I’ve never bought into the idea that dreams are the flatulence of our waking lives–the byproduct of our brains trying to process all the stimuli that bombarded us throughout the previous day. I’ve always had a far more romantic interpretation of dreams–perhaps because I have a phenomenal dream life. Here’s what I experienced a couple nights ago:

I was in my apartment (not my apartment as it actually is, but as it essentially is–which is to say, a shit-hole dump that I’m not actually sure is suitable for habitation) and I heard the pounding of a hammer on the other side of the kitchen door. I angrily opened the door to see what all the noise was about and there before me was my landlord ecstatic to present to me an entirely new kitchen! It was exquisite! Tons of counter space, lots of gorgeous cabinets, regular sized appliances, a huge island in the middle, and tons of light and air. (It was also, true to dreamscape form, in a courtyard shared by all my neighbors’ kitchens. The architecture was exquisite, all of us at different vertical offsets, private yet not. And two sets of the neighbors had just finished cooking dinner–both chicken!)

My reaction? I didn’t just cry. I sobbed. I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed. I was fighting to get air to my lungs and I couldn’t stand upright and my hands wouldn’t leave my face and I had snot running everywhere. I was so grateful.

I was experiencing the dream directly through my “eyes” while also watching the scene from behind at a short distance. And from both points of view I was surprised by my own reaction.

I’m choosing to interpret this dream on a few different levels while still being open to other possibilities. First of all, there was the catharsis of the sobbing. Just because it happened in the dream state doesn’t mean I didn’t experience the relief. I woke up feeling profoundly better than when I had fallen asleep the night before. On a very literal level, I took it to mean that it’s time to find a new living situation. And on a more etheric level I recognized it as a commentary on my recent lack of self care (both physically, as with making poor food choices and not exercising, and emotionally, as with obsessively trying to figure out all the things I did wrong in my last dating-ish encounter).

And then the dream got even more amazing: I woke up within the dream and realized that I’d been dreaming. And then I woke up in “real life” and realized I’d just been dreaming that I was dreaming. Like Russian nesting dolls, I was playing with the fabric of reality.

Good thing I have a great boss who doesn’t wonder why I sometimes roll into work at a ridiculously late hour…”Why was I late? Ummm….” 😉