Crystal Clear

'Out of the fog', yeah, right, more like 'out of the crisp, clear clinical-like crystalised, clarity-infused air', well that's more like my dreams. I am one of those individuals who experience incredibly lucid dreams. Dreams that are so clear it's as though time freezes, and all that remains is the dream sequence itself. You get the drift; imagine a scene from the matrix. Like my own dream matrix, pretty cool, hey? Or is it? I have to stop and ask myself, Am I dreaming? or am I astral travelling? That's if you believe in such things, who knows? All I do know is that I remember dreams with such dramatic colour, sound, smell, sight, and emotion. I remember dreams, and can watch and rewatch them in my mind’s eye as if watching a video clip.

One such dream happened years ago when I was 20, and to this day, I can replay it in my mind's eye with such crystal-like clarity. As though it was deeply etched into my psyche. It still elicits a strong emotional response, well, a watered-down mix of pragmatism and emotion. I'll set the scene; I'm a Sydney-based dreamer, yet deep within my heart is a small girl who loves the bush, loves the country. I jumped at the opportunity to head out of the city and visit my Nan, who lived on a large rural property. She lived in a small country home, complete with a large wrap-around veranda and a sprinkling of sheep, horses and cows. Chickens wandered through long wispy wild grasses. Nan lived in whoop-whoop, that's Australian, or Aussie, for a very remote, rural area. So after eight hours of driving, we arrived at her perfectly small home, complete with a chimney and billowing wood smoke. The sounds of Bell birds and Whip birds filled the country air. You could smell the goodness, and feel the fresh country air cleanse your body, mind and soul.. That night as we sat, deeply sated, bellies full, laughter filled her small kitchen. We were both excited and entertained by the soothing sounds of coffee percolating and the rich aroma of spiced banana-date bread baking in her antique wood-burning fuel stove. Her place was rustic, but it felt 5-star. That first night I slept like a baby. What followed were long winter days, complete with sun-drenched country picnics, walks along the bubbling rivers and brooks, and lots of star gazing. Oh, and lots of good hearty country food. I mean lots.

Yet as I settled down to sleep on the final night, it was to a mix of sheer exhaustion, satisfaction, and a hint of anxiety. Why anxiety? Because I always get a little anxious before I need to make a long drive. Anyway, I must have drifted off to sleep, as before too long, my dreamscape was filled with conversation, observation and reflection. I'll set the scene a little more clearly. Firstly, I rarely dream of myself; my dreams are often of faces of strangers and people I am yet to meet. When I do dream of myself, the dreams are always filled with a sense of urgency and poignancy. There has always been a message, a lesson, a something or other I have needed to learn to take away from that realm. Anyway, this night, I fell asleep, soon drifting off into the vivid world of lucid dreams. I remember vividly the feeling of being up high, and I remember clearly peering over the edge, asking those who were sitting next to me "what are we looking at? They replied, "Oh, that is you, it's where you die tomorrow". Like, hello, "what", let me just say that caught my attention, yet I wasn't alarmed; there wasn't any sense of dread, pending doom, or fear. In fact, there was a calming sense of peace, of comfort. I kept looking down at the scene unfolding below me of crumbled cars, sirens, strewn bodies and broken mess. I asked "I'm sorry, what do you mean?" To which they replied once again, "Yes, this happens tomorrow on your way home, at the roundabout in Wamberal," I thought for a moment "But Im not going that way; I don't need to go that way; I'm heading straight to Sydney, not the Central Coast" I paused, keep looking, and kept chatting, it felt surreal. I remember the sensation of being up high and looking down to earth, witnessing the scene unfold before my eyes. I remember the clear clarity and gentleness of the voices of those I was speaking with. I remember drinking in every fine detail, the time, the date, the place and the moment. The next morning when I woke up, my younger sister, who had also been staying at my Nan's, asked over breakfast, "Hey, can I grab a lift to my friends on the central coast? They live in Wamberal?" I swear you could have heard a pin drop; the blood rushed from my face, I turned to her and, in a voice that was low and guttural said "No way, I am NOT f’ing driving you to your friend's house!" We argued, she huffed, and I puffed, but I never caved in. Was it a dream? was it a premonition? Was it a message from loved ones? Who knows? All I do know is that I was going to listen to it. I am grateful for that dream. I am grateful for my insight and intuition, as well as my ability to listen and act.

