My dreams are pretty trippy. I used to have recurring dreams about tornadoes. They used to be really frightening, but, by the end (within the last year), they weren't even scary anymore. Then it just ended on it's own.
The last few years, I've dreamt mostly of non-existent places and non-existent people, but, in my dreams, it is as if I've known them my entire life. These people, too, look nothing like anyone I've ever known.
Most recently, it's been dreams of the dead visiting me, and, funny enough, they've been like lucid dreams, where I know I'm dreaming. I treat these as visitations in my dreams, and, what still strikes me today, is that it feels like I'm actually touching them and they even have the same scents like they were when they were alive.
I also used to dream about heaven, purgatory, and hell. Most interesting is that I still remember these visions very vividly. Heaven, in my dreams, is completely spectacular beyond all description. I remember feeling good constantly just for no reason at all, and, honestly, if my vision of heaven is actually the real heaven, you'll love it. Purgatory was monochromatic and empty. You feel at a loss, but you don't necessarily feel bad. It was like the people there were directionless and had nowhere to go. Hell, most definitely, was the worst. It had this eerie constant darkness / brightness to it, and you're constantly uptight and anxious. It was the ultimate mental torture, and the constant emptiness I felt in purgatory was exponentially higher in hell. What's most interesting is the fact that, if my dreams are true, you aren't conscious of the fact that the place you are in is heaven / purgatory / hell. You just know that you are "here."
Heh...I'm sure most of you might think I'm psychotic for having these dreams, but dreaming is the source of my creativity and, most definitely, my source of depicting emotion in my writing. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Melon
------------------
"He had lived through an age when men and women with energy and ruthlessness but without much ability or persistence excelled. And even though most of them had gone under, their ignorance had confused Roy, making him wonder whether the things he had striven to learn, and thought of as 'culture,' were irrelevant. Everything was supposed to be the same: commercials, Beethoven's late quartets, pop records, shopfronts, Freud, multi-coloured hair. Greatness, comparison, value, depth: gone, gone, gone. Anything could give some pleasure; he saw that. But not everything provided the sustenance of a deeper understanding." - Hanif Kureishi, Love in a Blue Time
