“DREAM LIFE”

When I lay me down to sleep, my ordered life turns adventurous. Awakening, I seek meaning in these vivid, fascinating and sometimes terror-filled nightscapes.

My colorful, chaotic dream state could give psychologist Carl Jung a run for his money. I’m sure many of my midnight visions are influenced by what Jung called the collective unconscious: the impact of ancestral archetypes. On a simpler level, I’d classify my dreams on a Netflix-type scale: from comedies and light entertainment to serious dramas and thrillers, even an occasional horror show.

            For example, my most notable dreams from youth ranged from an awful nightmare with King Kong to an unforgettable visit from my hero Davy Crockett. And that dark to light pattern has continued throughout my life. Fortunately, most of my dreams are positive as I often interact with celebrities from past and present on a uniquely personal level. These encounters have included chats with Frank Sinatra, George Clooney (while competing in one-on-one basketball), Sylvester Stallone (my sparring partner) and, most recently, a dialogue with Billy Crystal in a New York restaurant (Me: “Hey, Billy. Did you have the Veal Parmigiana?” Him: “No the Mostaccioli. Gotta go. Catch ya later, Mark.”). I’ve also had meetings with presidents from JFK to Trump. Some dreams are better than others. Enough said.

            On the enjoyable scale, I include recurring visions of me suiting up yet again as a 60-something to play high school football. And I frequently return to my “Happy Days” in my old house at 48 Coakley Avenue in Harrison, N.Y. My most rewarding dreams have been when I meet my late parents as their healthy, handsome younger selves before age and illness dominated their lives.

            But many of my chimeras (CHI-MIR-RAS) are violent night terrors, mythical battles and epic confrontations, where fists and feet fly in the darkness and F-bombs fall like on a B-52 run over Nazi Germany. My poor wife has to duck and dodge my unconscious, imaginary assaults and raging profanity. Carl Jung would likely say these nightscapes are about me confronting my fears. “Hey, Doc, ain’t there a simpler, calmer way?”

            As with many people, I’ve had recurring, frustrating dreams of showing up late for a test or being in public in my underwear. Flying dreams are supposed to indicate mastery over life. Go figure. I’ve had maybe two or three of those. Not many snake dreams either. Sorry, no sex tapes here. This is PG-13 territory.

            Can’t say my dreams have been very prophetic. But there was a key metaphorical one after my divorce in 1991. I was sitting in a crowded coach section of a plane with my ex-wife and ex-mother-in-law. What was I doing there with them? Had the divorce been a mirage? Once again I felt trapped in my unhappiness. Just then, a stewardess came down the aisle, telling me I was in the wrong section. I had a seat in first class. Oh, the stunned looks on those exes’ faces as I sprung from the economy section and eagerly bid them goodbye. Now THAT was a great dream. And tonight who knows what dreams may come when I shuffle off to sleep. Odds are they won’t be boring.

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