This morning I got up later than I intended to. I opened a little notebook on my night table to scribble a few phrases from last night’s dream, so I could come back to it later and write it out in a more complete, narrative form.
I have fragments of dreams from the past two months scrawled on looseleaf paper or the backs of envelopes–they’re all in a pile on my desk. In a folder, elsewhere, I have some other fragments that go back a year or more, still waiting for me to write them out coherently. I can usually remember the dream for years as long as I have written the right notes. All it needs is one word to trigger my memory, and the whole rush of dream-events comes back to me.
But sometimes whatever I scribbled down on the writing pad or the envelope or whatever is lost in the mists of my unconscious. This morning, the first page I saw in the little notebook said (more…)