Dreams have always been a form of entertainment for me, like watching movies in the ultimate home theater. The impact of a film, can be measured by the degree to which viewers are drawn into the story. Think “Psycho”, for example, and the shower scene immediately comes to mind. One dream frightened me so when I was a child that I shiver now when I recall it. I can still clearly see the awful terror on the face of a Pilgrim girl, having dipped a bucket of water from the common well, being chased up a hill by a loud, terrifying tribe of angry Indians brandishing tomahawks.
Before now, I have had few dreams of paralyzing fright. The usual assortment of mildly disturbing dreams have played on my mind’s marquee: the embarrassment of appearing naked in public, or the anxiety of being unable to deliver a critical message. Occasionally I have awakened myself to laughter caused by the antics of my mind’s imagination. Lately, however, I have begun to have dreams of violence in which I am threatened with bodily harm by knife-wielding assailants or lurking shadowy figures.
My personal film producer has been working double time over recent months concocting situations that carry me to the extremes of fear. One recurring theme places me on the roof of a ten story building, crouched on slate with my toes desperately gripping the tiles closest to the gutter, perspective magnifying the height and paralyzed with fear. I cry out in terror, awakening myself before the predicament becomes more critical or resolves itself. Michael gives me a gentle shake and a few comforting pats, and I return to a sound sleep.
I would rather awake laughing, so these days I more often read humorous books before sleeping rather then the absorbing mysteries I usually favor.
Sweet dreams!
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted September 16, 2008
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