In search of lost dreams

At night, I'm met by silence. Are you?

Every night, I lose existence. My dreams are empty of substance; meaningless loops and trivial encounters. In the dark, after a day of city and screens, I find that there may be little more to me. 

In the 1983 Robert Irwin novel ‘The Arabian Nightmare’, a character suffers horrendous torture in his dreams every night, but each morning forgets of his torment.

What does it mean if I experience the most horrendous silence? 

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The last game I ever played was Valheim, a Viking survival game.

Only one detail has stuck with me: when my character slept, my screen went dark and descriptions of dreams were given. These were simple, short, and magnificent.

You dream of a river running uphill, of green shoots turning downward into the earth…

You dream of a great tree reaching out through the night. One half of its branches crackle with flames, the others are green with leaves.

You dream you are lying on your back in a meadow, gazing upward at the clouds. Your name is nothing, your mind is free of thought. But there is a warm hand in yours.

Such dreams could only arise from a life rich in beautiful experience. Could I ever dream thus?

Rekha Garton

Dreams have always been understood as a source of self-knowledge, a vector by which to unveil one’s nature and God-given fate, a means by which the unencumbered soul wanders out into the world.

Dreams have always been a source of mystery… They have been seen as omens, messages from the gods, and from the subconscious; from the soul and the self; from angels and demons.

— Rahul Jandial, This Is Why You Dream

If my dreams reveal little to me, it is troubling. To be clear, I am not asking for divination: demon-given views into the future. I ask only for reflections of the beauty of a life well-lived, for holy images and great adventures. And I suspect I am not the only one who wakes unsated.