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A Personal History of Dreaming

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Today I will share my dream history.

The first dream I remember having is a Tom and Jerry dream. I’m sure you remember that cartoon. I loved it when I was young. In the dream, I was Jerry, and I was being chased into the hole in the baseboard by Tom. I was scared. That’s all I remember.

Fast forward about twenty-some years to September 11th. Vivid images on the television, in the newspapers, all over the internet. Stories about the invasion of Afghanistan. Then Iraq. Bombs. Death. Fighting.

Shortly after our country was in full-blown war in the Middle East, my dreams became a dangerous place for me to be. I was in the middle of war zones, I was being attacked, I was having to fight back. I do not believe I was ever killed, but man, I was scared.

Night after night; endless nocturnal terror. When I would awake, I would be mentally exhausted. I stopped watching, listening to, or reading any news.

My violent dreams continued. Three or four years later, someone suggested to me that violent dreams can mean that part of the dreamer is dying, metaphorically speaking. The killing in the dream was representing the death of a part of myself.

Despite this information, the violence did not stop. It took another four years for my violent dreams to shift. Two things made it happen.

1. I learned how to interpret them.
2. I listened to their messages and started making changes in my life.

The suggestion was correct that the violence in my dreams indicated that a part of me dying. The true me, the person I am deep down inside, was dying. The true me was getting lost while I was trying to please others. She was dying because I was giving myself to a job and a company that did not serve my highest interests. She had no sense of who she was because I learned to conform to a mold of social and societal pressures. Now that I think about it, those things could kill anyone.

As I took the time to interpret my dreams, the violence in the night began to lessen. Some nights were still terrifying, but not every night. I was listening to and understanding their messages.

Fast forward to the spring of 2009. Within my final weeks at the office, the violence disappeared completely from my dreams. I heard the message that was being shouted at me for eight years. I left my job. I stopped killing my soul.

Now my dreams have taken a new turn. My mind is busy every night, creating new adventures rich with meaning. I take the time to learn their lessons.

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