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I often enjoy my dreams; my brain is rich with images and ideas while I’m sleeping.
In my dreams I can swim like a dolphin; I can dance, light as a feather, to any rhythm.
In my dreams I can leap so high as to be almost levitating. I can ride a motorbike and drive a Mini Cooper (classic, of course). I can go into my garden and dig until I’m halfway to Australia.
I have met beautiful Elves, Angels and Faeries, ridden the backs of dragons and solved the Labyrinth to spite the Goblin King. I’ve seen Gallifrey and believed it to be heaven. I have kissed Merlin and been “turned” by Spike. Every night is a whole new adventure of fantasy and wonder.
In my dreams I am completely free of all restraints that my body and my neurological disorders impose on me. Free to do all of the things that I was once able to do, along with things that simply aren’t possible in real life when you have to obey the laws of gravity and possibility.
I love my dreams.
Initially, as my mobility fled along with my sense of balance and coordination, I resented these dreams; I felt that my face was being rubbed in the dirt – constant, taunting reminders of all the things I used to enjoy but can no longer do. Sometimes I would even wake up crying, or simply so angry at the world that I would find any excuse to snap at something or someone in my waking life.
Now I view these dreams as something special. They offer me the chance to do all of those wonderful real life things again. I can’t miss swimming when I can simply doze for a few hours and find myself in a luxurious pool, any more than I can miss dancing when I can suddenly find myself in a beautiful gown in a ballroom, twirling gracefully en pointe. I can still have my funky, customised Mini Cooper and blast along country roads with my favourite music playing.
When I fall asleep, it’s all there waiting for me if I simply open my mind to it.
I now think of my dreams as rewards for coping with another day of pain, or dealing with a seizure, or being able to get out of bed that day and make some jam. My dreams are a thank-you from the universe for contributing what I can to it with my art and cookery, and my attempts to protect it from pollution and harm.
Those dreams about being kissed by Merlin or “turned” by Spike? Merely added bonuses.
Embrace your dreams. Even if that’s all they can ever be. Learn to love them when they come your way. Disability does not mean that fond memories of past skills and achievements need fade into bitter regret.
Dare to dream. Dare to let go of reality and float away for a few precious hours.
I sometimes wonder which is reality the dreams or the what we consider the waking……I envy you your dreams lately all mine are nightmares and this life is not much better. Keep your dreams hold on to them tight cultivate them revel in them may they always be there for you , great post.
I have a happy waking life in spite of my limitations, but I like to think that my dreams are real up to a point too. Especially because, now and again, a small white-haired old lady turns up either sitting by my bedside, or somewhere that I always used to enjoy being. She’s my grandmother, who I still firmly believe found a way to contact me when she reached the end of her journey to the Summerland (I dreamed that the phone rang, and when I answered her chirpy Welsh accent told me it was a long journey but she’d arrived home safely. She had passed away in hospital that afternoon).
I read your blog earlier, but I’m just getting to know you and didn’t feel that I had the right to say anything. I will tell you that I have felt the same way in my life though – many times. If you ever need me I’m here for you x
What a lovely post! Very uplifting, though my dreams are never this good
xo
I’ve learned to take the good parts of my dreams about my oldlife and to cherish them. Thank you for the lovely compliment
Your dreams are much more advanced than mine. I seem to problem solve a lot, and I am often held back. At 50 years old, I finally had a dream about flying, well, sort of. I was on a long rug, laying on my belly and when I gripped the edge of the rug in front of me it coasted along the ground. If I squeezed harder it would go faster but still just hovering above the ground. It was the first time I ever FLEW in a dream. I never drive a car. I ride my very first bicycle, a blue Rollfast with handlebar tassels and a straw basket with flowers. You would think at 50 I would be driving a car in a dream and flying high. I always was a late bloomer!