My favourite dreams are the ones where the setting is very similar to very ordinary scapes. I like it when I dream of the sea, and it is just there, being the same as in my waking life. In dreams you accept every bizarre situation as true, and then upon waking up you realise how fantastic andor disturbing the setting really was. So when I look back at my ordinary sea-dream, I feel more unsettled. What am I meant to interpret in such familiarity, such sameness? Where is the shock, where is the trauma, where is the awe? Then I remember that the awe was there in my dream. I remember clearly the movement and the size of the waves, the strange but familiar glow that came from the blue-lagoon colour, the texture, qisu żejt (literal translation- ‘like oil’), the first ten years of my life convinced that when described this way the sea was actually oil at that time of day and then turned to sea subsequently. The entire dream was a scene that I gobble up in my summer days at a shockingly easy rate. Following a similar dream I had early on this week of myself viewing two mimosa trees in bloom, I now have a reformed appreciation of simple dreams.
I woke up shortly after with this sea still projecting in my mind, at 5am. I went back to sleep and dreamt my teeth were falling off one by one, my entire face swelling up and me trying to explain my horrific situation to my dentist father, more teeth falling off as I made an effort to speak through my swollen mouth. That was the dream in its entirety, described quickly in one typically long sentence.
It’s 1pm now and I’ve recovered since from this horrific nightmare but not so much from my ordinary dream.
The excitement never ceases.