Adonis Diaries

Posts Tagged ‘night dreams

Dreaming has a Memory of its own

Posted on March 2, 2009

I dream a lot. And when I make an effort I can sometimes recall the feeling and emotions of the reel of the night awkward story.  

I realized that dreaming has a memory of its own.  Very often, as a dream unfolds, I have the impression that a section in the story has been shown before.  It is as if the administrator of the dream part of memory has a library of DVDs, a department specifically reserved of what have been dreamt of.

As I dream, I know right away that I have seen and felt that story and there is nothing I can do to stop it or ask the librarian to change it to another DVD.  

The only time that I might pre-empt the movie is when I reach the part that affect my survival, such as a very dangerous moment. Then, frequently I force myself to wake up and put an end to the nightmarish DVD.

There are DVDs where I am running around in search of a toilet, but find none that are clean; it is so disgusting that I learned to put an end to the malevolent reel and get up and go piss.  I am so repulsed that I don’t dare go back to sleep right away.

I wonder if those in coma are subjected to the same set of DVDs and that when their eyelids flutter or they have jerky movements, then they are trying to react to a very nasty section of their dreams.  

The worst part would be if the dream part of memory has been partially damaged and the comatose patient has to suffer a limited choice of lousy and frightening DVDs that keep being loaded ad infinitum.

I would not mind to be shown lovely DVDs in my dream that I like to see as often as possible.  

The problem is that the memory library for dreams is awfully biased toward horror movies, mostly very disgusting.  

May be the best way to shelve off, for a long time, a bad recurring dream is to write it down.  It would be a nice experiment to edit the bad sections, in the written exercise, and add sections that you would like the administrator of dream memory to edit for you and have a more enjoyable version.

(I have posted many of my dream memories since 2009, and in the minute details in order to erase it in my night memory archive and sleep easier)

There must be an interface section between the “real” memory and the dream memory.  The dream memory needs refresher impressions of sensorial feedback in order to edit versions of stored DVDs.  

I guess rational knowledge is also transmitted.  

For example, I had this piece of intelligence in my dream that fish have no complex memory; that for survival purposes they have a dual switch of ON/OFF like Eat, Do not eat.  

If this binary memory is malfunctioning and is stuck to one setting then the fish will keep eating till it blow or starve to death. Now, I would like to know if what my dream has offered as a hypothesis is true scientifically.

I also would like to know if dream memory organizes in the same manner as real memory.  If it is true, then scientists have an alternative method for taking advantage of the dream memory to uncover the mystery of memory saving and retrieval.

It is that good. I decided Not to jump to the last chapter, and managed it.

I am reading “Mr. Gwyn” by Alessandro Baricco, a French translation. I don’t dare jump to the last chapter. Even if the ending is Not that satisfactory, I wouldn’t mind repeating the experiment by changing the variables, in the timing, the luminosity, the music and the setting…

I did finish the book and stuck to my decision, Not to jump to the last chapter.

This book was by my side in this “private” library that I have been patronizing for 15 years, walking every day 2 kms to read and write, rain or shine. And for an entire month, I have been reading other books, until there were none left to read.

I didn’t mean for this article to be a review, but the many ideas that generated in me forced me to write about it. So, it is up to the reader to categorize this article.

Is it true that, on average, a person has a precise memory of 8 weather conditions in his life time? Like his wedding, the death of a dear member of his family, the first day of a major war, the assassination of his President, a mass massacre in his neighborhood…?

For sure , we can retain particular weather conditions, specific environmental setting… in our lifetime, but I contend that they do Not coincide with the event a person think matches his memory.

We tend to give an event to particular sensations, simply because we refuse to admit that it is the “hazard” that met us.

Is it true that we do have a certain idea of ourselves, a draft version, confusing, but a story that to bring us back “home”, to who we are?

Disparate sections in a book that we attach to an imaginary personality? We are finally a story and Not a living person, a story re-assembled for various events, sensations, a light or color that correspond to our liking, a noise, a rhyme, a rhythm, a landscape, a house, a street, a friendship, an event…

Fragments of a lifetime that we try to re-construct so that we feel that we are “back home“, to who we essentially are .

I conjecture that our night dreams are what our brain re-construct of our state of mind and body during the day or within the week. Kind of if we take time to write what happened to us during the day, events and sensations… somewhat the brain will deliver a better version of what you experienced.

If we admit that night dreams affect how the next day will unfold, how our week will proceed, how our projects will be altered… maybe we will tend to take time remembering what happened during the day before going to bed. A diary is a better platform to enjoy a more serene and satisfactory dream that can “prime” our lives.

Can you observe a person for weeks and be able to describe him so well he feels he is “back home”? Good painters could do that. Possibly a composer may be able to convey the essential of a lifetime of a person.

