sleepwritten-dreams

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Waiting for the Musical Train"

I dreamt my family was going on a train ride.

I didn’t know where or when...

we were all just waiting for it to arrive.

A sign said it would be a two-to-five-hour trip.

I asked my husband if we had time to go back

and gather some blankets and pillows.

So we went home to get some.

The blankets and pillows were dirty,

covered in hair,

but we grabbed them anyway.

When we returned to the train station and waited,

I noticed a sign with headphones and music notes.

My husband told me to look at the notes.

He explained that through the ride,

each bump of the train

would strike a different octave.

He told me to listen.

But I couldn’t hear anything,

because we weren’t in motion.

While we waited, a fight broke out.

Two old men.

One was trying to be an '80s hair band singer.

He acted completely unhinged.

They tumbled on the ground,

hitting and wrestling.

The psychotic one was naked.

Unfortunately, he won.

The other man was left defeated.

Our train never came.

We just continued to wait.

⭐🌜⭐Translation⭐🌜⭐

Theme Overview:

This dream appears to reflect delayed transformation, emotional stagnation, and the discomfort of preparing for a journey that never begins. It carries feelings of anticipation, futility, and chaos lurking beneath the surface of ordinary moments.

Symbol-by-Symbol Interpretation:

1. Waiting for the Train

Trains in dreams often symbolize life’s journeys, transitions, or personal growth.

Here, you’re prepared to go—but the destination is unknown, and the timing unclear.

This suggests a sense of limbo, as if you’re ready for change or forward movement in your life, but something is stalling it.

The train station becomes a metaphor for waiting rooms in your mind—spaces where your hopes, fears, and plans linger, unfulfilled.

2. Going Back for Dirty Blankets and Pillows

Blankets and pillows represent comfort, rest, emotional security.

The fact that they are dirty and covered in hair may reflect unresolved issues or emotional baggage from the past—things you still try to hold onto, even knowing they’re unclean or carry remnants of old experiences.

You bring them anyway, showing both a sense of practicality and the inability to fully cleanse what you carry emotionally.

3. The Music Notes and Octaves

This is a deeply symbolic moment. Music often reflects emotional resonance, harmony, or unseen forces guiding our path.

Your husband tells you that each bump in the train ride plays a different note—suggesting that every difficulty in life creates a different emotional tone.

But you can’t hear the music, because you’re not moving.

This symbolizes how growth, beauty, and understanding only arrive through experience and motion—but here, you’re stuck in the silence of waiting.

4. The Fight Between Two Old Men

This strange, theatrical fight might represent clashing inner voices or outdated archetypes.

One man, naked and psychotic, wants to be an ’80s rockstar—a symbol of unhinged rebellion or a distorted identity longing for attention or power.

The other man, perhaps more grounded, loses.

This could reflect a part of you feeling defeated by chaos or absurdity, or the way irrational forces can sometimes overpower reason or control in moments of limbo.

5. The Train Never Arrives

The most haunting part of the dream.

You remain stuck in a place of preparation, surrounded by conflict and faded dreams, waiting for movement that never comes.

This could mirror a real-life feeling of being stalled—emotionally, spiritually, creatively—or feeling like time is passing while you wait for permission to begin.

Core Messages:

You are prepared for something—but the universe is not cooperating.

Emotional baggage is still being carried, even when you recognize its weight.

Art, emotion, and purpose are only awakened by motion—you may need to take a leap, even before the path is clear.

Not all chaos is yours to solve. Let absurdities fall away.

Closing Reflection:

This dream isn’t just about frustration.

It’s a message: You don’t need the perfect train to start moving.

Sometimes the journey begins not when the whistle blows,

but when you choose to walk the tracks yourself.

3/30/25

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Raining Fire and a Curse"

I dreamt we were loading a bus to nowhere and everywhere

The man who led us was quiet but known,

a guide for the old souls boarding with heavy steps

Then fire bloomed without warning

The bus became a furnace,

but inside, no one knew

Ash and lava fell from the sky

and we could only stand there,

helpless beneath its quiet rage

Later, we stood by another bus

Beside it, a house stood hollow

Smoke-stained and silent,

once home to that same man and his wife

Now she was gone—burned in her sleep

The house became a museum

and a guide spoke softly, like not to wake the ghosts

She said an ember had found its home

behind a picture hanging over the fireplace

A picture of the wife

and when I looked at it

his face would fade over hers

then hers over his

like neither could bear to be remembered alone

I told my cousin about it

She said she had once burned the world by accident

In a fit of grief she struck the ground

and the earth opened its mouth

Flames swallowed eight mothers walking by

and she never understood why

In the last flicker of the dream

I watched a plane drift over the ocean

Its wings calm in the wind

I told my grandmother I wished to fly

not just over lakes, not just over hours

but beyond...

across the endless sea

where sky and water forget they are separate

🌙⭐🌙 Interpretation 🌙⭐🌙

This dream feels like a mythic unfolding of grief, destruction, and transformation—layered with generational emotion and a deep yearning for transcendence. Here's an interpretation, weaving its symbols and moments into meaning:

The Bus on Fire

The bus represents a collective journey—perhaps through life, aging, or mortality—guided by an authority figure or someone representing tradition or leadership. The fire starting unnoticed could symbolize how danger, decay, or death often creeps in quietly while people continue forward, unaware. You witnessing it from the outside might speak to a feeling of being aware of impending loss or destruction while others are blind to it—or a helplessness to stop it.

Ash and Lava Raining from the Sky

This apocalyptic imagery suggests emotional overwhelm, possibly from grief or trauma. Ash is what’s left when something is gone, while lava is destruction in motion. The sky bringing it down implies a sense of fate or divine reckoning—something bigger than you raining its consequences over all.

