I’m in the middle of a heavy dream cycle period. Seems to be the case that for a bit I’ll likely have dreams, but never remember a moment of them. Then, abruptly it seems, I’ll begin dreaming and recall them. I may not dream any more at that stage than at any other, but it seems to me in the cold light of day that my dreams are fertile and surreptitiously meaningful – and right now, quite creative.

The last couple of nights have seemed full of dreams. Doubtless it’s an illusion, but it seems I dream from the moment I shut my eyes to the moment I open them. I remember most as I wake, but many fade through the day. That seems a normal circumstance. What I remember are the dreams that have impressed me most.

I dreamt in one case that I’d boarded a plane for destinations unknown. I was in a different seat from normal, perhaps in first class where I had many more options available than I was used to in an economy seat – but then, this is a dream. I remember I sat by the window as the plane took off. It was an unusually swift take-off, and there was the sense that the pilot had jumped the queue and taken off out of sequence. He seemed in a hurry. We flew low, so low that it felt like we skimmed the tops of trees, a little above the cars on the road beneath us. At one point we flew under a bridge, and never once did we seem to gain much altitude. It was scary I guess, but also thrilling. It felt as if we were in the hands of a maverick individual.

The other dream was more out there. There I was transported into a strange world were the city had a roof atop it. The tallest of the buildings, all graceful and futuristic with tapering curves, would  join up to the roof like columns supporting it. The roof itself – or the ceiling on the underside of it – was painted. Each day a team of artists would hang from the ceiling re-painting it to depict the stated weather of the day as seen from below. Some days might be clear, blue sky perhaps with a smattering of happy clouds. On other days it might be overcast, or even stormy, and so the artists would paint that. The world the citizens of this city saw was artificial and manufactured. Essentially they lived in a bubble.

What’s to be made of that? Open to ideas.

Wikipedia: The future is the indefinite time period after the present. →