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Sleeping Dreams

The Sleeping Gypsy by Rousseau

You have probably already figured out that Will is a very peculiar guy. One of the things that is very important to him is the dreams he has. Here is a collection of some of those dreams.

This section is titled "Sleeping Dreams" because I didn't want you to think that it was about my dreams in the waking world. - which are a whole different issue.



The Library:

This dream, to me, is one of the most profound and gives the deepest insight into what makes me tick.

I live in a New England milltown with a population of about a hundred thousand people. A hundred years ago this town was a financial powerhouse having supplied textiles to the whole of a growing nation.

One of the benefits of having such a wealthy town was that we had built an amazing library (now a hundred years old) that was complete with marble floors, marble columns and floors of bookshelves made out of wrought iron and glass. all the floors where the books were stored were made out of glass!

Anyway, I spent the biggest part of my youth and adolescence scouring these library shelves. I practically lived in the place and I could often be seen walking home with an armful of books.

Now onto the dream

Later in life, when the responsibilities of career, family, bills, school etc. were the center of my attention and the joy of that library had been long forgotten I had a dream that changed my life.

I dreamt that I was walking inside a library, between two stacks of shelves, and I looked up at the shelves and I couldn't see the tops. Then I looked down the aisle and I couldn't see the end. The books went on for miles and merged into the horizon line.

A swelling of joy came into my heart. "Everything was here! Everything to be learned was right here!" I was overjoyed. I could feel my heart about to burst. I could learn everything.

Then a thought hit me right in the heart. No matter how long I lived, and how hard I tried I would never be able to read even the smallest percentage of the books I could see, let alone the ones I couldn't see.

This thought was like a dagger. It was an exercise in absolute futility. It was something I could never do even though the opportunity was right in front of me.

I began to weep at the horror of it; and I woke up weeping.

A Dream and a Memory of a Song

I am an early riser so I am usually up by six am. This means that after a few hours of output, whether it be drawing or writing or web design I start to feel sleepy. So By eleven ish I am ready for a beautiful nap. It is funny how these naps affect me. They almost always feel wonderful and I used to resist them. After all I am not supposed to be "lazy". Napping is for lazy people. I am supposed to do more and more. Make use of the whole day and squeeze in twenty-five hours if I can. But lately I have been in the habit of listening to the things my body and my soul tell me. And it often tells me that it's time for a nap.

Well anyway; today I took a beautiful nap and I had a dream that I was at a big family reunion and we were on this old cobble stone street with a long long bench that we could all sit on. The reunion was in a far away place and everybody in the family was there. People were making their way to the bench to have a seat. I was sitting with my sisters and we were laughing and having a wonderful time. We were all happy. There were people there that I didn't recognize but they were family.

When we were all seated in one single row down this long cobble stone street an older woman announced that she was going to give out slices of cake that was made from a very old family recipe. When she got to me I saw that half the cake was gone and I worried that family members at the end of the bench wouldn't get any but she told me not to worry. I took a slice and put it in my mouth. It was delicious and sweet and while tasting this I woke up.

I woke up with a glow. It was such a beautiful dream. An old city, cobblestone streets, a beautiful slice of cake, and the whole family.

I went into my art room and sat at the computer but it didn't feel right so I picked up my guitar and started playing a made up melody. It was sounding pretty good but a feeling hit me. There had been a song tucked away in the back of my head for a very long time. It was a song that I, and believe me when I say this, a song that I hadn't played in twenty years, and I hadn't thought about in ten years, and hadn't heard on the radio for five years. But it came back to me. I carefully felt my way through the fingering and it clicked. I played the whole first refrain of the song.

How did my left hand remember what notes to hit? How did my right hand know which strings to pluck? How did my ear recollect exactly how it should sound?

This makes me think about the nature of mind and body. They say that every seven years you have a new body. Even the bones have been replaced by new cells and all the old cells are gone. So it has been about three bodies ago that I learned how to play this song and I haven't played it since. What is this force that allowed me to remember? What is this sustenance that continues even though the cells die? This reminds me of that Dylan Thomas poem: "The Force that Through the Green Fuse Shoots the Flower"

What is this force within me that continues on even though all of the matter is replaced? And will it continue on even after all the matter in me turns to dust?

I have recorded the first refrain of the song I remembered and if you would like to hear it you can click on the link above now.