I have had plenty of similar experiences. If I am allowed to continue, I will share a story of an even more frightening dreamscape experience. I was 24 and head over heels in love with my now husband. We headed out on one of our camping explorations, deep into the alpine area of New South Wales. We didn't have the state-of-the-art camping gear and tents we've got now; no, we had a flimsy little tent where we both had to snuggle in tight. Sounds romantic, hey? Well it isn’t if somebody decides to eat beans! Anyway, id digress. Well, one morning, I woke up bawling my eye out. I was hysterical, unconsolable, as I'd just had an incredibly lucid, extremely real-feeling nightmare involving one of my brothers and my father. I wasn't in the dream; I was more of an observer as if standing on the sidelines watching real time and space reveal itself. I stood transfixed, desperately sad, as my brother told my dad that he was dying of incurable lung disease and that he only had months to live. My dad's reaction to the dream was truly heartbreaking. To say he was shattered was an understatement. His heart was broken, I mean really desperately broken. In the dream, I didn't see him as a man but rather as a vulnerable, desperate man-child, powerless to help his son, my brother. I knew I was watching something special; it wasn't about the illness but the closeness of the relationship. As you can imagine, the nightmare caused a visceral response; I woke up gasping for air as hot tears stained my flushed cheeks. Sitting bolt upright as the images of the dream still flashed before my eyes, I declared, "I need to call me dad; I need to speak to him right now" I managed to call my parents and spoke with my mum, I told her of my dream, asked her if everything was okay, had she heard from my brother etc. In total astonishment, she says, "Sweetheart, Your Uncle Vincent, your dad's brother, has just told us that he is dying from incurable lung disease and only has months to live. It has shaken your father because, as you know, they were estranged for 15 years and have just only reconnected; it has shaken your father to his core" I stood in silence, surreal silence. Again, why had I dreamt that? Could dreams be more than just our sub-conscience processing the day's events? How could you explain my dream, or its accuracy? Yes, it wasn't my brother, but my father's brother. But still, really, can you explain? I was so shaken by that nightmare that we ended up packing up camp, I had cried so intensely I had given myself s migraine.

As mentioned, I have had many such experiences; another poignant one was around 12 months after the dream about my dad. My husband and I had flown to The Netherlands to visit his parents, as well as catch up with his friends. We were lucky enough to go skiing in the Austrian Alps, in a lovely ski town named Ischel. Again, after days of strenuous activity, of accidentally finding myself atop a black run (believe me, for a ski novice Australian, that was frightening). As an Australian, I have rarely seen the snow, so accidentally taking the chair lift to the black run was a mistake I only made once. Anyway, I digress; this essay is about dreams, nightmares or anything in between. One night after a full day of skiing, Gluhwein, winter sun and dancing, I drifted off eventually. It was a little difficult as my stomach grumbled due to hunger. As a vegan, Austria had very limited food options, especially given that the ski lodge itself smelled like a giant sausage. Anyway, I finally fell into a deep, deep slumber. As I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s face come into hazy view, as if trapped behind a fog. She seemed sad, lost, adrift. I remember feeling a sense of fear course through my sleeping body; I tried to reach out to her. I could hear her call my name over and over again in a muted tone. I woke with a deep feeling in the pit of my stomach. Again sitting upright, rubbing my tired eyes, “I need to call my mum; I need to speak with her, like now” I dialled her number and, with a sense of relief, heard her soft, whimsical voice answer ", Hello sweetheart, I've been desperate to hear your voice" to which I said, "Mum, are you ok, I have just had a dream about you?" She paused; the distance between the Alps and Australia was both insurmountable yet, able to be bridged in a mere moment of time. "Darling, I've just been given some bad news, some bad medical news”, I replied. “Oh, Mum, I'm so sorry” I won't go into details about what news, but what I will say is that, once again, my dreamscape. That realm allowed me to connect with my family in a way that I struggle to understand or explain. I would be a fool to ignore it. So instead, I learned to embrace it, deciphering between dreams that are just a mass of brain activity, where my subconscious busy’s itself with processing events, compared to those poignant lucid dream where there is obvious purpose and meaning. I don’t dream in fog; I dream in brilliant technicolour, kaleidoscopic colour, texture, sounds and smell. I remember names, numbers, faces, feelings, emotions and events. My dreams offer respite, introspection and a chance to connect on some infinitely strange realm.