Yes, I Dream in Color

Case in point: An incredibly vivid dream I had about a month ago.

It’s strange to me that some people don’t dream in color. I always dream in color – but then again, I’m also one of those synesthetic people. Color permeates how I experience the world in a very real way…so I suppose it makes more sense for me to dream in color than not.

This dream though takes color to another level for me. Color was a central component of it. That’s never happened before that I can remember. Color seemed symbolic in this dream. It wasn’t a dream about color – but the color was vivid and noticeable and accentuated certain parts of the dream in distinct and noticeable ways.

It was really interesting, actually. In the weeks since, I’ve been trying to analyze what I think and feel about that.

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So I’m going to lay out the entire dream below.

(That’s a warning!!! I fully realize that there’s an excellent chance nobody but me is going to find this the slightest bit interesting…so I give you notice now!)

I wrote it down in as much detail as I could remember the day after it happened, and so I have all of that to include here.

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I’ll just add that I’ve only written about dreams a few times before – mainly because most dreams I have really, really aren’t worth writing about.

This one’s different. It feels different. It feels significant.

There have only been two other occasions in my entire life (and I did blog about them – here and here) where a dream left me with such a strong feeling: that it meant something, that it was telling me something.

Not prophetically telling me. More that it was maybe my subconscious pointing out a few things? I don’t know.

This one is #3, though.

This dream in fact feels, strangely but very powerfully, like a continuation of those other two. I don’t know what to make of that exactly. This one is quite different in many ways, but the feeling is the same. And some of the elements do carry over. It’s an odd thing.

So anyway, without further ado:

THE DREAM

I was part of a gathering of a large-ish group of people. The focus was something career-related – something to do with writing or photography (the kinds of work I want to be making a real living with at some point.) It wasn’t a conference exactly, or a reception – but something along those lines. It was in a big room – no windows, but skylights and exposed rafters, airy. The walls were a kind of golden-yellowy beige.

I was enjoying myself. I felt very stimulated and interested in everything going on around me. Lots of interesting people talking about interesting things.

Most of the people were just blurs of faces and bodies, but one was more distinct than the rest, and seemed to be most involved in the proceedings – in charge in some manner of the event. His face was blurred, but the rest of him was clear: he was in the neighborhood of my age, with shortish dark hair, a white button-down shirt, khaki pants, and some sort of stylish but comfy shoes (not dress shoes) in some kind of lightish color. He had a really good energy. He was serious about the goings-on, and moving things forward…but was cheerful and smiling, fun, interesting.

He and I were together in some fashion. There was nothing overtly romantic going on – but we would be standing together, exchanging looks, etc. I didn’t feel like I was there for that though; I wasn’t there to be his date or something. I was there for the work. Whatever was going on with him, that was just “also” – in addition to the work. That was clear.

I felt very healthy. Like, fit and light on my feet – the way you do when you’re in shape and exercising regularly (which I wasn’t so much at the time I had this dream.) I felt very alert – and interested and just happy. My hair was wavy (not frizzy! That’s been an issue lately), and down to my chest (a few inches longer than it is at this moment.) It was a slightly more golden (and prettier!) hue of brown than it currently is. I was wearing some kind of skirt/shirt combo that went to the top of my knees. It was this watercolor-y mix of red, yellow, and orange – mostly red. I was wearing some kind of cool shoes with sort of seventies-inspired chunky heels. I wasn’t dressed in a particularly funky way or anything like that – but I also wasn’t stuffily-dressed. I was comfortable and creative, I guess.

I was carrying something in my arms. Notebooks? Maybe a clipboard, too? I had a camera around my neck on a strap, I think, with the body resting on the things in my arms. I wasn’t overloaded by the things I was carrying; they were all light and easy to maneuver – and they all had something to do with my work (writing tools, photography tools.) I was kind of hugging them in my arms as I walked around, laughing and talking to people.

Then it was time to leave – and I was in the next instant at the airport, readying to fly back to my kids in Virginia. It was sort of a generic airport. It looked somewhat like the airport in Kansas City – but I don’t think it was actually Kansas City airport. I think it was that one imaging because I lived near to there for a while, and actually went to that airport rather often; I was pretty familiar with it. I didn’t get the impression the airport in my dream was meant to be any particular place, really – and sometimes it wasn’t Kansas City at all. Sometimes it was Dulles airport, outside of DC. Sometimes it was the airport in Charlotte, NC – and I think maybe the one in Atlanta. I think it was just meant to be generic “airport.”

