I dream, though a part of me knows that i do so. First there is the dream experience, imperceptibly transmuting to consciousness, followed by a residual conscious awareness of it. While dreaming i know that i dream and a part of my mind accepts, with full certainty, that it is a dream experience. But despite knowing that i dream, with full cognizance, i dream away and the immediacy of the dream as i experience it is not forestalled, attenuated or diffused in my experience. What is equally striking is that when i woke up and tried to recapture the dream all i had were fragments, mnemonics, intimations i couldn't reconstitute authentically. A simulacrum of the actual is all i have as recollection. I had thought, or rather hoped that my conscious awareness of having dreamt while dreaming may have lodged the experience in a more memorable format. But a part of my conscious mind, colluding with the conscious, seems to have obliterated ,in great measure, the original experience.
What i do recall is walking down a long corridor, a rather archetypal dream symbol. I remember wandering aimlessly, desultorily, with no destination in mind. Perhaps this peregrination is an indication of life itself, the journey aspect of life. Perhaps the purposelessness that constitutes my present experience is being, in a subliminal form, being articulated. Or perhaps i am seeking something that i neither know the form of nor the fact of my seeking it. The interpretations are numerous, the associations manifold and the interlinked memories interlocked, resisting interpretation.
The dream could either be wish fulfilment or overcompensation or denial. The mutations of memory and experience, recaptured and re-formed and reinterpreted in dreams, take on an unrecognizable form. They assume a form that is the concrete reconfiguration of disparate bits of our life, many of those bits unknowable. There, in the amorphous antechamber of memory and experience these kaleidoscopic slivers conjoin in a patten that is uncapturable. It is equally possible that the same experience reshuffled differently, permutates differently, in a completely different form. So a reversion of the dream experience into its constituents is not only difficult but inaccurate. More than that these constituents lodge in the unconscious mind.
Which does not, of course imply, that patterns are indiscernible. Commonalities are ineluctable but their ontology is unlocatable.All i have, despite my assiduous excoriation of the dream, is the incontrovertible reality of the dream itself. And it leaves much open to the imagination. In the desiccated, shriveled, remnant that i now am ,this dream, with its possibilities of reconstruction, revivifies and imposes meaning and structure, exacerbated by my search for inner truth, into my waking, conscious life. So the dream becomes reality.