The Weirdness of Dreams
Posted by jonathanfryer on Saturday, 15th April, 2017
In the early hours of this morning I had a very weird dream. I was on a passenger aircraft returning from Asia to London (Club Class, so obviously somebody else was paying for it!) when the person sitting next to me was suddenly taken ill. After the plane landed in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, I helped steer him out into the waiting arms of a groundforce medical team. I hung around for a while, to make sure he was alright, but then I noticed that the plane, which had meanwhile turned into a passenger liner, had sailed away. I was alarmed because I didn’t have a Saudi visa and feared that I wouldn’t even be able to check into a hotel as a result, and so started to walk along Jeddah’s corniche in the hope that some kind soul would stop in his car and take me home for the night. At that point, I woke up, metaphorically scratching my head and wondering, “what was that all about?”.
I know I dream a lot. In fact, most of us probably do, though the bulk of those dreams pass into oblivion. Sometimes in the morning I have a sense of loss; even if I can’t quite remember what I dreamt about, I know that it was good, enjoyable, in some ways better than daily reality. But as a journalist and a writer of non-fiction, I deal with reality and its various interpretations, rather than the stuff of dreams — which I imagine nonetheless provide sustenance to some novelists. I suppose therefore I rather distrust dreams, as a distortion of reality. Yet there is something appealing about Eleanor Roosevelt’s maxim, “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”