Words are hard to control and use. Even if you describe a “portrait” of a person and you are satisfied with your choice of words, you still have to contend with the reader to correctly interpret your observation and feeling.

Yalla, that should be enough on this subject.


Do Night dreams dig deep into your emotional instability?

I went to bed at midnight and got up at 4:30 am in sweat, upset and totally angry. I had this night dream.

The dream: It’s a long day of graduating students, in open air gathering. Each student has to take the podium to deliver a talk on his thesis.

As usual, to prolong the nightmare in my dream I’m listed at the near end for the horror tasks.

I’m a timid person and has been for most of my life  and can’t face the public. My mind goes blank and I’m ashamed of asking questions: My questions might seem trivial and not at par of the subject matter.

All day long, I’m wishing a calamity to befall on this event and put an end to my horror.

Actually, I have never been satisfied with any thesis or achievement and feel my work is Not up to my initial goal.

As the girl just ahead of me started her talk, the rain drizzled and I found it legitimate to run away in order to dry my clothes. At my apartment, I’m lingering even after the rain stopped: I’m really not anxious to go back there.

By the time I got there, the event has finished. My friend takes me to meet the chairman in order to find out what are the consequences and remedies.

The chairman had no idea that it rained and quickly erased my name from the list of students who failed to deliver. He asked for a moment to discuss with the committee. He returned with a list of remedies for me to select from. Sort of reading a reviewing select books

Here, my lucid dream took over and I’m boasting that I have read all the books in the lists and there is no point for me to go ahead with such a punishment.

Things turned to the worst and the chairman is scribbling more items on the list and more conditions to meet.

I can’t read his handwriting and my friend tells me that we find the required professors to meet with in the directory.

And so my mind is boiling and I’m ready to go search for a gun to blow the balls of the suggested professors.

I forced myself to get out of this violent dream. Time to piss, get a can of beer and smoke a cigarette in order to cool down and hate my self for this lousy upbringing that didn’t bring me but shame and isolation.

I decide to note down my dream: I barely remember dreams.

I’m watching the channel ARTE: a documentary on the detente or conscious relaxation in these busy days at work.

I liked the method of hanging in closed multicolored hammocks, wrapped inside as an egg for 10 minutes.

I usually don’t feel that I slept if not accompanied with dreams, even if occasionally I slept 8 hours with no interruption.

Lost in recurring sad night dreams: Wandering around this flat university town..

It is good to have a context to my horrible recurring night dreams, particularly those re-run dreams that evolve with slight alterations, due to my attempts for Lucid Dream editing.

I spent about 8 years in a flat university town, on and off on two visits, for “continuing education” purposes.

The first trip lasted 2 years and was great in many aspects of novelty, adventure, surprises, experiences, aches, joy, frustration… and youth. The USA was open to foreign students and the universities were facilitated their living and enrollment. The Iranian students were the most engaged and active, demanding the fall of the Shah regime…

Six years later, my second trip extended beyond my expectation for another 6 years of total boredom, helplessness, poverty, closed horizon, and getting much older than my classmates and acquaintances…

In both visits I had a return ticket that I never used. My visa was good for 5 years, but I never could afford to return and visit my folks during the civil war…

During my second extended stay, the USA was closing down its welcoming doors and most research grants were funded by the military: Even permanent residents were turned down on account of top secret research.  Laws relevant to health and safety in the workplace were relaxed, ignored and numbers of inspectors cut down. A period covering Reagan and Bush Sr.

Actually, my decision to leave for another stint had no sense. Except this feeling of closed horizons in Lebanon: The civil war was on, but the year I left witnessed a long reprieve and my family could not comprehend my decision.

A month after I settled in the university town, the civil war broke up again, much violent and haphazard than previously. And my parents lived for 6 months in the basement.

As in the first rip, I didn’t apply or tried to connect and plan anything:  I had to be in the place and take it from there. I could offer the excuse that the postal services and phone connections were not functioning in Lebanon, but I am the type who abhor planning in advance for critical decisions, except the most futile and irrelevant decisions.

I wrote about my experiences in my auto-biography, and this post is about my recurring harassing dreams.

The harassing part of these scenarios is that the various versions insist on blending the worst depressing and melancholic of events in both trips.  My Lucid efforts to mix in a few refreshing stories are frequently overruled.

And the tackiest of all is that each version is shot as if I am back on a third, a fourth trip. And to do what?

Like I didn’t finish my dissertation and I’m trying to get rid of this burden once for all. It is not the kind of dissertations that if you read some more in the literature you can reach a closure. No, you have just a couple of short articles on the topic and the authors have admitted that they don’t know of a solution. And it is a mathematical problem for someone who is no mathematician, about optimizing stochastic demands for production. Don’t expect me to expound on these terms: I am in no mood for these craps.

I admit that I was not pleased with either my master’s thesis or my PhD dissertation and I feel that I didn’t get a closure academically.

