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Varieties of Oneiric Experience

...is what tomsdisch labelled these investigations, and he held that hearing (in this case reading) others' dreams is as amusing as hearing any story can be, which I agree with completely, whether creepy and unheimlich or goofy and dadaist.  There's just no doubt that it all means something, and something important, but what or why can't be said, just as with stories themselves.  Teaching a lesson (or learning one) just won't do.

Anyway, after carefully grooming the data I seem to arrive at no conclusion -- most people don;t have those kinds of dreams and of the few who do there seem to be as many women as men -- so forget it.

It does suggest though the need for a real taxonomy of dreams:  not an analytic mode or method, we are far from that pace Freud and others, but a simple taxonomy, like the meme structure of folktales.  SO you can wake up and say oh one of those.  We do that anyway of course, but this would be science, like.

The Forgotten Errand.
The Big Nice House  (this one is cognate to the New Apartment, which in my dreams is always a wonderful refuge, sometimes with free meals or similar).
The Big Nice Elaborately Produced City.
The Big Guy who makes me Guilty/Nervous/Anxious
The Rock Band that Needs my Help (this can't, at least in this form, be a permanent fixture of mentality, though it might have earlier cognates. e.g.  The Shaman who Neeeds me to Beat the Drum.  In my case it was auditioning to replace the bassist in the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, a band I never even listened to much.)
Meeting Dead People who Act Alive
Being Dead but Still Alive
Meeting Famous Dead People who Act Alive

... well I seem to be drifitng into inconsequence, like the Chinese Encyclopedia. 


Jan. 23rd, 2007 11:09 pm (UTC)
Oh! I had one of those as a kid-- where someone offered to show me "what it was like". Only I wasn't sure who. I resisted, and s/he ignored me and pulled me along. I started seeing all kinds of interesting color patterns, but I was terrified. So I fought and screamed, loud enough that my mother came in and woke me up. Weird.
I've never had one where the dead person didn't know s/he was dead, but I've had a number of conversations with dead friends and relatives. Most interesting was my grandmother. I dreamed she had just died, and my mother and aunt were there by the bedside grieving. She stood up and talked to me out in the hall, and we discussed the uncertainty of existence.
"Of course, you know there may not be anything after life," she said. I nodded, and a few seconds later thought-- yeah, but you're dead and you're talking to me. So what gives?
(But they never do tell you how it works)