|2008 - Full moon on a cloudy night|
Some come from my dreams. Sometimes, instead, strange pronouncements come out exactly the moment I wake up; I literally catch myself uttering or whispering words while I'm still in the limbo that separates sleeping from being awake. Only once they're out do I realize what happened. That's when I pick up the pencil and my notebook to write everything down before I forget it.
Sometimes there's only a book at hand on my nightstand. So, if you grab a book from my bookcase and take a look at the first blank pages, you might incur into some otherworldly calligraphy; I usually do not turn the light on to write and I'm as tired as not to even open my eyes. Yet, by the time I wake up again a few hours later, I have forgotten, if not the whole, almost every part composing it.
When I take my notebook back in my hands, I wonder at the marvels I'm confronted with.
The first feeling is that it wasn't me, but someone else uttering those words. I called this phenomenon Verba Ex Profundis - Words from the Abyss. I took the habit of giving each of my dreams - or pieces of dream matter - a Latin title. This allows me to keep my dream material in a dimension which is not the usual one; an unconscious dimension which, although distinct from it, is still in contact with my conscious dimension.
A Latin title also forces me to approach my dreams with the degree of respect and reverence that one would devote to a sacred practice.
Certain sentences apparently have no meaning. Yet, analyzing the context of the sentences - and of the entire dream - in relation to the period of my life, the details assume a clear meaning, although it might take me weeks, months, or even years to understand it.
Once I dreamed of a whole poem written on a white board. When I woke up, I was able to remember it from the first word to the last and write it down. I later on figured out that it wasn't technically a poem I had dreamed of; it was rather prose presented in verses and introducing a religious concept.
I haven't yet been able to make sense of it.
One early morning, in 2006, the year I developed my profound interest for psychoanalysis and analytical psychology, an emblematic phrase flowed out of my mouth upon waking.
I knew from the very beginning that the meaning of the phrase represented the gate to my newly discovered passion.
I am deeply convinced that a careful analysis of dreams and of their elements can be of great help in giving depth to our fictional characters. Whether we act or write, mastering our ability in psychological analysis can only enhance our artistic skills. Should I mention the good it will do us as individual persons? Isn't it a way to gradually get to know more and more chunks of ourselves?
Do your dreams ever speak to you through actual words?
Have you ever analyzed the meanings of those words?