The Burned House and the Picture

The house reflects personal history—domestic life, love, and memory. That it too burns, and that the man’s wife dies in the fire, speaks to loss of intimacy, home, or emotional safety. The picture over the fireplace fading between their faces is haunting—it shows identity melting into grief, the way memories of a person and their partner intertwine so tightly that one cannot be remembered without the other. It may also reflect your thoughts on love, legacy, or how we survive in the memories of those we leave behind.

Your Cousin's Story

Her strange confession—rage causing fire and death—introduces guilt and the mystery of unintended consequences. Maybe it reflects buried emotions or ancestral pain, suggesting that strong emotions passed down through generations can leave scars even when we don’t understand their origin.

The Plane and the Sea

This final image is peaceful and aching. The plane represents freedom, desire for escape, or the wish to see beyond your current world. The sea is the unconscious, the vast unknown, the sacred unknown. Telling your grandmother you wish to fly over it speaks to your longing for emotional release, for spiritual transcendence, or maybe even to connect with something beyond the pain—something infinite and clean, where grief no longer holds weight.

Overall:

This dream reads as a poetic elegy to unspoken trauma and inherited sorrow, but it ends with hope. Even after the fire and the ash, you look toward the sea. You dream of flying. That’s the soul still reaching—toward healing, toward understanding, toward peace.

June 14th 2018

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Ashes and Paper Notes"

I dreamt I wandered through a town of echoes

searching for my friend’s mother

or what was left of her

ashes scattered somewhere I couldn't reach

She had died not long ago

and I missed the chance to say goodbye

I called the silent places

funeral homes with names like endings

but no one knew where she had gone

Then I saw my friend behind a podium

a hush in the air

as she spoke her mother into memory

She held a pinch of ash in trembling fingers

and when the wind came

she let it carry the weight away

Peace settled in my chest

The ashes were hers now

Down cracked sidewalks and hollow alleys

I found Taylor alone, drifting

Her body was thin light

skin like paper

eyes swollen with things she couldn’t say

(In waking life she leans on shadows

to dull the pain of her father’s death)

In the dream she whispered

that cancer lived inside her

She could barely stand

her breath the softest sound

I found torn magazines

scattered like fallen leaves

On the backs her notes

one said the cancer had stopped

another said it hadn’t

Hope and fear pressed side by side

in fading ink.

🌙⭐🌙 Interpretation 🌙⭐🌙

This dream reads like a powerful subconscious processing of grief, helplessness, and emotional distance—from both others and yourself. Here's a thoughtful interpretation, line by line with deeper meaning woven in:

Searching for the ashes

Your attempt to find your friend’s mother’s ashes reflects unresolved feelings—possibly guilt or sorrow—for not being present during a moment of loss. Ashes are symbolic of what remains after transformation or destruction. Not being able to find them might symbolize the search for closure or peace that feels just out of reach.

Your friend behind the podium

Seeing your friend sharing memories shows a moment of quiet acceptance, her being able to let go—literally, with the ashes in her hand—while you observe from a distance. This might reflect your feeling of being emotionally on the sidelines, witnessing someone else’s grief but not fully inside it.

Letting the wind take the ashes

This suggests surrender. The wind symbolizes change, inevitability, or even a spiritual force. The release of ashes brings a sense of calm to you—it’s a turning point in the dream, where ownership of grief is recognized and honored, not chased.

Taylor, sick and wandering

Taylor’s appearance as frail and sickly might mirror your concern for her in real life. But deeper still, she could represent a vulnerable part of yourself—exhausted by loss, carrying invisible pain, unsure whether healing is happening or if it’s all still there.

Her notes on torn magazine pages

This is powerful. Torn magazines suggest impermanence, fragility, and perhaps a struggle to hold onto clarity. The conflicting messages—cancer stopped vs still there—mirror a larger emotional duality: hope vs fear, healing vs deterioration. Maybe you’re holding onto mixed signals from your own life or those around you, not knowing what is truly “getting better.”

Overall Meaning:

This dream is rich in emotional symbolism. It suggests that you are carrying not only your own grief but also others’—perhaps trying to care for friends who are broken while trying to make sense of your own pain. There’s a longing for closure and clarity, and a deep empathy that makes you feel everything at once. The dream shows a soul in transition, moving slowly toward acceptance but still grappling with the weight of not knowing.

June 11th 2018

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Small Moon Houses, And Growing Skyscrapers"

I was standing high above a strange city,

on the roofs of silver towers that shimmered beneath an unfamiliar sky.

I crouched down, grounding myself in effort,

my legs pressing hard against invisible gravity

as I tried to lift the buildings higher,

to pull their foundations up from the buried dust of a lifeless world.

Beneath the surface,

hidden under layers of lunar soil,

were houses no larger than washing machines.

Metal boxes just big enough to crawl into

and press your body tight

knees against chest

arms wrapping around your own heartbeat

like insulation against the void.

People lived in them.

They folded themselves into those cramped spaces

choosing containment over emptiness,

choosing walls small enough to feel safe.

And then I remembered

we were on the Moon.

This place had no air,

no softness,

no real sky.

And yet

there were storms.

Violent weather moved across the surface

waves crashing in from nowhere

colliding with houses and towers alike

as if the Moon had learned to weep like Earth.

Water rose in great, howling surges

slamming into the fragile machine homes

shaking the skyscrapers from below.

I watched,

silent and still,

as if caught between awe and dread.

I wondered how they survived,

why they chose to stay.

Then I heard a voice

my own voice

but distant and strange

soft with clarity.

Let them choose to stay.

They have the right to live or die on this world

even if it was never made for them.

The dream shifted.

A courtroom appeared,

not built of walls,

but woven from tension and hush.

There had been a man

a rapist

who had violated the women living in the tiny homes.

