Drifting Gently

First I have to admit that I do not “like” to dream in my sleep. I know that it is not a question of “like” or “dis-like”, every human being, maybe every mammal (think of dogs & cats), does dream while sleeping. I have no real idea about what it actually is, what the brain does and why. It may be a process of “cleansing”, of processing daily occurrences, it may a kind of steam-rolling through outdated memories to create space for new memories. All I know is that it is a very powerful “machine” creating images, feelings, situations.
I do not suffer from nightmares, in fact I can barely remember any dream that frightened me, or made me wake up screaming. This happened in my life very seldom, years ago for the last time, and I can not remember what it was.
I still can remember two dreams, one was peculiar and I once wrote about it here. The other involved a kind of war scene, and I think I died there. But again, these were not frightening, but very impressive.
Usually I go to sleep, and if it all goes well I simply loose consciousness, and come back some hours later. Sometimes, when my sleep is interrupted by a call of nature, the awakening is a bit like emerging through layers, an image, a shadow may be lingering in my head, and when I go back under the sheet, it continues.
I think what I described is absolutely normal. In those dreams it is “me” who is talking, moving (one way or another), meeting people, seeing things.
But for some months now, something changed. Now it is a voice that tells me what happens, or does not happen. It is like an auctorial narrator, the (all knowing) voice out of the “off” in a film that talks, and keeps on talking. I can not remember the text, not even single sentences or phrases.
As a child I once tried to find out where the “I” is. I located it somewhere between my eyes, a little upwards behind the forehead. The narrator is not my “i”, and I have no clue who or what it is, who speaks there. In a dream some weeks ago I saw a modern house, do not ask me why I knew that it was built between the wars, sometimes around 1930 (it was top modern for the age, think of the Rietvelt house, but different), it was located in the then Czech Republic ; in front of it stood a Tatra car, red, with three headlights (maybe a 603), dirt was dripping from its right front wheel. I thought something along the line that you have here most modern European design, but the road is not macadamised (and the word “makadmisiert” (tarred) was there), while the narrator took over, and the journey went on. It switched from “I” to “the narrator”.
I have no idea what to make out of this. Maybe I am just getting a bit paranoid from too much isolation, or maybe I start to lean towards hypochondria. But as long as there are no voices telling me what to do in the outside world, and as long as no Janizaries are approaching, all will be fine.


10 thoughts on “Drifting Gently

  1. How peculiar to have a narrator. Maybe next you’ll get a sound track?

    I like dreaming but the ones I remember most of seem ordinary whilst I’m dreaming them but weird when I wake and recall them. And, like you, haven’t had a nightmare for quite some time (maybe a year or more?).
    What I do sometimes get are other people’s voices just as I’m dropping off, which can be quite unnerving. It’s like overhearing snatches and snippets of conversations (and they’re not talking to me – yet). I’m trying to convince myself that they’re just voices my brain’s making up, rather than actual people’s actual conversations – I don’t want to have to deal with clairaudience on top of everything else!

  2. I know that I dream, often quite vividly, but the dreams fade almost the moment I open my eyes.I seldom recall them on waking.
    Some people keep a notebook to record their dreams.I’d love to, but it would be all blank, as if written in lemon juice!
    On the other hand…my bloody imagination NEVER goes to sleep!

  3. Yes, thankfully “they” or “he”, or whatever it may be, comes not through to my consciousness – so I think it all goes well Savannah. I’ll let you know if something changes before you’ll read it in the evening news.

    No soundtracks IDV, thank GOd ! I do not want to have Wagner or something else in my head, not even a friendly guitar concerto ! There are no other people’s voices, just this “narrator”. Maybe it’S just a part of me who thinks he has the right to take over.

    Oh yes, dream books, Traumtagebücher, it was very en vogue some time, possibly still is. I never tried this. Some people claim that they can influence their dreams with a little training, but I never tried, and surely will never do. AS you say Dinahmow, imagination never sleeps !

  4. Well, you have a good idea of my history with dreams, though I can’t say I’ve ever had one narrated before! Did you lock some part of yourself away and now he narrates from the projection room above the theatre? It is interesting, nonetheless. I entirely different lives in my dreams as different people. I have been many races and both genders often that I think this has influenced my empathy and ability to relate to everyone. I’m beyond tolerances, since I’ve lived and died as so many people. Two nights ago I had a premonition dream. I was in a war damaged building and the spiders, being the little harbingers of knowing that they are started coming out of many spaces to flee. Syria keeps coming to mind. If it really is a premonition dream, then I think chemical weapons have recently or are about to be used against rebels in Syria in a dense city area.

  5. Skip Syria for Charkow, Mariupol or another Ukrainian city (not Kiew, too many cameras), and you are there, dear Melanie. Vlad will make the “best” out of his damn war, so why not test some new chemical killers ? All the lies about “Western labs” are laying the ground for this to come.
    As far as I can say I stay meself in my dreams, I am no one else, not another human being. I can not recall one dream in which I would have been a woman or a human of another race.
    I asked myself if “the narrator” is a part of meself, it surely is, simply because no one else lives in my head ; but it is not, as he speaks to me, like another person. All not unfriendly, but I can still not make sense of all this. Maybe there simply is none.
    Excuse me now, I have to search for SundayMusic.

Comments are closed.