ID

We are told that normally, everyone dreams when they sleep. A lot of people always remember what they’ve dreamt, and can wake up and tell you in minute detail every bit of non-sense that played in their sleep. Other’s can remember who was in their dream and bits and pieces, but no detail. If I dream, I rarely remember. I wake and would vow that I didn’t dream. On those rare occasions, though, I can remember everything about my dream, and usually there is no guess work in interpretation. Honestly, I don’t think I dream at all unless the dream is very meaningful, and that may be either encouraging or oppressive. Often, my rare dreams are understood even in the dream, but of course not as interpreting a dream, but as understanding in real time, the metaphorical events and circumstances that are taking place. Oddly, this is how I think when I’m awake too. Everything means and can be understood on levels other than and deeper than the surface experience. I don’t know if this is actually true, but something in me, causes me to experience things that way. I tend to unpack every moment.
When I do dream, it seems so real that it takes me a long time upon waking to recover and grasp what is real again. Sometimes I sincerely wonder which is more real, the waking world, or what I experienced in my dream. When one awakes from a dream that is that strong, he feels as if everyone is just going around playing dumb to what is true – pretending that they don’t know what really happened last night. I’ve had dreams before in which Allison has said or done something that has hurt me, and I’ve taken days to get over it. I’ll go around emotionally hurt, and withdrawn, but intellectually kicking myself for being affected by something that is not real. On the other hand, and you may not believe this, I’ve come to know of things in dreams that were real and true, but I didn’t know about before. Over time, it becomes very difficult to wake and sort out what is real and what isn’t, what exists only in your dream and what your dream may be telling you about reality.

Yesterday evening I napped from 6:30-8:30. Apparently I dreamed the entire time, because I was dreaming while I still realized that I was awake, and finally, I just fell inside. It seemed as if my dream, or at least its meaning, were tied together with what was actually happening as I slept, an oddity that heightens the impact of a dream.
Every aspect of the dream had meaning. Nearly everyone in my sphere were in the dream. I won’t name them or their significance. The dream was about identity.
I was visiting Mount Moriah, which was not its self, and that is important. It was a looming, snow-capped monstrosity. We’d stopped at a small touristy shop before driving up the mountain and while we were there, I lost my green eddie bauer book bag with my initials embroidered on the side. The bag contained my wallet and my computer.
People who don’t know we really well, would probably immediately see some of my identity in that simple fact: Rod always has his green bag containing his wallet and computer. It even rides on the gas tank of his green motorcycle. But of course, to me, the bag and its contents weren’t my identity, they contained my identity. With Allison’s purse having been so recently stolen, and our fights and hassles to close accounts and clear our name sullied with bad checks written against closed accounts and fraudulent purchases, I was terrified by identity theft. My computer contained every thought I’ve ever thought, and holds and keeps them in a manner that is organized and makes them accessible and worthwhile. I think, therefore I am and without my thoughts I’m not.
As we began to drive up Mount Moriah, the roads were icy and we were sliding all around, other cars were sliding into one another, and all I could think of was I’ve got to get my wallet and thoughts back. The further we drove from my thoughts, the more we began to lose control and slide around. But everyone in the car, kept saying, “we’ve got to find some place to get lunch.” No one cared that who I was was lost and sliding around on the stormy mountainside, I could care less about lunch.
I woke while we were sliding around. I was still thinking about identity and responsibility when I realized that what had woke me was the boys clinking around in the kitchen trying to get some supper at 8:30pm. They were on the phone with Mom, who is in DC. Allison was taking care of them and feeding them from 500 miles away while I was all wrapped up in myself, asleep sideways across the bed 5 steps away. Man, have I screwed up. For the past two hours, everyone has been trying to find some lunch. Could I take a hint?
In reality, Mount Moriah is but a rise in the surrounding topography. Its identity and who identifies with it is disputed constantly. But it is what it is. Actually it’s identity is found in God, not a particular group of people. It doesn’t contain God, God contains it. How strange that this dream should take place on a fake Mount Moriah. My wallet and computer don’t contain me. If someone else spends all my money, I’ll still be me. And if all my thoughts get stolen, they will still be my thoughts and they are still in my head. I know that’s a cheesy moral to a scary dream, honestly, that’s not all there is, but its all I’m willing to tell.
I got out of bed last night with thoughts intact but swirling. Jack finished preparing supper and he and Will ate their fill. Allison and Molly are traipsing around in the rainy Nation’s Capital today. We’re enjoying a soft rainy spring Saturday.
I’d better go get my boys some lunch.

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