All throughout childhood I enjoyed a great and varied dream-life. Going to sleep was a joy, full as it was of intriguing and exciting dreams. Dreams were adventures. They were inspiring and sometimes even educational. If I woke up and remembered only one dream I would almost be a bit disappointed, for it was more common with three or four separate ones, different and interesting in their own ways.
This continued through my teenage years and into my twenties. For a while I kept a strict dream journal, I filled more than one book with detailed descriptions of every dream I could remember, sometimes along with drawings where words failed to properly portray what I had seen. I read all I could find about dreams, from the wildest faith based ideas to the most dry scientific theories, and found interesting scraps of information on both sides of the fact fence. I swiftly reached the conclusion that one can never fully describe and understand the all-encompassing concept of dreams. No dream dictionary carries the simple truth, no theory comes even close to explaining the whole. And this because dreams are so deeply tied to the individual, to who we are, what we have experienced, where we are going, what we feel. Theoretically one would need one unique dream dictionary per person. Each may have parts that are similar but none are exactly the same, because we are not the same.
With this in mind I set out to try and unravel how my own dream-system worked. That dream diary wasn’t just a curious memory exercise, it was the process where I strived to learn my own inner language. It was a fascinating venture.
Times changed. I circled down into depressions, and with that darkness most of my dreams disappeared. For years I barely dreamt anything. Sleeping became pleasant but dull.
My dreams are back now. Since I have come back up from the dark and regained more and more of myself – the healthier self – the dreams have returned. Just thinking about it makes me slightly teary eyed. I missed them.