Sleep Writing

I know that my brain works overtime, coming up with strange and atmospheric stories while I sleep. Maybe it’s meant to balance my waking laziness. I won’t ask! Here’s another one of those few from which I have awakened with a crystal clear memory. Not of its putative symbolism, of course, if you’re wanting to analyze my weirdness for dreaming surreal tales with death in them that are somehow not nightmares but simply strange and (literally) colorful, unexpected nocturnal in-head cinematic confabulations.Photo: Wheat Field

Text: Color Coded 1

Digital illustration from photos + text: Color Coded 2

14 thoughts on “Sleep Writing

  1. Oh, wow! I read breathless, and then I took my time second time around!!! Kathryn, this is a wonderful work of your imagination I applaud you wholeheartedly πŸ™‚ xxx

    • I’m so pleased you enjoyed reading the piece! I never know, especially with my weird and inexplicable dream posts, what anyone will think of them. Sometimes I think my brain is a bit like quicksand even to *me*! πŸ˜‰
      xoxo

  2. Wow Kathryn, now that is some dream! I don’t often remember my dreams but last week (and mine was not nearly as colourful as yours!) I dreamt that Prince William and possible future Queen, Kate called at our house with their washing, which I proceeded to load into the macine for them. Then we chatted about this and that and they left – without the washing. I hurtled down the road trying to catch them up to no avail; I simply woke up! πŸ˜„ xx

  3. I accidentally put this comment on the wrong page, so I’m cutting and pasting it here:

    Your dream of the crimson bird wreaking decimation amid the waving fields of wheat, and then disappearing against the startling blue sky, to reappear as a man, all in white, with one crimson red streak, is somehow evocative of standing behind a curtain and witnessing a horrible event, and feeling both relieved and somewhat terrified, and definitely unsettled, even while knowing it was all just woven together within the cobwebs of your brain. It’s so curious how our minds keep spinning, weaving all sorts of scenarios, sometimes leaving us asking questions that have no answers. What does it all mean? Other than leaving us feeling unrested and discombobulated, why do the dreams spin so wildly out of control? Are our minds trying to stitch together something significant, or are we simply spectators of our own imaginations?

    I experienced an odd dream myself last night, although not nearly as eerie or dramatic as yours. In mine, I was being shuttled mercilessly around a huge corporation, constantly led from one area to another, all while trying to hide the fact that my production was dropping with every passing minute. I kept desperately trying to get back to my cubicle, so that I could push data, faster and faster, in an acute effort to bring my numbers back to highest possible outcome. I kept mentally factoring in a cacophony of variables, trying to tabulate whether or not it would be possible to achieve my goal production number, if I only could manage to get back to my cubicle in time.

    I awoke feeling two things simultaneously; (1) desperately hopeless and yet relieved, and (2) ridiculously silly. No amount of rushing or contorting one’s body or wrangling all those mental acrobatics makes up for lost time. Silly dream. Silly, silly dream.

    • Not to worry. It came through in both spots. πŸ˜€ But I’ll copy my response here, too, just in case! πŸ˜‰

      Those sound like pretty much the exact results I wake with, almost without regard to the content of my dreams! No matter how much the details of color and texture and specific events vary in mine, they always come back to similar themes, at least as I interpret them: trying to find my way through complications and/or sort and organize messes; trying to get positive attention; trying to move faster/make quicker progress at whatever it is I’m trying to accomplish in the particular episode. Since those aspects rarely change, I suppose it’s a safe assumption that I think myself a slow and underachieving character whose happiness is reliant on other people’s opinions of me and how much I can make *their* lives better (it’s rarely my own Stuff I seem to be working so hard to organize). Yet I think myself a fairly happy and contented person overall. How weird is *that*?! πŸ˜€

    • Thank you! It’s interesting to see, once in a while, whether I can conjure with my descriptions the sensations that a particular dream gave me, beyond just the bare recollection of the episode’s action.

  4. Wow, what a colorful, vivid dream, Kathryn! I’m curious, did you remember it all when morning came or did you write down these thoughts in the middle of the night. This is truly amazing. I usually don’t remember mine but if I do have poetic thoughts in the middle of the night, I’ll write them down so as not to forget them when dawn breaks. πŸ™‚ Hugs!

    • Yes, I was just commenting to Richard this afternoon that when I *don’t* scribble down my midnight inspirations, they’re virtually guaranteed to be gone when I wake. But this one was a rare exception. Clear as crystal when I woke up, and in fact it rather stayed imprinted all day long. Why this one and not others is anyone’s guess. πŸ™‚

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s