Last year at the Lammas full Supermoon, I looked back over a year of logging my dreams. According to Substack’s metrics, this is my ‘Top Post’.
This year I’ve continued to record my dreams. In most I’m young and able-bodied. I live in strange new places and am surrounded by people. I’m often in crowds or at parties. I’m always travelling, embarking on adventures. It is indeed the Bizarro world to my actual life where I’m sometimes curtailed to bed-life due to chronic illness and social life is limited. I talk to friends on Zoom calls—their faces the size of postage stamps transmitted in pixels to my writing room on the main island of Orkney.
My dreams this year were also full of harrowing trials, fancy real estate and Harry f*ing Potter film locations.
From last year’s post:
…things happen even in sleep. In my year of sleep I have discovered all teachings, the deepest information, is processed this way as the body resets and heals. Lammas is a time of sacrifice. It’s the first harvest but also a moment for loaves and ideas to rise, to unlock the life-force stored in every seed and bring it home, inside us.
I now find myself between books. My dreams are a way of navigating this place of the unknown. In many ways, they are more real than my waking life—I am not at the mercy of the profit-driven machine of big publishing, not limited to the scope of my disabled body. In dream am wholly myself, playing out ideas and fates in the realm of sleep. Maybe I’m just gradually transmuting into cat, one nap at a time.
Trigger warning: dead babies, large spiders.
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