Have you ever been mounted by Paul Revere?
In one of those dreams where you think you have woken up, but are in fact still sleeping, our Boston’s very own “Midnight riding” hometown hero was on top of me. It wasn’t even sex; he was just there, tri-corner hat and all. Thereafter I woke up (for real this time) and immediately tried to forget the encounter. And what’s even more bizarre: A dream interpreter decided this dream meant that I talk to God.
Although the spectrum of dreams ranges from the bizarre to the ordinary — some really do have the power to make actual changes. For example, I used to struggle with back handsprings. Each time I’d thrown one at cheerleading practice, my left shoulder would cave in and I’d fall flat on my face. But after a lucid dream in which I threw the perfect back handspring, the very next day at practice I finally perfected my form.
One of my recurring dreams takes place in a library — a lofty, beautiful one, nothing like Mugar at all, and I’m always reading out of an old, leather-bound copy of “Snow White,” which looks like it came out of the fairytale itself, one you might find at an antiquarian bookseller. I normally wake up before reading past the first few pages, but whenever I go to a library or a bookstore (in real life) I try to find their copies of “Snow White,” which each time are inferior to my own.
But reading occurs in my other dreams as well — even, sometimes, in different languages. Whenever I’m preparing for a Latin or Greek class, especially under the stress of an upcoming exam, I tend to dream about whatever text we’re reading. Since these dead languages are not usually spoken, I’m not conversing with Latin or Greek in these dreams, but instead I have a text in front of me that I read aloud and translate. This kind of vision always strikes me as odd since I find these languages to be complicated, almost arithmetical sequences that require a meticulous attention to detail and take a painfully long amount of time to decipher.
My nightmares are rare and atypical: They don’t consist of demonic images or anything else considered “frightening” to the average person. My worst nightmare takes place at a dress rehearsal right before a performance of “The Nutcracker.” I’m backstage watching the other dancers practice and suddenly an agitated director hurries me to center stage, informing me that they lost their sugarplum fairy for the evening and I am the replacement. There is no escaping so I dance as well as I can, but however look too ridiculous and out-of-place since my body is way too morbidly obese for wearing a ballet costume. Although I consider this dream a nightmare, it’s usually an realization that I need to morph my body back into its former shape.
So whether they consist of being mounted by Paul Revere or reading an ancient language, dreams have the potential to, in a distorted way, offer insight when ordinary life is too unimaginative.
Sydney L. Shea is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences and can be reached at slshea@bu.edu
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