Or like I am invited to give a lecture and I overstayed for a few nights, roaming these square blocks on the north side of the campus, and trying to discover anything new that replaced the older images. The post office is no longer for receiving hard copies and the friendly coffee shops were replaced by multinational franchises…

Or I’m biking at night going home and cannot recollect which apartment I’m living in: I moved so many times in all kinds of sleeping arrangements that I’m totally disoriented. And I’m thinking hard of any “friend” to visit in order to get my memory at ease…

Or I’m wandering in this flat town and realizing that I have no cash, no checks and no credit cards. If I had a credit card I cannot remember the password: It has been so long that I lately used any of these financial facilities.  And the only bank in town is not at a walking or even a biking distance. In the next version, I should open a branch of the bank on these stupid blocks.

There used to be “specialized” bars for singers and fans of Grateful Dead or Bob Marley… and I don’t see them in my dreams. Even the nude bar of Walter Mitty never appears in these dreams… And I know that my dream brain is pretty artistic and inventive, and I wish my dream brain would insert a few scenes of these bars and enjoy fully what I didn’t in real life.

One of the versions made me walk a few hills and noticed historical sites, in this totally flat town with no history at all. This flat university town gets a few colors at the start of the Fall season as students flocks from the southern States and the beginning of the football season. The stadium is packed with the university red and white colors and I had to submit to the boring and unimaginative US fiesta-types: All boozing and shouting and screaming and cursing and nothing to show for in tradition and culture.

A flat university town that empties at Thanksgiving and Christmas periods. The whole town is mine and nothing that matter: Nowhere to investigate, climb, get lost in a forest… Except a nasty wind whirling a few leaves in a desolate moonish landscape…

It was my mistake never to find out how this university was established. I conjecture that it might have been a military barrack for further expansion of the US territory down south, or maybe a concentration camp for native Indians…

The native Indians claim that tornadoes never hit this flat town, on account that it is bordered by small rivers? While Dell City, 20 miles north and bordering Oklahoma City, is frequently devastated by tornadoes.

Another recurring dream is being overwhelmed with baggage. I never travel with more than two suitcases: When I move to another apartment or town, I leave everything in place and give away almost everything, even if I have a single dollar… And yet, my dreams want me to be going back and forth gathering all kinds of belonging and getting pretty much nervous, and I have to wake up.

There is another university in the middle of nowhere. This center of education was meant to teach agricultural disciplines: It currently graduate students in all fields except agriculture…

My last week in this flat town was the most boring and melancholic in my life. The students had vacated the premises and I was wandering endlessly around the empty blocks, this desert of dried up soul, blocked spirit, not a penny in my pocket to open up any lousy opportunity in my diminished imagination… Taking stock of my stupid situation: Where from there?

No relatives or close friends to call on, regroup, celebrate, share…

And I had to go on and survive.

You may read “The Tunnel” chapter in my auto-biography category

“Me-Self” autobiography versus “I-Self” stories in night dreams.

Night dreams are rehearsals of all the pent up anger and frustrations you tried to have under control during the day. The horror of what the day could turn if we acted on our basic instincts and hatered and jealousy for everyone around us…

And most dreams are ugly, illogical and haphazard stories that we prefer to forget: We are unable to make sense of them and telling these dreams makes us look fools and inarticulate…

If people were that idiot to speak and express their thought on everyone and everything, we would all wish to be reincarnated as animals.

Preferably animals with a fighting chance for survival against so many predators.

Animals that we think behave “naturally” and do not keep revenge in their mind and harbor loathing against other animals.

Animals that we think live the day to day in perfect harmony with how they were created, and not influenced by mankind perception of them… 

Marsha Norman once wrote: “Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.”

I believe that sleep dreams are the draft scenarios stories of the “I-Self” that the conscious mind re-edit to modify the “Me-Self” autobiography of our world view that conform to the customs and traditions of the community…

The “I-Self” stories are pretty incoherent fragments, and we hardly can make sense of them, and we prefer to forget them as soon as we wake up.

The “I-Self” stories are basic building blocks to whatever alterations we conduct on our autobiographical version story and many of the next days decisions.

Many people grind their teeth when sleeping. And the sound is pretty alarming. This is a consequence of venting pressure and anger in our dreams that we tried hard to control during the day.

In the last two years, most of my night dreams are wandering from one dirty toilet to another flooding WC: My hint that I should be getting up and piss. Otherwise, my night is a wet horror and disgusting string of trips.

There are not just a hint to visit the WC: These drowning dreams in dirty water are reflections of what I implicitly capture of people perception of me…

When I sleep in chunks of 3 to 4 hours, I am necessarily dreaming, whether I recall that I had dreamt or not…

Consequently, I am twice editing my autobiography every single day. In winter time, I am editing it three times: My siestas are lengthy and generate dreams…

The more often you dream, the better person you are…




January 2023

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