Open Writing

It’s been a poor night when I don’t wake up having had a fascinating dream even as it evaporates from my mind as I attempt to recall it. These dreams, as three-dimensional and substantial as the earth beneath my feet, become things of smoke and fog soon after waking, and dissolve, as do morning mists at noon.

The closer to reveille I dream, the better chance I have of catching fleeting glimpses of my reveries, but as soon as I catch even a wisp of them they vanish as if by magic. It is not too frustrating because I gave up analysing my dreams more than thirty years ago.

My nocturnal phantasies have some remarkable similarities, such as the fabric of the surrounding buildings that are invariable built of grey stone after the style of Northern England in better times. Yet there is no homesickness, and no longing for my ancient homeland, only the recognition that wherever I am, the place is old-fashioned and stable.

The other constant element of my dreams is transport. Although a few nights ago I was riding a motor cycle, and another time I drove a bus that transformed itself into a taxi, most of the time I am driving an unremarkable vehicle of the saloon type, perhaps a Wolseley, or an Austin-Morris. Invariably I am driving on the correct side of the road, which means the left-hand side, so I presume that I am somewhere in God’s own country.

The burden of the dream is in either going somewhere or directing someone else in different vehicle to get where they need to be. Apart from direction seekers and other traffickers few others are present. Each dream is different, because although there are common elements in each of them, the drama is never identical, and the feelings accompanying them are also different. I will add, that I do not have nightmares and anxiety dreams, so while they are puzzling they are never unpleasant.

It is my habit to describe the dreams in as much detail as I can remember to Gay who listens intently, and then I say, "The question is, what does it all mean?’" To date, she has never revealed the meaning to me, although yesterday she did tell me what it did not mean, and did so in a most emphatic way.

I should explain that my beloved Gay is as emphatic with me as often as I am with her, which means that it never happens. We are comfortable with each other and too much precision or emphasis in our communications might disturb the daylong tranquillity that is our peculiar blessing. We are seeking ways to bottle it, because we know there is a market for it among less quiet sprits.

The night before last I was back in one of my stone built Yorkshire hillside villages. After I had directed the occupants of a motor car I took a long walk uphill on the pavement at the right side of the road. The pathway was close to the road at my left, but a fair way from the boundary walls of adjacent properties to my right, the strip between the path and the walls was sown to neatly cut grass and good sized English trees. As I made my way upwards I was aware of a Doberman Pinscher keeping pace with me to my right side. He was a beautiful dog, and of imposing size and appearance, as Dobies are apt to be, and I welcomed his company.

I did not reach the culmination of the dream because as I walked my elbow was gently licked. It was about half past five in the morning and the licker was my darling Groenendael, Belle, who has to tell me at least once in the dark hours of early morning that she is close, and will I pay her a little attention before she settles down to finish her own dreaming? Her tongue’s touch, like the feel of her head, is like soft warm velvet. I said ‘Hello’ to my Belgian beauty, and lost my sleek German in exchange. Ah, well!

A little longer in Snoozeville and I wake, throwing myself about the bed to vanquish the cricks in my neck and extremities.

Gay mumbles "Good morning" from behind sleep-crossed eyes.

"How did you sleep?" she asks.

"Fine," I tell her, and then narrate my dream – we share dream stories each morning – as she listens without interruption. I know she is waiting for my usual tag, but before I ask her what it all means, I say, "I know exactly what it all means!"

"What?" she asks, in obvious surprise.

"It means that I am getting another dog!" I say to my listless sleepy head.

"OH, NO, IT DOESN’T!" snaps back my now not so sleepy sleepy-head as wide awake as Chanticleer at noon. She says it emphatically, and sounds as if she means it.

I suppose I will just have to acknowledge that I am not as proficient at the arcane art of interpreting dreams as I had thought. But, if it doesn’t mean I am going to become a canine father to another furry offspring, whatever does it all mean? Answers on a big bag of dog food, please!

Copyright © Ronnie Bray

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Other stories at:
http://www.2theheart.com/author_ronnie_bray
http://www.meridianmagazine.com/voices/011024summer.html

If your mind goes blank - how do you know?