The Real Question About Dreams

Last night, Michelle and an old friend Zack Hatch danced together at a Renaissance Fair.  Not actually, but in the dream I had just before waking, it definitely happened.  I was running late, having stopped at a window to buy a custom dress.  I was being pinned into the yellow fabric as the salesperson cut out my leather corset when they entered.  Michelle was singing lyrics I've never before heard to a melody I definitely have, which lead me to believe the song was from Moulin Rouge (though upon waking, it most certainly wasn't). The dance was incredibly technical and athletic, which made the woman working on my dress gasp repeatedly in disapproval, as the costume Michelle wore clearly highlighted the fact that she was about six months pregnant.  The song itself was angry; clearly Zack was a jerk and a deadbeat dad, and she was completely willing to point out all his faults.  There were 8 or 10 male backup dancers as well, who facilitated the many lifts and throws.  The Renaissance crowd erupted with applause at the conclusion of the dance, and I promptly awoke.

...wondering, not for the first time, how I can dream stuff like that.  I mean, it isn't really surprising that I frequently dream in musical, theatrical production numbers.  But here's what I don't get:

Who wrote those lyrics I have never heard?

And who choreographed that dance?

These were not vagaries.  I popped immediately out of bed this morning to pen my thoughts before they completely vanished in the daylight, and by intentionally grasping at them, I can still picture a few of the acrobatic stunts.  This was no general impression of amazing dancing and SYTYCD caliber choreography.  This was the actual deal.

How does that happen?  Where did those images and ideas come from?

It makes me think of the great master composer, Mozart, who didn't so much write music as write down the music that was already playing in his mind.  It makes me wonder if, for those of us less genius than Mozart, there is some great barrier in consciousness that blocks our ability to tap into the raw creativity of the subconscious.  Are we really all masters, but with varying abilities to access it?

Then I kind of think of the great comedians, actors, musicians, and artists afflicted by substance abuse.  I wonder if the drugs and alcohol weaken that boundary?  Allow them to dream in consciousness?  Allow them to say, to be, to write, to represent things that otherwise would be trapped and accessibly only in dreams.

As an amateur lyricist, composer, and choreographer, I can't help but wake up wondering, "How did my mind do that?  Was that me?  Do I have the potential to be that great?"  And then I just wonder at the logistics.  I mean, it would take me hours to choreograph a piece of that length.  Another set of hours to determine the costuming.  At least an hour to rewrite the lyrics.  Let's say I am 10 mental hours into a project of that scope were it real.  Logistically, when did those hours happen?  Did I carefully think those thoughts, one by one, without seeing them on the Dream Screen?  Have I been piecing it together over a week's worth of sleep?  Or, as if by spontaneous combustion, can my brain do all of that, simultaneously and instantaneously, in its literal sleep?

I wish that in waking, I could do that.  I wish you all could have seen the dance.  It was powerful and moving (and I am fairly certain was probably a representation of my feelings regarding my best friend's impending divorce).  Besides, Michelle was singing, so of course I wish I could share it with you.

To be or not to be?  Nah.

How to be...

...as imaginative
...as uninhibited
...as masterful
...as detailed
...as emotional
...as creative

as the girl who dreams while I sleep.