I Dream to Dare

Sitting in her midst, it seemed likely that I would remember the book names that she was reciting. After all, I had asked. I held her eye and relaxed, letting her words and the sound of her voice soak my brain like cool water in a dry sponge.

Then I thought, “What if I forget?”

And I did. All but the second title and the last.

Why? Sleep, of course. Real remembering is connecting pieces rather than adding things to a shelf. You know the difference between the memory of the pizza joint phone number and the sight of your first child. Never had one? You still have things that compare. They’re almost invisible, forming the web of your essence. They just are.

The first book title caught me lifting the blinds, the second came through the open window. Then I slept, dreaming that I had forgotten the titles. I awoke in time to catch the last one. Laying on the sandy bottom of a shallow tidal pool as the sun filters through passing waves, I sleep. Feeling the cool air on my cheeks as my face breaches the surface, air filling my lungs with the scent of the salty ocean, I awaken.

Does that mean I was absolutely awake? What does that mean in the realm of dreams? That level of being is nothing special. We all have it like a magic wand in the hand of a sleeping child.

What are you dreaming about?