I had a very interesting dream the other night. It was brief, yet very emotionally vivid. I don’t often dream of such topics, yet I’ve been so troubled by the violence in the Middle East–maybe my brain was looking for some kind of resolution.
To begin, understand that the world in this dreamscape differs dramatically from the world in which we live. Here were the “facts” in my dream:
- One of the worst things a Muslim or Jew could do cultuerally would be to use a comb that had been used by one in the other group. Kind of like how throwing a shoe is a significant form of disrespect.
- Muslims and Jews wear a small piece of metal shaped something like a ring in their hair near their temple–on opposite sides. These rings are incredibly significant, and one would never go without wearing one, or wearing it on the “wrong” side.
It wasn’t clear in my dream which side was appropriate for which group. I should explain that my dreams are never very visual; they are more “situational.” I experience in dreams what I do when reading; I don’t dream in color, and images are never very distinct. I tend to know who someone is simply because I know who they are–not that they look like the person I know them to be. Also, sometimes I am a participant in the dream, sometimes I’m simply an observer, and sometimes I go back and forth. In this dream, I’m only an observer.
OK, so here’s the dream. It’s brief:
* * *
The setting is somewhere in the Middle East–somewhere where Muslims and Jews live in proximity to each other. Out in the open, as though it were a market or something. Daytime.
There is a small, simple stage with side curtains and a back curtain. Two men stand on the stage: one is Jewish and one is Muslim, but it’s not clear which is which (see how odd my dreams are?). They are doing some kind of impromptu performance. They are both passionate.
One of the men pulls out a comb and runs it through his hair. He hands it to the other man. The second man then runs the comb through his own hair. The crowd gasps.
The men then simultaneously flick the “rings” out of the hair at their temples, and they ping, ping, ping on the stage. A much louder gasp.
* * *
It was clear to me in the dream that these two men passionately yearned for peace. While coming from different faiths, they did this significant show of unity. The comb through both of their hair connected them. The flicking of the rings signified a refusal to any longer appear separate. While the image of the dream was very brief, it felt at the end that this ripple would continue to travel beyond them, and would not be stopped. People would tell the story of what they saw, and somehow understanding and Grace would travel with the story.
I long for a world where that happens.
I had a flying dream last night. I love flying dreams.
When I was younger I began to have these dreams, but they started oddly. At first I’d dream that I could just spread my arms and put my head back and I’d begin floating up. But I’d often be stopped by power lines or something. As time went on I was actually more and more successful at flying. I also had dreams as a kid where I could breathe under water, but those are much more rare.
Several years ago I was doing intense personal work. During that time I had flying dreams pretty consistently. I’ve never really known their significance: are they a wish to be free? Are they a representation of being free? Dunno.
Last night’s dream was interesting. Where sometimes the flying isn’t completely reliable, last night it was. I tend to fly about head height in my dreams–going too high (over 100′) can feel dangerous. Well, last night I was flying at head height (that would be about 5’10” for me), and it occurred to me I was being silly–I could get there faster if I flew higher instead of following the sidewalk. : ) After all, that’s what Superman does, right?
So I did. Although (and here comes some random dream-noise, I’m convinced), I ended up flying inside this VERY TALL building that was an exclusive club. Why did they have doors 40′ feet high? Dunno. The ‘bouncer’ guy didn’t want me entering, and he somehow grabbed onto my legs. I told him he’d better let go as I could fly higher and it would be dangerous. He wouldn’t let go until I left the building.
Back outside, I then flew higher to get there quicker. But, just like using Google Maps with satellite-only view, I had a hard time telling where I was, so I went back down to street level. : )
Is this a grand metaphor for my life? Who knows.