I am thrilled that I enrolled in this class. Something strong pulled me toward it, something that I was willing to figure out as it came to me. It’s funny– most classes you are forced to take, and sometimes you wind up learning a lot and finding new passions, yadda yadda… but many times, it hasn’t turned out that way. Then, once in a while you get the freedom to choose your own class. I couldn’t be happier with my decision.
Dreams always frightened me because it opens up the door to those really bizarre questions that you don’t think about on a daily basis: am I REALLY allowing myself to let go of control of my mind for several hours at a time? Well, i don’t really have a choice do I? Everyone must sleep to live. Therefore, everyone must dream to live. It is one of the few things that every person on this planet shares, like it or not. It opens up a world of questions and learning about the answers several theoriests have concluded was nothing short of fascinating. Also, reading texts that I felt like I knew a lot about, i.e. Jane Eyre and Jeckyll and Hyde through a new lens blew me away.
I also learned a lot about classroom management, believe it or not. The professor made every single class structured differently. These tactics made everyone in the room really want to be there every week and not miss a moment. The vibe in the room was always safe, allowing the students to feel like it was an open discussion, we were on a journey together to solve a mystery.
In short, I absolutely loved this class, and reflecting on it now, I can honestly say it was one of my favorite classes in all of my college career. I have a large stack of books that i can honestly say I have read and loved and legitimately learned a lot from. Even my good friend Mr. Freud.
I will miss this class and everyone in it.
Now… ON TO GRADUATION!!!
I have SO much to do to revise my paper.
I really have to “synthesize” (love that diction choice) all of the information I have collected and really clear up exactly what my claims are, as well as finalizing my thesis and really delving into my motive.
Those worksheets are coming in very handy as I have been revising away.
Your thesis is interesting, but I think the second part of it should be more specific. I really need to offer a clearer explanation as to what the plays are offering when it comes to dreams. I think I can sum it up in this way: dreams are used to communicate events and feelings that cannot be collectively experienced through realism. I think the more I come back to that claim, the more focused my paper will become. But it is getting there!
I am still working on structuring my argument and finding a place for all of my evidence. I am having a lot of fun figuring this all out. Really, I don’t remember the last time I have felt so passionately (accidentally) about a paper.
Off to continue to write!
My friend posted this on face-space today.
Realizing I left my wallet lying around? Sucks. Getting back to it and seeing that all my cash and bank cards are missing? Terrible. Having a tough time contacting the bank to freeze my accounts? Worse. Oh, and dealing with inept security guards who don’t know how to access security videos? Awful.
Waking up and realizing it was all just a bad dream? Awesome.
Reading the Unconsoled!
I really loved reading the first chunk of this book. As always, I wish I had more time to really dedicate to reading. I never get more than an hour at a time or so. For this particular book, time went by so unbelievably quickly. I started reading before I went to bed, and suddenly two hours had gone by and I felt like I was in a trance. That seems a little dramatic– let’s jut say that it was a unique experience. Especially because I was half-delerious at the time of reading.
I felt a very strong lack of clarity– intended ambiguity to time, place, events in general. I also love the use of the name “Ryder”. It seems like a pun; a pun on “writer” and a pun on the fact that the protagonist seems to be on some kind of ambiguous ride throughout the story. I like thinking of it as both, because the writing style in this story is most definitely unique and I find it hard to classify it in any realy other category. It is as if the narrative is being told in a “dream-mold”– the way we would dream, only it is not an actual dream. I’m sure this statement is full of contradictions, but I am having fun musing on the writer’s intentions.
Last night I was on an “Into the wild”-esque adventure by myself.
I find myself alone in my dreams very often lately. This is interesting because I find I never have a moment to myself in real life. Always needing to tend to a million different things and a million different people’s needs. Freud would say it is wish-fulfillment, I’m sure! This is one of those times when good ole’ Freud gets me…
I was hiking up a hill but my bike was floating next to me. The natural world was all around me. I could smell the smells of cold nature and feel the dewy fog ligering on my limbs. I made it all the way up a Mount Rushmore type of mountain. As I go to the edge of a cliff, I looked back and saw the view of the peak of the mountain behind me. Suddenly, there was an enormous roller coaster, yellow in color, glossy in finish, spiraling around the mountain. No people on it, just its massive presence.
I looked in front of me and that realized that underneath the cliff was a river tht I needed to cross. I knew this beause an old man with a white beard and short shorts standing in the river told me. Just then I was cursing mself for bringing my bike with me and for wearing long pants!
Suddenly, my fathers voice appeared, and made me feeling guilty for said mistakes.
I never crossed the river.
I realize now that I have used the word “Suddenly” a zillion time when describing my dreams. I suppose that is because of the fluidity between time in dreams. It still astounds me.
