My dreams all seem to be puzzles that I spend all night trying to solve. Does that mean anything? I don’t know, I alternate between thinking that there is no meaning in dreams and thinking that there must be. Perhaps they are like astrological charts, where you inject the meaning not necessarily knowing that you are doing so.
Dreams also defy narrative. I fear that as I write my dream down I impose a narrative line that wasn’t there in the dream. Last night’s dream seemed to be set in a small English town close to the Scottish border. This setting must be to do with my recent travels in Dumfries and Galloway, walking Hadrian’s Wall in May, and listening to Melvin Bragg broadcasting from Hadrian’s Wall yesterday.
The town was divided over Brexit, and each side used poetry to try and convince the other of the rightness of its views. My task was to capture these poems and compose one of my own that would bring them together. I struggled with my task until I woke.
Is there a message for me? That poetry can heal? That I must contribute to healing Britain after our divisive Brexit vote?
I’ve no idea, but my only response to the dream has been to write this down. Should I be doing more?