His crimes whispered through the shadows

but no one dared to speak.

I stood with a woman

who looked like Beth from Dog the Bounty Hunter

but she was weary

and her eyes carried a grief I could not name.

She knew the truth

but she wanted to disappear

to return to her machine house

to fold herself small and silent.

I sat beside her

spoke gently

offered her something simple

something absurd.

A new shirt.

Just a shirt.

A soft fabric to remind her

that her body deserved comfort.

She paused

then nodded.

She stood in front of the lawyers

opened her mouth

and told the truth.

Her voice became a key

and the man who had stolen so many

was taken away

locked inside something even smaller than the homes he haunted.

We had won

not for vengeance

but for air

for the right to expand

to grow

to live

in a place that had never been meant for survival.

And somewhere in that strange city

one of the washing machine houses

stood just a little taller than before.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

This dream, vivid and layered, unfolds like an allegory—interweaving power, trauma, survival, and autonomy. Let’s break down the symbolic elements and explore what your subconscious might be communicating.

1. Skyscrapers and Physical Strain

You’re trying to make skyscrapers grow by physically squatting and lifting their foundations. This symbolizes a desire to elevate structures—yourself, your beliefs, your world—but through personal effort and sacrifice. It suggests that you may be feeling responsible for holding things up that were never meant to be carried alone. The skyscrapers could be your dreams, justice, healing, or your role in supporting others.

2. Tiny Homes like Washing Machines

Beneath the surface are homes just big enough for people to crawl into. These “washing machine houses” are a powerful metaphor for compression, repression, and survival. People in your dream are literally folding themselves into small, confined spaces to exist.

This could reflect:

How people shrink themselves to survive abuse or harsh environments

Your awareness of emotional or societal pressure to "fit" into roles that are too small

A memory or commentary on how trauma makes people small to stay safe

3. The Moon and Violent Weather

The Moon is the realm of the subconscious, the feminine, intuition, and emotional tides. To live there suggests you’re in a psychic or emotional space far from earthly logic. It’s a strange, alien world that still mirrors human chaos.

The violent waves and storms speak to emotional upheaval, trauma resurfacing, or collective danger. These waves crash into fragile homes—indicating that no matter how much people try to protect themselves, the environment is unstable. You, the dreamer, recognize that this is not a safe place to live emotionally or spiritually.

4. The Inner Voice: Let Them Choose

Your inner voice saying “Let them choose to stay. They have the right to live or die on this planet” is complex and layered. It may represent:

The tension between wanting to rescue others and recognizing their autonomy

A reflection on generational trauma, systemic injustice, or social suffering

Your own boundaries: the understanding that not everyone is ready or willing to leave pain behind

This is a moment of both release and wisdom—a sign of spiritual maturity, knowing that you can’t force healing on those who aren’t ready.

5. The Trial and the Rapist

This part of the dream is heavy, but incredibly significant. It brings forward themes of justice, advocacy, and speaking truth after violation.

The rapist represents a violator of innocence, safety, and voice—whether literal or metaphorical. He lives among the oppressed, shielded by silence. The women are afraid to speak up, reflecting real-world patterns of abuse, fear, and systems that fail survivors.

Your role in building a case, and convincing the woman (who resembles Beth from Dog the Bounty Hunter) to speak, shows your inner strength and commitment to protecting the vulnerable, even when they are afraid to act.

The fact that she is persuaded by something as small and intimate as a shirt symbolizes the power of compassion, comfort, and agency in healing.

Overall Themes:

Carrying the weight of others' healing

The tension between safety and suppression

Justice and the courage to confront what others fear

Autonomy, choice, and the limitations of intervention

Transforming vulnerability into empowerment

Message of the Dream:

You are a protector, a builder, and a witness to both suffering and resilience. You are not here to save everyone, but to stand tall, to plant truth where fear once lived, and to remind others of their power—even if it begins with something as small as saying yes to a new shirt.

This dream reflects your deep intuition, your unflinching strength, and your wisdom to know when to help and when to let go.

(Jun 7th 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Drowning at the Olympics"

I dreamt the Olympics were unfolding around me

not in a stadium

but in a surreal world where ritual and spectacle melted together.

A young girl raced past

her skin etched with tattoos like forgotten poems

her body made of speed and smoke

running not for victory

but to outrun something unseen.

Nearby, tables gleamed beneath strange light

offering supplements and drinks in elegant glass

wellness lined up like a promise

aloe vera tonics beside something unexpected

an aloe sausage, coiled and glossy like something alien.

My grandmother hovered over the table

eyeing the sausage with suspicion

refusing to eat the thing

even as the health instructor insisted

she could not cleanse herself

without swallowing both.

She muttered about dignity

and I drifted away, unconvinced

that healing required such compromise.

My husband appeared at my side

his hands full of paper tickets

thick and soft, like leaves from a fair that no longer existed.

He gave them to me without a word

as if he knew I would need them

even if I did not yet know why.

There was nothing around us

no booths, no games

only athletes in the middle of their quiet trials

swimmers moving like blades

archers watching the wind

runners disappearing into horizon lines.

To reach our seats

we had to cross water

a still body with the shape of a pool

but the depth of something older

something that remembered.

I still wore my clothes

held my art print in one hand

and the tickets in the other

as though they might dissolve

if I let them fall beneath the surface.

My husband was already across

waving to me

before turning and disappearing through a distant door.

So I stepped in.

The water welcomed me with a hush

a cold hand wrapping around my knees

then my ribs

then my neck.

I lifted the art over my head

raised the tickets high

trying to save the symbols

of beauty and permission.

But the water rose faster than I could rise with it

and then my brother was beside me

his fingers digging into my arms

pulling

panicking

we sank together like heavy prayers.

