To sleep perchance...

I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams lately. I don’t mean the looking off into the future and seeing a vision of what you hope life will be like dreams. I’m talking about close your eyes drift into unconsciousness and your mind runs wild dreams.

Maybe it has something to do with the Leonardo DiCaprio (yes, he is apparently an Auburn fan) movie coming out later this month. Inception has something to do with dreams or dream manipulation or something. I just know it looks cool.

Plus, it reminds me of one of my favorite movies from my childhood: Dreamscape. Fun stuff. Dennis Quaid and David Patrick Kelly (What ever happened to him? He was such a great bad guy.) chasing each other through other people’s dreams trying to kill each other, not to mention assassinate/save the POTUS. Fun stuff. That’s where I learned that, “When you dream that you die, you die in life at the very same instant.” A valuable, if not altogether true lesson.

Maybe it’s not true, but it stuck with me for years. Probably decades. And I think it affected some of my dreaming.

I’ve never been able to remember my dreams very well. I’ll have one that sticks with me from time to time, but not often. Those I do remember, though, are truly memorable. They stick with me for a long time. The memorable dreams tend to be the worst of the worst. Or sometimes just really unusual.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a really bad dream. A couple of years ago. I dreamed I was back in Paducah working in Youth Ministry. During a session with the youth I meant to say, “I am the gayest straight man on earth.” Instead it came out, “I am the gayest white man on earth.” Embarrassment ensued. That’s as bad as it gets these days.

Lately a bad dream for me goes something like this: I show up at the theater (usually in high school) for the first rehearsal of a play in which I have the lead. When I arrive, it’s not for a rehearsal but opening night. And I haven’t even seen a script. That one seems to recur pretty often. Not necessarily a “bad” dream, but very frustrating.

Of all the dreams I’ve had over the span of my 36 years, two have stuck with me. Both for close to 30 years. I remember an assignment in elementary school (maybe 4^th grade) in which the teacher asked us to draw two of our past dreams. I drew these.

The first came as a direct result of a Dracula comic book I had as a child. I guess, technically, it was a graphic novel. One page had several panels of flames and rats. That’s really all I remember. Mostly because after the dream, I refused to look at the page again. Ever. I’m pretty sure I could not look at it to this day.

That night I dreamed I was in the back yard of my grandparents’ house. I was in a tree at the far end of the house. Hanging upside down from a willow branch. From the tree I saw my mom milling about the back porch getting ready for an out door meal. So far, not so bad, right? It gets worse.

Beneath the tree sat several huge rats. Their black beady eyes stared up at me. They licked their lips hungrily waiting for me to lose my grip or for the thin willow branch to give way under my weight. I knew if I could get my mom’s attention that she could chase the rats away.

Unfortunately, one of them had already had a taste of my flesh. Half of my face was gone. Taken off by a well-placed bite before the dream ever started.

I tried to scream. “Mom!” My mouth opened, my lungs pushed the air past my vocal chords, but no sound escaped. I took a deeper breath and screamed even louder. “MOM!” This time my voice was a mere whisper. All the while the rats paced below me as the branch drooped closer and closer to the ground.

Eventually I awoke. Certainly in tears. Most likely with my parents’ bed as my next destination.

The second of my “most memorable dreams” came a few years later. It was not nearly as traumatic. And, as such, is not as vivid a memory. I do think you’ll see a distinct Dreamscapeinfluence as I describe it.

In the dream I ran through a large industrial room. It was brightly lit with harsh fluorescent lighting. The infinitely large room was filled with 1980s style computer servers. Large, compact-car sized, metal cases. Red, green, and yellow LEDs blinked on and off in random sequence behind the glass doors of each case.

I held a handgun as I ran. I crouched behind the servers as I tried to hide from a group of men. Every time one of them spotted me, they fired. I ran and crouched. Ran and crouched. Firing my weapon as I ran. I desperately tried to find an exit.

Eventually one of my pursuers’ bullets found its target. I was shot. I don’t specifically remember the pain. I do remember that it hurt. A lot! I remember thinking the next day, “That’s probably exactly what it feels like to get shot.”

As soon as the projectile penetrated my body I panicked. I knew it was a dream. I spent the rest of the dream trying to make myself wake up and trying to stay alive. Because I’d learned well, “When you dream that you die, you die in life at the very same instant.”

Luckily, I did wake up. So, I’m still not sure that Christopher Plummer wasn’t right.