Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Frozen with snow.
-Langston Hughes
One of my New Year's resolutions was to keep track of my dreams. To realize this, I started keeping a journal by my bedside and made my best effort (not easy early in the morning) to write down the foggy details of each night's remnants. While I wasn't 100% successful (still am not) I did begin to notice that I was gradually recovering more and more of my sleeping memories. I also began to experience that phenomenon known as "lucid dreaming"; I started becoming more aware of my dreams and was able to influence their course of action, though modestly I admit.
My dreaming also led me to the vine-enveloped gates of nostalgia. Once opened, I found a garden overgrown in bramble and shrubbery. Searching through the dense abundance, I found so many moments I had left behind; like rotting fruit, each was tucked away and sealed within the compost of my childhood. One such memory (which came from a dream that I was walking through a garden) was of stealing berries from my grandma's strawberry patch when I was a little girl. The dream felt so real that when I woke up, I swear, I could taste the sweet juice of ripe strawberries dripping on my tongue and then down to my chin, as it once did a lifetime ago (I was, and still am, quite the messy eater).