It was pretty busy, pretty crowded. The guy with the white shirt was there with me, standing around. We were chatting – smiling, happy – but there was a vibe of regret too, that I was leaving. He had to do something then – make a call? Something business-related – and so he stepped briefly away and out of sight. While I was waiting for him to come back, a heavyset black woman – polished, pleasant – dressed in a nice black dress and a fancy black hat, pushing a HUGE black baby stroller, came up to me. The little baby inside was absolutely adorable – but had a deformed head (it came to a big point.) The pointed head was covered up with a tan cap with lace edging and the baby was really smiley so long as the cap stayed in place. If it slipped (which it did a few times as I watched), the little mouth would stop smiling and get all trembly and worried – but then when it slipped back into place, the smile would come back.

The woman was trying to figure out how to do something (I don’t know what) while also minding the baby, and was having trouble. I offered to watch the baby for her while she did whatever it was she had to do. She was extremely grateful, and went off to do whatever it was.

So I stood there next to this enormous stroller (tall, with almost a canopy across the top, protecting the baby) – and all of a sudden I realized that people who were to ride my flight home with me (I don’t know how I knew that’s who they were; they weren’t work people, just random people) were gathered outside. They were waiting for a shuttle bus that would take them to the plane – and I needed to catch that shuttle with them if I wanted to make my plane.

I could see them through a window. They were outside, a long distance away. It didn’t look at all like an airport out there. It was very sunny, with highly over-saturated colors: very blue sky with very white clouds and very springy-green grass. The people were standing on a very brightly sunlit sweep of tan sidewalk. There was an upscale suburban neighborhood across the street from where they waited filled with well-maintained and meticulously landscaped homes and rowhouses.

The people themselves were an amalgam of various average-looking people. I recognized some very “suburban mom” looking ladies that were on jury duty with me last October, and a guy I worked with at a Barnes and Noble several years ago. They and the others were alike in their very non-descript-ness. They were just absolutely average – a little blah, a little dumpy some of them, a little drab. The kind of people you see on a run to the grocery store and don’t remember two seconds after you see them. Nothing offensive or bothersome about any of them – but all just united by their complete unmemorableness and mediocrity.

So I knew I was supposed to be out there with them – but I couldn’t leave the baby, and I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to the white-shirted-guy. I wasn’t really worried about this…more perplexed. It was like a puzzle I wasn’t sure how to solve.

Then the white-shirt-guy came back and I told him what was going on. The lady almost immediately came back as well – and in a big flurry of motion, she and the baby were gone, I was hugging the white-shirt-guy goodbye, and then I was gone. I was fighting my way through crowds to get out to the shuttle bus.

As I moved through them, the airport hallways got narrower and more and more clogged with people. They turned tan and drab too, like the inside of a cardboard box. The directional signs were the worst though: they hung down from the ceiling and their letters kept flipping so that I couldn’t ever quite make out where I was being guided to go, so I ended up making a lot of wrong turns and backtracking. Finally I realized there was no conceivable way I was going to catch that shuttle, so I moved out of the crowd and to a window. From there I could see the shuttle bus; it was at the curb and the people were boarding it.

I wasn’t really upset about missing my plane. I hadn’t been looking forward to getting on it to begin with. I wasn’t nervous or flustered. What I felt was perplexed again. It was another puzzle to solve – because how was I going to get home to my kids without that flight? I wasn’t worried about them (they were with their dad.) And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see them…not at all. It was the flight I hadn’t been excited about…and now this perplexing puzzle of how to replace the flight.

I started addressing the practical. I knew I had to contact my ex (the kids’ dad) and let him know I wouldn’t be there as planned. I think I texted or something. And then I started thinking about how to go about getting myself another flight.