We screamed without sound

our mouths spilling bubbles

our eyes wide with helplessness

watching the surface flicker with unreachable light.

It was so close

but we could not swim.

🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙

Symbolic Interpretation:

1. The Tattooed Girl Running

She may represent your inner fire—creative, determined, unbothered by rules. Tattoos are marks of memory, rebellion, or expression. She's your instinct running free, untamed by expectations.

2. The Detox Dispute

Your grandmother's resistance to the aloe drink and sausage combo symbolizes resistance to healing that comes with discomfort. The health instructor insists on wholeness, on taking the good with the unpleasant. This moment questions: Can we heal if we’re only willing to accept half the process?

3. Tickets from Your Husband

Tickets suggest permission, opportunity, or access. Him giving you the tickets quietly hints at trust or responsibility—he believes in your journey, but leaves the crossing to you. There's a deep emotional undertone here about partnership and individual struggle.

4. The Water Crossing

Water always symbolizes emotion, the unconscious, and transformation. You're dressed in everyday clothes, not prepared for the crossing. You're trying to carry what matters—your art, your permission (the tickets)—but the emotional depth becomes too much. It’s a test of endurance and letting go.

5. Drowning with Your Brother

This part is powerful. You and your brother sinking together shows how shared fear or panic can overwhelm, even if the surface (hope, clarity, breath) is visible. There’s a message here about mutual struggle and entanglement—how we sometimes pull each other down unintentionally, even when trying to help.

Core Themes:

Carrying too much while trying to survive

Resistance to full transformation

Unseen emotional pressure

The weight of saving others while needing saving

Art and meaning trying to stay afloat

(June 6th 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Exercising, and Mobsters On My Bed"

I found myself running laps inside the house

not from ghosts or deadlines

but for the noble cause of shedding ten, maybe fifteen pounds.

My friends drifted around doorways like concerned librarians

whispering their disappointment

as if I'd just vowed to toss out all the good cheese.

Their silence was theatrical

like I'd offended an unspoken pact

to age gracefully with snacks.

The kitchen was a construction zone of broken promises.

Tiles half-laid, grout abandoned mid-thought

like the previous homeowners had gone out for caulk

and never returned.

I skipped around the uneven floor

feeling oddly athletic

for someone dodging a home improvement graveyard.

I paused at the window

where daylight draped itself across the glass like a sleepy cat.

Outside, ten trees stood in potted purgatory.

One was tropical, with drama in its leaves

clearly not from around here.

The others were spruce, stoic

patiently enduring their fate like polite guests

waiting for someone to offer them permanent soil.

I got the sense I'd promised them a home

then promptly forgotten

a metaphor that felt a little too on the nose.

Returning to the living room

I walked into a mob movie.

My bed had become a boardroom for suited men

arguing in hushed threats

as if HBO had set up shop in my personal sanctuary.

I froze.

This wasn’t in the floor plan.

And then I saw her

my Bearded Dragon, cornered

trapped between Italian leather shoes

and bad intentions.

Her little mouth opened

a scream only I could hear.

She ran to me

her claws tapping like impatient castanets

and hurled herself into my hands

like a lizard version of a dramatic faint.

She crawled up my arm, trembling.

That’s when I noticed

she was tiny

not just smaller

but weirdly fun-sized

like someone had left her in the dryer too long.

I held her close

partly relieved

partly wondering if I’d missed something vital

like feeding her

or perhaps months of emotional attention.

She stared at me like a disappointed aunt.

And suddenly

in a room full of mobsters and potted plants

I realized something deeper than any fitness goal

Maybe the remodeling wasn’t just in the kitchen

Maybe I had a few unfinished corners of my own.

🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙

Yes, this dream is surreal, humorous, and symbolically rich—layered with themes of self-image, unfinished personal growth, protection, and inner tension. Let’s break it down:

1. Running to Lose Weight

You begin by exercising with a clear goal—losing 10 to 15 pounds. This could be literal, but in dream language, it often symbolizes a desire to shed emotional weight, self-doubt, pressure, or expectations. The fact that your friends seem disappointed may reflect an inner conflict:

Are you changing something about yourself that others have grown comfortable with?

Are you afraid of losing something essential in the process of trying to “fix” yourself?

There’s a quiet suggestion here: what are you trying to lose, and why does it make others uneasy?

2. The Unfinished Kitchen Tiles

The kitchen is the heart of nourishment—emotional and physical. The unfinished remodeling speaks to areas of your life or identity that were started but never completed. This could relate to healing, self-work, creativity, or even domestic roles. You're running laps in a house that isn’t fully settled, which suggests you're moving through life while still mid-construction, still trying to figure things out beneath the surface.

3. Trees in Pots

The trees are a beautiful symbol—rooted things that haven’t yet been planted. Ten of them, all waiting. One tropical, the others spruce.

The tropical tree represents something rare or exotic in you—creative passion, emotional depth, or a part of your identity that doesn’t “fit” where it is now.

The spruce trees are steadier, protective, reliable. They may symbolize traditional roles or values, the parts of you that are grounded but still not fully rooted.

Altogether, they suggest growth that’s been paused—dreams, plans, or parts of your soul waiting for space to thrive.

4. Mobsters in the Bedroom

This is a stark, strange intrusion—symbols of threat, control, and power taking up space on your bed, which represents intimacy, rest, and emotional safety.

These mobsters could be:

Internalized stress, negative thoughts, or unhealthy coping mechanisms

Outside forces (family pressure, fear, judgment) disrupting your peace

Conflicting voices inside you, demanding or threatening your calm

You're not their target—but your safe space is compromised.

