About six years ago, I began regularly dreaming about “school.” These dreams were not ordinary. Primarily, the consistency of vividness and the frequency of occurrence were obvious, meaningful, audacious.
Sporting a terribly imaginative brain, I engaged all of my senses in the illusions that played sometimes twice a night, almost nightly. Initially, dreaming about the same thing every time I closed my eyes freaked me out because I knew not what was being subconsciously forced upon me. The dreams took on meaning by themselves, as if it wasn’t my own mind serving as the sole executive producer. The more I tried to halt dreams-in-progress, the longer and more often the dreams would go on. It was quite a cyclic process, existing both inside my head for memories and outside my body for influence.
I wasn’t afraid to go to sleep per say, as if frightened of Freddy Kreuger visits, but I was unsure of what they meant, of what was following me.
So, yeah, my dreams punked me.
I researched my free time away looking up dream meanings and sleep stimuli and those desires and fears we bury over time. I picked up, “Your dreams may be a manifestation of your deepest truths.” “They may be trying to drive you somewhere new and exciting.” “Don’t ignore persistent dream themes.”
I couldn’t if I tried. “School dreams” muscled their way into other dreams.
When sleeping, I took tours of schools I had never visited or traveled to academies from my past. I saw crowds of hundreds of students, normally moving quickly. I got lost in a school all the time. I couldn’t find my class or my room or the computer lab. The sensations of grade school permeated: sounds and scents and sights, distinct and stereotypical–yelling from the gym and old, crinkly books and halls of beaten lockers; the interruption of the day for the bell and announcements; that particular smell of the powder that was placed over sudden floor vomit; kids walking in a line in the shaded linoleum region towards the cafeteria. I had experienced it all before, but, simultaneously, hadn’t.
My dreams were usually deemed such because something strange always happened in them that told me I was, in fact, sleeping and that I wouldn’t be roller-skating on the ceiling for much too longer. When I projected school-related images, however, I was really there, uber-realistically in the scenes.
And school buses. My goodness. Don’t get me started on school bus dreams. The “Big Cheese” parked itself as a backdrop and merged its way into most of my situational comedies. I tend to dream of buses when I conjure schools.
All are entirely too clear and saturated in color and have so much realism to the point where I wake up and wonder where “those kids” just went or wonder why I had fallen asleep in class.
It has taken me this long, over five years into active motherhood, to start asking myself questions.
What did the reoccurrence mean? I was teaching college English classes once a week when they started. During one semester, I taught high school English every day. Lesson plans and professional development and teaching strategies were part of my daily life.
What more did my brain want from me?
Apparently, I wholeheartedly sought exactly what I dreamed of: a consistent school atmosphere. In an article from her website regarding dreaming and living, certified coach Amy Cope wrote, “Dreams in general provide valuable insights about your life. When you pay attention to your dreams and take appropriate action on them, you integrate the lesson and your dreams move on to what’s next. . .Sometimes, however, there is something *so* important that it needs your attention. If you do not act on and integrate the dream, your dream will repeat. The main difference between reoccurring and one-off dreams is that reoccurring dreams have an important message that you are not hearing. So the dream repeats itself again and again and again and again… until you finally pay attention AND take appropriate action.” (Cope, “Reoccurring Dreams”)
The undeniability of years of the same repeated script screeched for my attention, and I think it time I oblige. I have little choice but to try to pursue, to discover this insistence that my spirit screens to me.
As scary as it is to change careers after a decade of my commonplace, I am now exploring all available options towards teaching English at the secondary level during next school year. After ignoring the desires of my metaphysical self for so long, there is more of an advantage at this point to embarking and failing than in never pursuing.
This is a first for me—actually doing something that I want to do as opposed to something I have to do. As a role model for my young children, I am teaching essential lessons to them through my actions. I want them to learn to face their fears and step out on faith and chase their own horizons as they age.
Mommy is going to lead by manifestation. If I don’t succeed in this, I’m sure I’ll dream up subsequent big adventures.