I had a dream that my mother died. It was dark and I was in the parking lot at the A&P that I used to shop with her at when I was a little girl. I somehow found out that she was dead and started hysterically bawling. I was screaming but no sound was coming out. Through documenting my dreams in this short amount of time, I realize that this is a recurring nightmare. Screaming without being able to make any sound. I realize that I am under a lot of stress, and I am graduating, auditioning for grad schools, etc, but I wonder why it is the act of screaming soundlessly that all of this emotion is being condensed into?
When I woke up from this seemingly endless dream I felt exhausted, and most definitely traumatized. Having a dream where someone dear to me dies very realistically has only happened once before in my life. It was about 5 years ago and my boyfriend at the time had been killed in my dream. I remember there being a very similar scenario.
In learning about all of these different dream theories I have become almost obsessed with figuring out which one I believe. Whenever I read a book, I become so gullible and fall into buying into any given theory. But as i step away, I realize I can never truly know. And in a way I don’t want to. It is one of those mysteries that will be a constant white light in the distance. Or maybe a green blue and pink light. Waving around.
I am so jealous of everyone that has frequent lucid dreaming experiences. Although I have read some articles and texts about the subject, and spoken to many people about their experiences in lucid dream, I cannot for the life of me understand how a person can train themselves to experience them.
It reminds me of the fact that we use some increibly microscopic percentage of our brains on a daily basis, and some of us, in little moments in little ways can use a little bit more.
The best example I can think of in this realm is an experience that has happened with my friend Kerri and me over the last 8 years or so.
We are (were rather) attched at the hip, shared a lot of our most imporant life experiences together, and were relatively on the same page about most ideals in life. We also felt eachother’s pain, happiness, exciement, etc.
Then one day, she went on the nicotene patch to try to quit smoking. Apparently, you shouldn’t leave it on when you sleep because it affects your brain and in turn, your dreams, making you dream vividly, etc. (I don’t know the science of this, simply what I was told).
So that night, I had an insane dream about her. I cannot remember at all what it was about but it was as if she was me, in my body, I was dreaming for her. Very strange. So she called me in the morning and told me of this wierd experience she had that night of dreaming for me in my body. I WENT NUTS. We had almost identical dreams. I began to question if such a thing was possible. I decided it wasn’t. But what if, for brief periods of time, some strange, inexplicable phenomena can and does actuall take place, but we just write it off because it is “impossible”?
Just a thought…
I saw a coloring book in the drug store and it transported me back about 8 years…
I am walking down a dark road, and there is the sound of rabid dogs in the distance. I hear footsteps. The lampost on the road is the only source of light. It feels like I am wading through lead. Suddenly, I was underwater and visiting the Smurfs. I was made the #3 member of the smurf community. I’m not sure what this means. It was the happiest feeling because they were so contented and so welcoming. I didn’t feel like too big of a giant. Papa Smurf and the woman were the friendliest. I promised them that I would visit them again. I think about it now and I miss my friends in the smurf community. I waved and said goodbye and could literally see them disappearing.
I dreamed this when I was about 13 or 14 years old. It had a profound effect on me. Every time I think of smurfs or old cartoons in general, I feel a sense of forced detachment.
In my dream I was invincible.
There was an instant switch of knowing that I was in a dream and knowing I didn’t have to fear anything. I know, in my dream, I can intimidate. I can flips off the walls and kick the bad guys away. Only in my dream, they weren’t tangible bad guys. They weren’t even surrealistic bad guys. They were bad colors and smells and needlepoint punctures I could feel on my skin. I was bleeding profusely by the end of this dream but I still was hopeful. I never stopped fighting. I knew I would win. The smell made me want to vomit. The colors were blinding. Suddenly I switched from doing matrix-like kicks and spins and suspended flips and began to dance. I was on point, and was on a stage ballet dancing. I was wearing an army uniform and point shoes. Pink ones. I felt empowered even though the war seemed to be incessant. I woke up feeling exhausted yet unusually uplifted.
The thing that I find most beautiful about this dream is the grace that overpowered the awful forces coming at me. Very very cool.
This dream made me feel disgusting. I was in the shop I work at and my boss wass exually harrassing me. He handed me a handful of cash, my paycheck, and grabbed my arm and very quietly asked me if it was all there, or if I noticed anything missing. I said no, it was the amount it was supposed to be. Then he accused me of stealing from him and that he was going to be contacting me via his lawyer.
It was my real boss, and so vivid and realistic. The strange thing is, I have worked at my job for 9 years and my boss loves me. We have a great relationship, that I always interpreted as father-daughter. Recently, a new woman manager has started working there (within the last three years) and she has been telling me that he is a pervert and yadda yadda, so that has been onmy mind severely lately.
We were then transported into a court room, and I was screaming at the top of my lungs at him until I was shaking and crying. Then, I continued to scream but no sound was coming out of my mouth. He was sitting there silently, not looking at me. The woman manager was sitting next to me, staring and not saying a word. Then I woke up. I felt like it had all happened. I feared going into work that day.