Wed 16 Nov 2005
The musings about dreams over at Jill Writes got me to thinking about my dreams and the one recurring dream that I have.
It’s not so much a recurring dream, as a recurring circumstance, because the details of the dream always vary, but the basic structure is always the same:
I’m in a room with a group of people. It’s always a sunny, open room, with big windows on one side. Sometimes it seems like a classroom, sometimes the beautiful home of some friends. Once it was a lighthouse. There’s often a lot of wood – wooden floors, wooden window frames. Everyone is chatting, happy. I am happy too. Sometimes we are eating or drinking, like a party. Then, something passes in front of the sun and the shadow darkens the room. An awful fear falls upon me. I turn to see an enormous tidal wave, huge, towering over us, coming slowly towards us. I know with utter certainty that it will fall on us and crush us and drown us all, and that this is the end and nothing can be done about it.
And that’s it. I always wake up. I’ve had this dream many times, perhaps a dozen, and I can’t relate it to anything in my waking life.