This starts with a secret that I’ve decided not to keep. When I was little, I would confuse my sleeping-dreams with reality. I thought I really did fly that time, I really did see that animal crossing the road, and I really did have that conversation. I couldn’t keep my waking life and my night-life separate, the dreams I mistook for reality were so realistic- I could see, touch, taste- and the sounds I could hear were the most vivid. My brother still teases me for thinking I could fly when I was ten.
But I am still me, and this still happens. I constantly have to check with SKY to make sure I wasn’t dreaming about that walk we went on yesterday, about that discussion we had about farming, about his brother asking us a question. Many times when I ask, they are dream-memories. It doesn’t help that over time, my dreams have become much more lucid- sometimes I am able to control my activities within a dream. Much of the time, I am simply aware that I am dreaming- somehow- and I get frustrated because I don’t like dreaming, I just want it to end. That usually results in me “standing by” in a dream and waiting for it to finish.
But when I get really into a dream (usually when I’m incredibly tired before falling asleep) I still mistake it for my real life. I don’t know how I feel about this inability to disconnect my dreams and my waking life. Some people don’t believe me; others think I should try to work on my lucid dreaming… But in the end, my dreams and my life are intertwined, my brain is strange.
I dreamed that we were at Popham Beach again, SKY and me. In the dream, it wasn’t daylight as in reality, but the darkest, brightest red and purple glow over everything. The sun filled the near horizon with a band of gold and made the islands stand out shadowy. Droplets of sea-spray filled our eyes and made it clearer to see the ocean. We vibrated in time with the tide, which was receding. (When we were there, the tide had been coming in- we had to hurry in from the sandbar to avoid being stranded.)
The only people on the beach were few and quiet, walking with purpose. They made soft eye contact with us as they drifted by; they welcomed our presence and we were glad of theirs. It made the dream feel more alive.
It seemed I was forever away from SKY as we walked together on the sand- in the sand as our feet padded gently, toes pressing pockets in the flat universe. He was only a dark spot way over there; I thought, but- then he was right next to me, a gentle smile as a gift before he walked to the edge again.
But it was as if we were holding hands, walking together even in physical dream-distance. The water licked our ankles, washing us. I didn’t know how we would ever be able to walk into the sea. The water seemed so dense, so solid and sure. SKY walked farther than me (he always does), and the water enveloped his legs like a wool blanket, wrapped and winding.
We bent our backs, eyes up to the sand, looking for sand dollars, just as we had when we were there. The storm had rolled in, but missed us. It didn’t miss the sea animals. Jellyfish and crabs, seaweed, and the elusive sand dollars were decorating the sand. Somehow, we stepped on none. We could see through this misty world, and the sand dollars glowed softest white as they laid on their deathbeds.
I yelled out to SKY when I found my share of the round beauties. He heard me, and I heard his foggy voice call back over the winding coastline. When our search was satisfied, we retreated to our resting area- somehow we had a small tent that could take the battering of the ocean winds and the salt spray. The glow of this world filled the tent as well. He and I sat together in silence, looking out to the rounded water, knowing that we were wanted here. “We’re rich now, baby”, I said. We had left the sand dollars on the beach.
I don’t know how many more dreams I had before I woke in the morning. I don’t know how much time had passed during the dream, or when it occurred in my sleep cycle. I told SKY I had a dream about Popham. He said he was jealous of my good luck, and I remembered the photos he had taken of the beach, the forever lost photos- of me, of the birds, our collection of dead sea skeletons, the islands, the view… And I remembered the sand dollars we left behind in the dream. Either way, I’m rich.
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