It was Around the Couch Time and we got on the topic of dreams and we each had something to say on the matter. I asked if anyone dreamed much of flying. I have.
And I explained exactly how I did, indeed, fly in my dreams.
And what about those unnerving dreams? Getting chased. Drowning. Getting shot. Jonathan said he’s had one or two of these. And what happens at the worst moment, when we think we’re about to face death itself? We wake up, Jon said.
Who knows what to make of any it? Do any of these images flashing before our eyes like an old Super 8 film have any profound meaning? Is it a sort of road map full of symbols and guiding markers and signs in an ancient language we’ve long-forgotten?
Or are our dreams just a simple post-mortem, a defragmentation of the day’s events, meaningless scraps on the floor of the editing room?
When we got to the point of these less-than-pleasant deaths in our dreams, the ladies in the family didn’t really want to talk too much about it.
Jonathan and I looked at each other.
“The girls don’t want to talk about this sort of thing,” one of us said.
“The worst dreams they have are when the brownies burn,” said the other.
I won’t elaborate on who said what. There is such a thing as a dog house.
And if a man gets thrown there, he might get his curiosity satisfied on what any old dog might dream in such a place. But that’s about it.