Dream Tendrils

Photo by Julian Burgess via flickr.com cc2.0

Lately I have been having very vivid, realistic dreams. Realistic in how they feel, not the actual content, seeing how I doubt I am going to accidentally drive a bus over a cliff into a giant, swelling wave on the west coast of Canada or that I would need a clown to rescue me when I fall into the street and then joyfully parade me down the sidewalk. But these dreams, even with unrealistic events- they stick to my brain as if they were real. As if they were important.

I don’t feel as if dreams are some foreboding of possible futures. I don’t think they are meant to be or that they should be taken as serious life advice. For the most part I get that dreams are just the way our stressed minds piece together fragments of emotion and memory to allow us to process and let go of things we don’t need to hold onto. For the most part.

But I also like to believe that dreams are something more. When I have a dream that features someone that I know, I like to believe that it is somehow significant. That it is my spirit’s way of stretching out into the void and searching for them and maybe, just maybe, finding them for a momentary embrace. Sometimes it reminds me to call or write to someone, but most of the time it just reminds me of their significance.

Back when I used to contemplate on souls for a large portion of my day, I had a theory about how souls were made. I didn’t think that we had a single soul mate, but many people who come across our lives that have pieces of soul that “fit” us. When we have a meaningful connection- a long friendship, a lover, or even just a single serving friend that makes us stop and thing- we trade pieces of our souls. You recognize something in me, and I recognize something in you, and we rotate around each other until we get- through force, coercion, or understanding- that piece of soul that “belongs” to us. When we die, our soul breaks apart. All of the little pieces that still don’t fit shatter off, but there is a larger piece that stays whole. The piece that will begin collecting new pieces during our next life.

I wonder if when I dream and can feel the person I am dreaming about, whether that might be a chip of their soul that I have taken into myself waking up, glowing, reminding me of the person from which it came. That they are now inside of me and I am inside of them. Or maybe it is stretching little tendrils out, looking for the body that it had grown up with, knowing that it belongs to me but still missing the person that it lived within for years.

I know it is all probably silliness. But still, I can’t help but wake up in the morning and call, asking, “Did you feel it too? Did we touch? Or is it just a wiggling of a memory in my own soul?”

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