5. The Bearded Dragon

She’s small, vulnerable, and cornered—yet she recognizes you and runs to you with trust and urgency. She symbolizes:

A fragile part of you you’re afraid might be getting hurt in the chaos

A deep intuition, instinct, or inner truth seeking protection

Even your creativity or passion for life that’s been shrinking, neglected, or overlooked

Her being smaller than usual is powerful. It suggests that this part of you is still alive but diminished. She needs your attention. She needs you to remember her, care for her, claim her again.

Overall Message

This dream is a layered self-portrait of a woman in the middle of deep transformation. You’re:

Trying to change or lighten some part of yourself

Confronting what’s been left unfinished

Holding space for dreams you haven’t yet planted

Realizing that external chaos has crowded out parts of your soul that need safety, gentleness, and nurturing

And in the end, you’re being called back by the very part of yourself you’ve been too busy to notice.

It’s a dream of reckoning, humor, and reclamation.

Something sacred is still alive in you. It’s small now—but it remembers who you are.

(June 3rd 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"The Unclaimed Dog"

I dreamt of a house that breathed like an old soul,

tucked behind tall wooden fences

that groaned and swayed in the wind

like aging trees trying to remember their roots.

Inside that hushed sanctuary, I lived with my husband and daughter.

We moved through quiet rituals,

our days held gently, like bird bones wrapped in silk.

One late afternoon, we stood on the back porch

as golden light poured through the slats of the fence,

cutting the air into slow-moving ribbons.

The world felt distant beyond the barrier,

soft and blurred, like a memory half-forgotten.

A neighbor stepped out from the shadow of the house,

his expression tender, almost reverent.

He asked if we had seen a small white puppy,

one that had slipped into the world unclaimed.

I paused.

In the amber of memory, I saw it

a pale flash of fur darting past the hedges days ago

a flicker of life full of urgency and aimless joy.

I had watched it pass

assuming it belonged to someone

that it had a name, a place,

a hand waiting to scoop it up and carry it home.

So I let it go

believing that it knew where it was going.

Later, a group of children wandered up the path,

their voices breathless and thin,

woven with the kind of worry that only innocence can hold.

Have you seen it, they asked

and I felt a tremor move through me.

I said no

but mentioned the wild kudzu behind the church

where vines swallowed stone and secrets alike.

A place where things could disappear

and never be seen again.

The children exchanged glances

and in their silence, I began to feel it too.

The slow spread of unease

like dusk creeping into a quiet room.

Their fear clung to me

and somewhere deep inside

regret bloomed like a bruise.

Time slipped forward

each moment folding into the next like soft fabric.

The search became a low hum beneath the dream

a sound you don’t hear so much as feel

in the hollow of your chest.

I stood once more on the porch

watching the wind stir the grass like a whisper.

And then I saw it

the fence, our line of safety

leaning, breaking, surrendering.

I called to my husband.

He came and lifted the sagging wood

his hands careful

as if lifting a veil or a buried truth.

Beyond it, the world waited

vast and open

and somehow lonelier than before.

As twilight descended

the neighbor returned

his face radiant with joy

as though he had plucked a miracle from the mouth of loss.

In his arms was the dog.

But it was no longer a puppy.

It had grown tall and elegant

its coat a river of white curls

its eyes unknowable, ancient

carrying the kind of silence that speaks of miles traveled

and names forgotten.

We rushed to greet it

our hearts swelling with wonder.

But it didn’t reach for us.

It stood with quiet dignity

like something sacred that could not be held.

No child came to claim it.

No hand extended.

It stood in the space between belonging and wildness.

We told the man we couldn’t take it.

We said the words softly

as if afraid of breaking something delicate.

We didn’t have the room.

We didn’t have the right.

And so the dog turned

without hesitation

and disappeared into the soft dark

unfenced

unburdened

free.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

Of course, Shonna. Let's explore the symbolism and emotional tone of the dream you described (the one with the white puppy growing into a poodle and returning, only to leave again). Here's a deeper interpretation:

1. The House and the Tall Wooden Fences

The home represents your inner world—your family, your creative space, your sanctuary. The tall fences suggest boundaries you’ve built to protect your peace or privacy, possibly emotional defenses or protective instincts as a mother and partner. But those boundaries aren’t impenetrable—they begin to fall later in the dream, which is significant.

2. The White Puppy

White often symbolizes purity, potential, innocence, or something spiritually significant. The puppy could represent:

A lost part of yourself—something from your past (childhood, motherhood, your artistic self) that was overlooked or let go.

A dream or responsibility you once saw but didn’t claim, assuming it would find its own way.

Even an unspoken grief or emotional thread that slipped past your awareness.

You saw it, but didn’t go after it—this suggests a moment of quiet regret or missed opportunity. It wasn’t negligence, it was trust—or a gentle detachment.

3. The Community’s Concern

The children and the neighbor may symbolize aspects of your conscience or external reflections of your inner concern. The more they searched, the more worried you became. It shows a ripple effect—how one intuitive nudge can awaken a deeper emotional truth.

You point toward kudzu, a plant known for overtaking and concealing what lies beneath. This may symbolize a fear of losing something precious to neglect, time, or overwhelming emotion.

4. The Fence Falling

A broken or falling fence signifies a shift in your boundaries—something is being revealed. It could mean:

You’re opening up emotionally in a way you haven’t before.

A truth you’ve kept behind closed gates is emerging.

You're ready to confront something you’ve hidden from, possibly related to change, aging, or roles evolving within your family or your identity.

5. The Grown Poodle

The puppy’s return as a full-grown poodle is profound. It has matured. It is elegant, beautiful, but no longer what it once was. This transformation represents:

Time—how it changes our relationships, our dreams, our needs.

Evolution—of responsibilities, identities, or emotional needs you once dismissed.

A deep recognition that some things, even if they return, cannot be held the same way.

Your joy in seeing the dog is real, but so is the sadness that you can’t keep it. It’s a moment of graceful surrender.

