In the world of dream journaling I am, for all intents and
purposes, a mute. I can rarely remember any of my dreams, and if I do at all, it’s
usually a scattered fragment here or there. But last night was different; last
night I dreamed of taking selfies with Judy Garland.
I was at the Universal Studios Theme Park, modern day, so it
couldn’t have been the real Judy Garland (may she rest in peace), it was a
character actor that was playing her, though I must say, she was a dead
ringer. Judy wore bright red lipstick and that trademark
white and blue checkered dress, with her hair in pigtails. As she was
making her way to the center of the park, I intercepted her and asked for
a selfie. A look of mild concern came over her face. My wife wasn’t with me,
nor were either of my kids, so I must’ve looked like a middle aged perv or
something. But she agreed, and as I put my arm around her and noticed how tiny
she was, I did a Cowardly Lion impression, which made her laugh, and instead of
one selfie I got three. Then? I thanked her and she skipped away.
So, what was that all about? I can only guess. But I’m sure
my grief therapist will have a field day with it. To therapists dreams are like
coffee; they’re all about awakening, coming alive and breathing deep. In case
you don’t read my blogs, my mother died recently. Well, last December. But
death is no respecter of persons and grief has no expiration date, so though I’m
doing better, I’m still not well, and December might as well be June. But I don’t
think it’s a coincidence that in my dream I didn't see myself as the Tin Man
looking for a heart, nor the Scarecrow looking for a brain. No. I was the
Cowardly Lion, looking for his courage.
We could go further, of course. We could talk about how The
Wizard of Oz was one of my Mom’s favorite movies. We could ask why Dorothy wasn’t
carrying her basket, and why Toto was nowhere to be seen. Or…why was it that Dorothy
was afraid of me when I first approached? In the last selfie she pressed her
cheek hard against mine and gave the biggest smile of all, so at least she left
happy. Yeah. I think so. And...did I mention that Dorothy was my mother's name?
No dream remembered is one that’s meant to be forgotten. Keep
that in mind the next time you awaken with images and impressions still fresh in your eyes. And, oh yeah, I know that some of you that read this blog are
in mourning as well. If so, I cannot recommend short term grief therapy more.
If for no other reason than that it has helped me to dream again.
