Welcome to Monday Musings, where I take a minute to write about things that are not necessarily related to books. Things that might feature in a more, um…personal blog.
Why am I doing this? Why not have another blog for stuff like this? Well, I’ve tried that, and it usually peters out because, like Alice Fletcher, it turns out that I don’t have much to say.
I recently had a conversation about the dreams that we have of friends and family who have passed on. I shared that I dreamed about my Nanna the other night, and said that these dreams are precious to me, like I got an unexpected visit in the night from someone that I miss oh-so-much. When I wake up from these dreams, on the chance that consciousness persists in ways that I don’t understand, I always thank them for stopping by, and tell them that it was so lovely to see them.
I do wonder, because the marvels of the universe are unknowable to our little monkey brains, if they are actually visiting. If they earn chits in the afterlife that they can spend visiting us here in the meatspace. I mean, she did try to guilt me for not visiting more, so Dream Nanna was very much like real Nanna in that respect.
But some visits, like the ones from my late husband, are frequently less logical, less making of the sense. I mean, why would we be on the run from the mob in my dreams? Or be astronauts? Or living in New Zealand?
Shortly after he died, I was told by a friend that if I wanted to try to contact him, I should do so in Gettysburg at Halloween. Apparently, the veil between worlds is thinnest at that time, in that place. I haven’t tried that, so I don’t know. But then I read The Midnight Library, and it hit me. Maybe the veil between our actual life and all our other, possible lives is thinnest when we sleep. Maybe these dreams are windows into other lives we didn’t live. Maybe they are like trailers for lives that are ongoing, or were ongoing, somewhere. Somewhen.
fifty-two 