6. Letting It Go

You had the chance to take it in, but the moment had passed. You no longer had space—physically, emotionally, or spiritually.

Letting it go wasn’t rejection.

It was an acknowledgment:

This no longer belongs to me.

Or maybe… it never did.

Overall Meaning

This dream speaks to longing, change, and the bittersweet nature of memory. It could be reflecting something you’ve released—a creative path, a version of motherhood, a spiritual calling, a loss that still walks beside you in dreams. It reminds you that sometimes, beauty returns just to remind you of what once was—and it’s okay to honor it without needing to possess it again.

It’s a dream of maturity, grace, and release.

(March 27th 2025)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Ferris Wheels Made of Birds"

I dreamt of wheels

vast, living wheels

woven from wings and feathers

from hundreds, thousands of birds

stacked in perfect, impossible harmony.

Each bird took its place

beak to wing, claw to spine

forming circles that rose

like Ferris wheels spun by sky.

They moved in silence

each motion deliberate

and when complete

you could no longer see the birds at all

only the structure, the shape

as if nature herself had masked them

in their unity.

One towered above the skyline

larger than any skyscraper

rolling gently across water

just outside the city’s breath.

They didn’t sink

they floated

gliding forward like ancient machines

built not from metal

but from instinct and trust.

I watched from afar

a quiet witness to this miracle of survival.

Then a voice

soft, steady, feminine

broke into the dream

not mine

but older

a middle-aged woman speaking with calm clarity:

“This is how they survive.”

And I believed her.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

This dream is deeply surreal and rich with symbolic meaning, a blend of natural mystery and subconscious wisdom. Here’s an interpretation that explores its layers:

1. Birds Forming Wheels: The Power of Collective Unity

Birds typically symbolize freedom, thought, and spiritual perspective. In this dream, they come together in structured formation, sacrificing their individual form to create something enormous and powerful. The "wheels" they form are not just shapes—they're mechanisms of movement and transformation.

This could reflect how you or others around you are adapting through unity, support, or shared resilience.

The birds must align perfectly, a symbol of precision, order, or even sacrifice to become something greater.

2. Disappearing Identity: Becoming the Whole

Once the birds are arranged, they lose their individual appearance—they become something else entirely.

This speaks to identity dissolution for the sake of survival or transformation.

It may reflect a part of your life where you feel your individuality has blurred—maybe in relationships, caregiving, creative collaboration, or trauma recovery.

3. Rolling Over Water: Transformation Beyond the Known

Water often represents the unconscious, emotion, and mystery.

These wheels moving across water suggest emotional navigation, perhaps an ability to cross into unknown or overwhelming territory through adaptive strength.

It could be your psyche showing you a new way to move through emotions or the world—not by resisting, but by assembling and rolling with grace.

4. Voice of the Woman: Intuition or Ancestral Wisdom

The mysterious middle-aged woman’s voice feels like a guide—perhaps your inner wisdom, a maternal ancestor, or the archetype of the feminine seer.

Her calm explanation—“This is how they survive”—is profound. It reveals that what you’re seeing is not just beauty, but instinctual adaptation, a strategy passed down through time.

It may be a message to trust your own transformation, especially when it requires becoming part of something larger than yourself.

Overall Meaning

This dream reflects the tension between individual identity and collective purpose, between instinct and intention, and between stillness and motion.

You are witnessing a form of survival that is both elegant and humbling—one where unity creates strength, and form dissolves into function. It’s a sacred reminder that change sometimes means becoming unrecognizable, but not less meaningful.

Would you like a visual piece to go with this interpretation? It would make a hauntingly beautiful painting or poem.

(May 31st 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Stalked By Wild Animals"

Jeremiah and I drove through soft dusk,

riding in the truck toward the store.

I told him I wished we’d taken the car...

its quiet hum, the comfort of its cushions,

the way it held silence like a kindness.

He parked fast,

erratic,

at the far edge of the lot...

no other cars in sight, just a long stretch of nothing.

Then he was gone,

slipping out and walking away

too quickly to notice

that I couldn’t follow.

Something was wrong.

The air felt electric.

I twisted toward the door,

but there it was...

a bobcat, lean and circling,

eyes like gold coins spun in tension.

I tried to yell.

Tried to warn him as it passed behind his shadow,

but he was already too far,

already fading into the horizon of his own pace.

I waited.

Held my breath like a fragile offering.

Then slowly, I tried again.

The door creaked open...

and just below,

a white wolf waited.

Full-grown, silent,

its coat like snow under moonlight,

its eyes—piercing, glacial blue.

It growled low and ancient,

so I shut the door,

sealed myself inside a shell of breath and glass.

It paced.

It watched.

Never blinking,

never turning away.

I was seen...utterly and completely.

When it finally walked off,

relief poured into me like warm rain.

I looked down.

Beside me...food, small comfort.

A soft distraction.

Then...

scratching, soft and eager.

At the edge of the door,

little paws....

tiny wolf pups, wriggling in,

drawn to the scent of survival.

I fed them.

Threw bits of snack to the floor like crumbs of mercy,

and they scattered back into the wild.

But my breath caught...

because I knew

the mother would come back.

And this time,

she would not come quietly.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

This dream is rich with symbolism, primal emotion, and deep layers of relationship dynamics, vulnerability, and instinct. Here's a multifaceted interpretation:

1. The Journey with Jeremiah

Riding to the store suggests an ordinary task—something routine. But wishing you had taken the car for comfort could reflect a longing for emotional security, predictability, or softness—something more nurturing than what you’re currently experiencing. Jeremiah's erratic parking and sudden departure without noticing your situation may symbolize feelings of being unseen, unsupported, or emotionally abandoned—even if unintentionally.

