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I’m savoring a couplet from the French Symbolist poet Stéphane Mallarmé, who has appeared in several of my dreams. He’s famed for his obscurity, but these two lines, from a poem about friendship, bring a bittersweet sense of something entirely familiar: Nous immémoriaux quelques-uns si contents Sur la soudaineté de notre amitié neuve In rough translation: We,…

Our dream selves are forever traveling ahead of us, scouting the roads that lie before us. They can show us challenges and opportunities that lie ahead, of which our waking minds know little or nothing, if we are willing to listen to their travel reports. My first question, when I wake from a night dream,…

A friend of mine who is a generally prolific dreamer was puzzled as to why she felt she was losing the memory of some important dream experiences. “Sometimes I go deeper than deep,” she told me. “I go down through successive levels of dreaming to the place where it’s at, where the truly big stuff…

She shows me the story of her life, in a room richly decorated with golden serpents. I am fascinated by the fine definition of their scales. Some project from the walls like water spouts, others are coiled, some interwined, each in a different posture. Some are as big as boas, others small and sharp as…
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