, reached through the fireplace and was able to grab the parts. Don’t ask me how this worked but we were all astonished and grateful as going outside was out of the question, for fear of being discovered. We continued our ruse and bloody task until one by one each of our captors had been destroyed. Something more may have happened here. We may have escaped. We may have remained in the house. I’ve either forgotten or this part of the dream never resolved, being too close to my waking moment.
I’ll have to dig out my dream journal. I go through periods of time where my dreams are vivid and potent with meaning. But I’m currently in a drought. Probably have been since the last babe was born. Sleepless nights aren’t really conducive to REM for me. But I’ll be reading the analyses of these with interest!
Wow. Andy and Matt- amazing dreams! Matt, I occasionally find myself committing unspeakable acts of violence in my dreams. Biting people’s heads off, even, if I can recall clearly (which I can’t, of course).
My most common dream theme is anxiety. Forgetting things, unable to see clearly while driving heavy machinery around small children, out of control vehicles, being foiled at every turn while trying to accomplish a task. I probably need therapy.
Okay, I must have scared people off with my bizarre dreams. KMillecam, come share here!
Last night I dreamed, in part, that I was being fitted for an orchestra uniform. Or a choir dress. I settled on a very slimming white gown, and then was disappointed to realize that I had to have black to be in the orchestra.
Then I accepted an assignment from the bishop (the bishop in a ward I attended summers as a teenager) to contact all the sisters in the ward for some purpose I can’t remember now. I was in the car in the parking lot and it was through the car window that we had the conversation. There were more car-related themes that are fuzzy now.
No scared, Claire. Only profound contemplation. :D Thank you for sharing. Obviously we’re putting ourselves out there with this and I want to encourage it not discourage. Car-related themes! Yes! Anxiety? totally share it. Aggression? you know I have it and so does everyone else.
I’ll make this point in my next post but I don’t want to analyze anyone’s dreams. I’m not qualified nor do I think it’s what’s most interesting and fascinating. I’d rather we just put it out there to be experienced — like any other art. Each person can do what they want with it — connect, appreciate, contemplate, express a response, etc.
Okay, since my older son has come down with a fever (again!), I haven’t written my dreams down in the last few days. But I will share the one I have written down:
I wake up in the morning in a huge bed alongside all the Mormon feminists. We had had a huge party and dinner the night before at our retreat, and I had to collect all of my things. I pile my brown dishes up and the teacups balance precariously on top. Everyone else is still asleep as I look around the room. There is clothing everywhere, and easels with ideas scrawled across them. I have more things I need to gather up that I have pushed under the bed, larger kitchen items like a rice cooker. I think about how many trips it will take me to get everything to the car.
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I wake up in my bed at home, check the clock (it’s 6:25), get out of bed, and open the blinds. R shifts but stays asleep. I go to the bathroom and then come back. I notice a large poster-board next to his side of the bed. It’s balanced on his amp, with magazine cutouts pasted all over it. It’s a game. I go over to read it. I turn around and there is a smaller poster-board on my dresser. Mine has questions about “What character from this TV show did _____.”, surrounded by obscure pictures of the character from Beverly Hills, 90210. I smirk because I have just watched reruns of it in the last several months, and I know the answers to the questions. But wait, how did our friends get the poster-boards into our room while we were sleeping? And why did cjane make mine? She signed it right here. I don’t even know her. And why aren’t there instructions on the board for how to play the game and pass it on?
Kmillecam, love the huge bed/bedroom image.
Reminds me of a dream I had this week. I’m in my college dorm room, surveying the mess. I go about cleaning it up methodically: I pile all the clothes and shoes on one bed, all the toys (?) on another, books and school work on the third.
Why are there three beds?
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