2. The Bobcat & The Wolf: Threats of the Unspoken

Wild animals in dreams often represent instinct, danger, or repressed emotion.

The bobcat, elusive and circling, could symbolize a subtle threat—something stalking you emotionally or mentally, perhaps anxiety, trauma, or a feeling of being hunted by a force you can’t fully name.

The white wolf is powerful. It faces you head-on, growls, and commands your submission. Its white fur and piercing blue eyes speak of purity, cold truth, and the primal. It might represent pain, truth, or even your own wild, wounded self—uncompromising and fierce. The fact that it never looks away suggests that this is something that must be faced.

3. Being Trapped & Watched

You’re inside the truck—contained, immobilized, vulnerable—while the wolf circles and watches. This reflects a feeling of being trapped by circumstance, emotion, or illness, unable to move without risk. Being watched so directly implies a confrontation with something undeniable: your fear, your intuition, your past, or a truth about your current life.

4. The Wolf Pups & the Shift in Tone

When the pups sneak in to eat your food, there's a sudden tenderness. These small beings, vulnerable and hungry, represent innocence, need, or even parts of yourself that are trying to survive quietly. You show compassion—you feed them. But with compassion comes consequence.

You suddenly remember the mother. And this is key:

> With every act of care, there may come a reckoning.

5. The Final Knowing: "She will not come quietly."

This is perhaps the most haunting line. The mother wolf isn’t just a literal threat. She could be:

Your own fierce protection of your inner world.

A consequence you’re bracing for—emotional, relational, or physical.

A trauma response rising after vulnerability.

Even death/rebirth symbolism—the divine feminine in her most feral form.

You know she’s coming back. That’s wisdom. And dread. And strength.

Overall Meaning:

This dream feels like a reflection of your current emotional state: being alone in a moment of danger, abandoned in a place of inner conflict, facing something wild and necessary, and fearing the backlash of tenderness.

It’s also deeply symbolic of transformation: you're trapped in a moment between action and surrender, where instinct, protection, and truth swirl around you like predators and messengers.

(May 4th 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

💢 Nightmare 💢

"Shot In The Head"

For reasons I couldn’t name,

I was running...

not alone,

but with a man I didn’t know,

bonded by a crime I couldn’t recall,

but heavy enough to drag eternity behind us.

Five cop cars circled like vultures

around the house we escaped...

a quiet trap waiting to snap.

They saw me flee, saw the fear burning through me.

The first cruiser screeched to a halt.

I turned to them, breathless, trembling,

and begged:

“Shoot me in the head.”

They paused.

Their eyes flickered with confusion,

but the one in the passenger seat,

with something wild in his gaze,

answered my plea without a word.

The gun sang.

The dream went black.

Then...

I was awake,

but not quite alive.

In a dim, quiet room,

the man from the chase was beside me.

I found a mirror.

What stared back wasn’t a face...

it was a mask, grotesque and bloated,

as if stitched by the hands of fate itself.

From the nape of my neck

to the crown of my skull,

a wound split me open...

stitched down the middle like a terrible rebirth,

carving a path between my eyes

where the bullet must have kissed me.

I told him,

“At least the swelling in my eyes is going down.”

He looked at me gently and said,

“That’s okay. Don’t worry.

You’ll be dead soon.”

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

Given that you experience seizures, migraines, and eye swelling, this dream may be deeply entangled with both physical sensations and emotional processing. Here’s a layered interpretation that weaves together neurological, symbolic, and emotional insights:

Physical Interpretation (Seizure or Migraine Aura-Linked)

Dreams during or just before/after seizures or migraine auras can be intensely vivid, fragmented, or emotionally extreme. The swollen face, distorted identity, and blacking out could reflect:

Sensory distortion—common during seizures or migraines (especially hemiplegic or complex migraines).

Loss of control or ego dissolution—feeling like your body or identity is no longer “you.”

Pain processing—your brain attempting to make sense of or translate real physical discomfort (like eye swelling or head pressure) into dream imagery.

The stitched wound from neck to head could be your brain mapping pain onto symbolic injury. A seizure or aura may have been happening while you were dreaming or falling into REM.

Symbolic / Emotional Interpretation

Being Chased / Life Sentence:

You’re running from something that feels inescapable—perhaps your chronic symptoms, your trauma, or even shame/guilt that doesn’t have a clear source. The “life sentence” could represent the ongoing nature of illness, emotional burdens, or a fear of being permanently altered.

Begging to be Shot:

This is incredibly intense—and deeply symbolic. It doesn’t necessarily reflect a literal death wish, but possibly:

A desperate need for release from suffering.

A desire to end an emotional or physical cycle you feel trapped in.

The wish to reset, to be reborn, to obliterate the pain.

The Shooting & Darkness:

Being shot, then entering blackness, may represent a complete ego or consciousness break—possibly the dream version of losing awareness during a seizure. It could also symbolize transformation: death of one self, awakening into another.

Swollen Mask & Stitched Head:

This feels like the physical pain of migraines or eye swelling interpreted through dream logic. It also symbolizes identity distortion—how chronic pain or trauma can make us feel like we’re wearing a body that isn’t ours anymore.

“You’ll be dead soon.”

This chilling line may not be about literal death—it could mean:

“The pain will pass.”

“This version of you is dissolving.”

Or, from a dream-voice of surrender: Let go.

Overall Message:

This dream seems like a convergence of your physical condition and emotional landscape. It’s not just a reflection of symptoms—it’s your psyche processing the weight of living with a body and mind that betray you at times. It also touches a nerve of transformation: the death of suffering, the hope for peace, even if part of you has to be torn open to get there.

(April 16th 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"The Wooden Clubhouse In The Tsunami"

Tina and I spoke without words,

our voices threading through the quiet folds of sleep.

