Dreams are funny things because, scientifically, we sort of know what they are but we could also be entirely wrong about them. I love dreams, I love waking up and remembering something strange and taking my time to let my mind wander back into that world. It actually makes me sad that I don’t remember my dreams more often anymore. For a while, while I was trying to learn how to dream lucidly, I became very skilled at remembering dreams but never really conquered the ability to lucid dream. During that time, my dreams almost became too normal to me that I failed to recognize them as dreams (which is in part what made lucid dreaming difficult, the dreams seemed too close to reality). But this isn’t even the weirdest part to me.
My dreams became a big focus of the Pluto in Scorpio album as I had had quite a few powerful dreams during the couple years I was working on the songs. Most moving, perhaps, was a dream in which I had fallen completely, even madly in love. That is the only way I can describe this feeling which I have never experienced in real life. I even remember how he looked, and they say dreams cannot invent a human face but I can say with certainty that I have never seen this visage in my waking life. It’s the most bizarre thing. I remember he wore all black, black jeans, belt and a plain black t shirt.
I remember in the dream, I had escaped from one apartment where I was hanging out with people I knew, although they weren’t people I would be spending time with normally in my life, and I somehow I ended up being asked to enter a few apartments down the hallway and the guy seemed so charming and friendly so I obliged. I felt immediately comfortable with him, laying out on his bed while he talked on the phone. It was like I had known him for a long time already. I think I remember his apartment as a kinda punk rock crash pad, where he had a friend or two also hanging out around the place – just a tiny room with an attached bathroom really. Though it had been seconds, in the dream it felt as if much more time had passed and I felt such an admiration for him. There was more, but I don’t recall.
Somehow, the dream led to me feeling this emotion that I have never experienced in my waking life. It is the feeling that I truly remember, much more than the dream. If I’m honest, I’m filling in the gaps of the dream with my conscious thoughts so it may be inaccurate (it seems I didn’t write this dream into my dream journal, maybe because I knew even then that the feeling was what mattered most). It was the airiest feeling in the world. At that time in my life, while I simultaneously probably needed that feeling to balance me out, it also just made my waking life seem that much worse in comparison. Ennui mixed with misery will do that to you.
It left me with many questions. How does one simply move on to a life where your brain feeds you melancholy when you’ve just experienced something so contrasted, so contradictory to the heaviness you usually live? Perhaps most importantly, and most abstractly, I wondered if this feeling was something the greater population felt and that I had been withheld from experiencing, or was this something that could only be experienced in dreams? It can make you feel damaged, to suddenly access this wonderful emotion which you could have never imagined and to not know if this feeling was some kind of secret the mentally healthy were keeping from you. It’s very alienating.
In my future songwriting, I’m hoping to, not necessarily revisit this concept, but perhaps build upon it. I’m, thankfully, not in the same state of mind I was in during the writing of the Pluto in Scorpio songs. Obviously I still have a lot of mental exploration to do, but I don’t dwell too much on this emotion anymore, except for from a standpoint of curiosity, because I still don’t really have answers to any of the questions I’ve posed in this post. Maybe I can bring some fresh feeling in on this. I can already tell that I write about my depression in the past tense with a more observant, even sarcastic tone, but there’s still this sense of dysthymia looming, and there’s still this cynicism. Not that it bothers me, but it is there. I don’t know what it means, but it’s there.
That’s all I have to say about that for now. Dreams can be inspiring things; they’re when your mind is in its least restricted and most free-flowing mode. They can also be utter nonsense, but emotionally, they absolutely can make you think.