What a dreamboat!

Since I got this gig, I been complaining (mostly to Katie, come to think of it) that my dreams just ain’t what they used to be.  Remembering almost nothing.  Then, there was this morning:

I’m in a city, which is Portland — there’s a river, and quadrants of the city, and trees and lights — but which is also Carnival.  It’s night, and I’m near the river.  I’m with friends, but I also know that I have friends spread out all over the place.  On some sort of raised bridge-like platform I’m making out with an insanely gorgeous young Italian guy.  Wonderful!  At some point I pull away and it’s my turn at the ATM, I’m like Wait, lemme just withdraw this cash, and he’s happy to oblige.  More making out.  His girlfriend shows up to drag him away and she is not pleased, but he and I are exuberant and laughing.  I make the “call me” signal, which is hilarious because it’s obvious that we won’t see each other again…obvious that I’m dreaming?  Can a dream boy know he’s a dream?  Rachel is there in some kind of party dress, and she’s telling me “He thinks you’re a hottie.”  Well, duh.

It’s time for me to go elsewhere — I got company, but not sure who.  We move away from the crowded party banks, where it’s nighttime strung with white lights everywhere, to somewhere less crowded.  It’s still night, and it’s a streetcorner.  A voice comes on the loud speaker about “flying like little birds,” and in our boisterous mood we start doing those ballerina jumps — where you kick out and make a little arc as you jump — and making fun, “like little birdies.”  I notice some other people across the street doing the same, and we approach each other.  Now it’s day, and the ground is dusty and warm, and the trees are young and slender and leafy at the tips.  It’s some dude in a loincloth, kinda half-native looking: he’s heavy and tall but his head is hugely, disproportionately big.  He’s telling me all sortsa shit, in a serious/conversational way, but it’s too far away from sleep now to remember.  The last bit was something about how I won’t be an Indian, and about (or: unless I?) wear two (-color?) cloths for my land.  Did I mention his head is ginormous?  He walks away into the trees.

That’s what I’m talkin about.  The crazy / adventure dreams.  Last weekend I had my second-ever flying dream, which was fucking wonderful, but doesn’t count because it was the weekend and I could sleep in to lure it in, or at least it didn’t completely dissipate with the alarm.

Last night,  hanging out with Tristan and Rachel and her longlongtime friends from Austin, somehow we got talking about dreams — oh: it started with nightmares, but moved on from there.  All I had to do was mention my flying dream, and Rachel and her two friends could hardly contain themselves, so eager to tell their own flying dreams.  I had no idea!  Does everyone have flying dreams?  A perfect beautiful absurd moment: five people sitting in a room spilling over in excitement over the fact that we do know how to fly, over the wonder of comparing technique.

Dream:  c.1250 in the sense “sequence of sensations passing through a sleeping person’s mind,” probably related to O.N. draumr, Dan. drøm, Swed. drom, O.S. drom, Du. droom, O.H.G. troum, Ger. traum “dream,” perhaps from W.Gmc. *draugmas “deception, illusion, phantasm” (cf. O.S. bidriogan, O.H.G. triogan, Ger. trügen “to deceive, delude,” O.N. draugr “ghost, apparition”). Possible cognates outside Gmc. are Skt. druh- “seek to harm, injure,” Avestan druz- “lie, deceive.” But O.E. dream meant only “joy, mirth,” also “music.” Words for “sleeping vision” in O.E. were mæting and swefn (from PIE *swep-no-, cf. Gk. hypnos). Much study has failed to prove that O.E. dream “noisy merriment” is the root of the modern word for “sleeping vision,” despite being identical in spelling. Either the meaning of the word changed dramatically or “vision” was an unrecorded secondary O.E. meaning of dream, or there are two separate words here. “It seems as if the presence of dream ‘joy, mirth, music,’ had caused dream ‘dream’ to be avoided, at least in literature, and swefn, lit. ‘sleep,’ to be substituted” [OED]. Dream in the sense of “ideal or aspiration” is from 1931, from earlier sense of “something of dream-like beauty or charm” (1888). Dreamy is 1567 in the sense “full of dreams;” 1941 as “perfect, ideal.” Dreamboat “romantically desirable person” is from 1947. Dreamland is c.1834; dreamscape is 1959, in a Sylvia Plath poem.

Really?  “Dreamscape” comes from Plath?  Thanks, Sylvia!


~ by Arrrow Marie on November 25, 2008.

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