Somewhere between thought and memory,

I asked her if she remembered the wooden playhouse

we built once, long ago, on a beach washed in golden dusk.

She said yes...it was still there.

I returned, barefoot in a fading dream,

and there it stood: weathered but waiting,

a ghost of laughter etched into the grain of its walls.

But behind it, the sea began to rise.

A great wave...slow, ancient, inevitable...

gathered in the distance, whispering of endings.

I knew it would fall.

I stood still as the tide swallowed the shore.

Yet when the wave reached me,

its strength was gentler than I feared.

So I loosened my grip on everything I thought I was,

and let the water take me...

not as a victim,

but as something lighter,

adrift in the rhythm of surrender.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

1. Subconscious Conversation with Tina:

Speaking with Tina in a dream—without physical words—hints at a bond that transcends time and distance. She's a thread to your past, your origins, perhaps even your first experiences of joy, imagination, and safety. The subconscious setting suggests that this isn't just about her—it’s about what she represents: your childhood self, your first memories of connection, play, and emotional innocence.

2. The Wooden Playhouse:

A playhouse built on the beach is a sacred creation—childhood magic made real. That it still exists in the dream suggests that your inner child, your creativity, or the purity of that time hasn’t been lost. It’s still waiting for you. But because it's on a beach—always shifting, always in motion—it’s also fragile, temporary. The memory or emotional space can't last forever in the same form.

3. The Tsunami:

This is the intrusion of life, change, or grief into that safe place. The tsunami may represent the moment you realized innocence fades. It could also symbolize something that threatened your sense of self—trauma, time, or loss. But you see it coming. You don’t run. There’s awareness and a kind of mournful acceptance.

4. The Waves Aren’t as Strong as You Thought:

This is the heart of the dream—your fear, your emotional anticipation of being overwhelmed, wasn’t entirely true. The memories, the changes, the grief—they hurt, but they don’t break you. There's healing here. You’re stronger now, or maybe softer in the right way. You no longer fight the current.

5. Letting Go and Drifting:

You surrender to your own emotional tide. Rather than resisting change or loss, you’re ready to trust it—to follow where your heart, your memory, or life’s rhythm takes you. Drifting isn’t aimless here—it’s spiritual. It’s peace after storm. Letting go of what was, while still honoring it.

Overall Meaning:

This dream is about returning to your roots—emotional, creative, spiritual—and realizing how far you’ve come. Tina is a mirror, a guide into the past. The playhouse is the sanctuary of your inner child. The tsunami is the inevitable change you feared. But now, you’re ready to surrender—not to be lost, but to evolve.

It feels like your soul is gently reminding you: You can visit the past without needing to stay there. What you built then still lives in you, even as the tides rise and fall.

(April 8th 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

"Puerto Rican Hurricane"

I dreamt of a hurricane unraveling Puerto Rico...

a furious spiral tearing at the edges of the map.

From the sky, I watched the land break apart,

islands drifting like forgotten memories into the sea.

My grandmother's voice rose like static through the wind,

“They have Black in their blood,” she said...

a phrase heavy with shadow and silence.

I answered softly,

“What you call Black is not what they are—

they carry the drumbeats of distant tribes,

roots older than borders, deeper than skin.”

And in that moment,

as the storm pulled coastlines into the deep,

I saw the past and present collide...

a reckoning of blood, of belonging,

of the stories we inherit and the ones we refuse.

⭐🌙⭐ Interpretation ⭐🌙⭐

That's a vivid and layered dream, and it sounds emotionally and symbolically charged. Here’s an interpretation that might resonate with you:

1. The Hurricane and Puerto Rico: The hurricane often symbolizes emotional turmoil, transformation, or chaos. Seeing it hit Puerto Rico, a place rich in culture and history but also impacted by colonialism and natural disasters, may point to collective trauma, displacement, or personal associations with identity and heritage. Looking at the country from above suggests a detached perspective—perhaps you're trying to understand something from a broader, more reflective place in your life.

2. Land Breaking Apart: Land drifting into the ocean might symbolize fragmentation—whether it’s cultural, familial, or personal. This could reflect a sense of something precious or rooted being lost, or the disconnection you may feel between your values and those of older generations (like your grandmother's remark).

3. The Grandmother's Racist Comment: Her comment may represent outdated or harmful generational beliefs—possibly things you've heard or had to confront in waking life. This element of the dream brings attention to internalized or inherited prejudices, and your refusal to accept them shows growth and a conscious rejection of ignorance.

4. Your Response: You mention tribalism and differentiate between African heritage and African American experience. This is powerful—it shows your awareness of cultural nuance, identity, and history. It could symbolize a desire to reclaim or clarify truth, especially in the face of distortion or oversimplification.

Altogether, the dream feels like a confrontation with inherited beliefs, an exploration of identity, and an emotional reckoning with loss—both cultural and personal. The hurricane clears and destroys, but it also makes way for rebuilding. Maybe this dream is asking: What outdated structures in your life or lineage need to be swept away? And what new truths are you ready to stand for?

(March 27th, 2018)

[sleepwritten-dreams]

⭐🌙Welcome to My Dream Journal🌙⭐

I've kept a dream journal for over 20+ years. Every night, I drift into vivid, cosmic dreams... filled with emotion, mystery, and symbols that stay with me long after waking.

Some dreams are heartfelt visits from relatives and family that have passed away, and other's are surreal or symbolic.

This blog is a place to capture those dreams before they fade...written out in detail, interpreted through Dream Journaling Apps, and explored with curiosity. I often look up their meanings, draw connections to life, and let them guide my inner work.

Some dreams inspire paintings or unfold into poems. Others hold healing messages that I uncover piece by piece. Through this space, I honor my dreamworld as a sacred part of my creativity and growth. ☁️🖤☁️