I started walking again, and as I did so, I called the white-shirt-guy to tell him what had happened. He was concerned – but more pleased to think I’d be sticking around another night. He gave me an address and told me to go there and that he’d meet me there – and that he could easily work out the alternate travel arrangements for me too, if I wanted. I gladly agreed to that.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it myself. It was more like: “Cool. Now I don’t have to bother with that.”

In the next moment, I was at the address he’d given me. It was this beautiful, amazing beachfront hotel-like place. The room I was in was a few stories up. It had a wall of windows facing a balcony area with comfy lounge seats on it, with the ocean out beyond. The room had bright white walls and really high ceilings with wooden beams. The floor was thick red tile and to the right you took a step up to a huge white bed, angled to face the ocean.

The bed didn’t seem to represent anything sexual to me; there was no particular sexual vibe, looking at it. But I sort of knew (flashed forward or something) to what it would feel like to lay there, with the guy next to me, talking, looking out at the black ocean and hearing the waves, with the stars sparkling really brightly in the inky dark sky.

And I’ll note that it was absolutely the same night sky I saw in my wolf dreams (those are the other two dreams I mentioned at the beginning of this.) The difference here was that, rather than looking at the stars over a sprawling city (as I did in the previous dreams,) the stars were now over the ocean – and I was kind of beside and below them, at a diagonal to them, rather than looking out at them.

I was closer to them, is the thing. That’s one part of this that I think has to be symbolic in some way. The stars weren’t right over my head; I knew that. It’s like, I knew that I hadn’t reached them yet because they weren’t over my head yet. They were over the ocean, and I was on the land. But I was close…closer than I’d been before. I wasn’t looking over at them from a distant mountainside anymore. And I knew I could lay there on that bed and look at them while I talked.

I also knew that the bedcoverings would be glowing whiter with the moonlight and the starlight.

It was most definitely a West Coast ocean…a West Coast scene. Which is another connection to those previous dreams. I didn’t feel that I was out of the U.S. – but there was also nothing remotely East Coast about the scene. The vibe was completely West…and California specifically. The decor was California. And I knew the sun would set over the ocean.

The ocean out the window was blue and beautiful and vast. It didn’t have a trace of that over-saturation I’d seen before; it was all natural colors. There was a really nice breeze…the sun was shining brightly, but not glaring at all…the balcony was in partial sun, partial shade. There were pots of flowers (again, of the type you’d see in southern California.) It was just absolutely lovely.

I wanted to wait for the white-shirt-guy before I went down to the ocean, so that he’d be able to find me – so in the next moment, I was in one of the lounge chairs. I was wearing a bathing suit and a wrap skirt cover of some sort and a cool straw hat and cool sunglasses. (I don’t actually own any of these things except for the bathing suit and some not-that-cool sunglasses!) I looked good! I was reading a paperback (I don’t know what – but it was really thick and dog-eared). I was ultra-relaxed and very happy.

Then the white-shirt-guy came in, all smiles. We were standing together in the room, beside the step, just talking and smiling. He had his arms lightly around me, I think. I was touching his shirt.

In the next moment, we were in the waves together – riding them, laughing, playing. We were holding hands occasionally and talking kind of desultorily. It was so much fun! The sun and water and sea breezes felt so wonderful. And it was just so NICE to be there – in that environment, and with him. I enjoyed his company so much.

Then it kind of focused in on him. He had a tattoo (or tattoos plural?); I don’t remember where, and he definitely wasn’t covered with them. I just remember that he had one or two or three. They weren’t garish; just sort of arty and interesting. I don’t know what color his eyes were – but every so often, they were in sharp focus. They weren’t dark.

His eyes, his smile, his musculature (which was very nicely defined, I have to say! Lean and chiseled. It was a pretty nice dream!), with the feel of the sand beneath my toes, and the occasional feeling of weightlessness in the water, the feel of the water all around me and rolling over me, and the hard, strong feel of his hand and fingers holding mine – these were all really solid things. Really, really tangible. I could still feel them when I woke up. The moment was just really, really crystal clear – the hard feel of his hand most especially.

That was it.

*

So, I have a few things to say about this. And more things to say that are sort of tangentially related to this, that came to me as a result of things this dream kicked me into thinking about.

That’ll all be coming out in the next weeks in blog-form, I imagine!

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2 thoughts on “Yes, I Dream in Color

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