Alchemical Dreaming

Dreamed last night that I was in what we might reasonably call a wonderful relationship, but the whole time I had this feeling that something was wrong with it. It wasn’t till the end that I realized that the thing wrong was that I was asleep.

It was one of those rare instances where I woke up in the middle and then fell back into a continuation of the same dream. I can’t really recount it, except to say that there was this cult – let’s call them the Cult of Life – who all wore navy blue berets. My love had joined this cult. It’s like she was away at school and I was going to visit. I didn’t know what the school was, or about the hats they wore, till I got there. I attended a lecture and found a hat left on one of the seats. It was black. I put it on. One of the passing members, in his blue beret, told me it was right that I should wear it.

I have, in truth, been quietly obsessed with thoughts of my own mortality. I am about to turn the age of my father when he died, many years ago now. It’s hard to tell, when obsessed with such thoughts, whether they are keenly perceptive or paranoid.

It’s very much like physical inflammation, which can either be part of a curative process or the immune system locked in fighting itself to the death. Given this, I have sympathy for all of the people trying to figure out and liberate their identities; because an unrealized identity is like sand in an oyster, or a thorn in the lion’s paw.

This is the essential issue of Shakespeare’s HAMLET. By “this” I mean the state of having an irritant lodged deep in the heart of the psyche. An Original Sin. Though it is now common for people to dismiss the religious mythologies that once described and ‘explained’ this irritant, it is much, much, much less common to have in reality resolved the conflict. It just plays out in other ways. Why do you think we live embedded in wheels within wheels of addiction?

Beyond the physically restorative effects of a good night’s sleep, deep sleep opens me to what I might all restorative dreaming, in which this deep conflict – normally consigned to unconsciousness by my own inflamed habits of self-protection – might enter into the theater of awareness and there play itself out. Dreaming can be medicinal, alchemical.

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