I once read that certain Native American cultures believe there is no distinction between our dreaming and waking lives in regards to the spiritual challenges they present. I don't know about anybody else, but when I wake up I usually have to make a quick check list of where I am, what age, and my current circumstances because I am so steeped in dreamland. The buzzer sounds (or, more often, the garbage truck), my eyelids flicker and I think "renter, 35, gainfully employed, in therapy, single, college graduate, Tuesday, mild depression...how many more seconds till coffee?" On most occasions I am relieved and grateful that, no, I am not a college senior who forgot to study for her final (so cliche...and, yet, so chronic). Other times I am slightly spooked by the recollection of an encounter with someone who has long since been deceased. I've never been one for the whole teeth falling out thing, but I hear that's a popular one. But I won't bore you with a litany of my top 10 (there's a whole high school series) because someone once said that listening to someone's dreams is about as engrossing as being on the receiving end of someone's drug trip experience. Unless you're Salvador Dali or a Freudian shrink (which mine happens to be...good thing I remember my dreams or I don't know what we'd talk about), nobody's interested. However, I will say, that I frequently wake up and don't know how old I am (which is most likely another issue altogether).

So, before I get too boring, I just want to say that in my awesome years (as I will heretofore refer to my mid-30's), I more and more think my dreams are my instincts lighting the way to the realities of my actual 3D life. Because DeNial isn't just a river in Egypt and runs so deep and pervasively in my day to day life, I believe there are many truths that remain hidden or cloaked behind my prejudices, fears, and taboos (yes, I have read Thomas Moore's "Care of the Soul").

Just for today, I value my dream life.