I
wonder if having a new pillow will reshape my dreams, the way certain spices
eaten for supper color them, making them exotic, warm, or agitated? The way Marley’s ghost was nothing more
than “an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a
fragment of an underdone potato”?
I’ve found that when I fall asleep listening to an audiobook on my iPod,
the words of the writer, the voice of the reader, both weave themselves into my
dreams. Or music, too, lends them
its mood or tone.
Like
bits of twig and hair and colored thread formed into bird nests, this all is
such stuff as dreams are made on.
image: Odilon Redon, Flower Clouds
Let me say that I have always loved Odilon Redon since I was a high school student.
ReplyDeleteIt must be a true pleasure for you, filled with anticipation, to go to sleep and dream.
I hope my dreams can also be made of "that stuff" one day.
sigh. i know i must dream. 'they' say we must or we go mad. but i never remember them. i've never decided if that is a good thing or a bad thing. . . . until now! your words make me wistful for them.
ReplyDeleteDaydreaming is my favorite, because I have more control over the content!
ReplyDelete