dreams

As I've mentioned before, I dream every single night, and wake nearly every morning thinking, What in the world was that all about? My dreams are often full of wild, continent-hopping adventures. Twice this week, I dreamt things that sent me scurrying for pen and paper when I awoke: one was an intense, full-length murder/suspense movie (in which Penny Marshall played a grizzled, yet oddly tender-hearted factory foreman) that I should probably turn into a screenplay (perhaps minus Penny Marshall); one was an idea for a book. But I also had two odd dreams this week--dreams that together have me wondering what's up.

The most recent was a dream in which I was asked to babysit an elephant--a very tiny elephant. When I arrived at the door, the little guy was playfully trying to get out as I was trying to get in. I kept laughing and coaxing his little bumpy trunk back inside the door. When I eventually did get in, we spent a long afternoon playing outside in the baby elephant's very, very steep backyard.

That's strange enough, I suppose. But coming as it did on the heels of another animal dream, it seemed even stranger.

Last Friday night, while I slept in the upper nook of a tiny cabin I shared with three other women (I was teaching a women's retreat for Calvary Chapel Longview, Washington), I dreamt that I was in southern California with friends from The Word For Today, the Calvary Chapel publishing division I work for. We were just moseying along on a leisurely stroll, when I spotted a tiny baby gorilla on the side of the road. I picked him up and he fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I bonded with that imp in one heartbeat, and from that moment on, he was mine. All his needs were taken care of by me--which included a lot of yogurt. He loved yogurt. I can still feel his little mouth clamping down on a spoonful of yogurt, watching me with those brown eyes.

After a time, I taught him to talk. And one day, near his first birthday, he said to me, "I want to invite that pig to my birthday party."

I said, "Pig? You mean Wilbur?" I had read Charlotte's Web to him quite a bit; it was a favorite.

He nodded.

"I'm sorry, honey," I said, "but Wilbur is a grown-up pig now." The baby gorilla didn't believe me, so I had to pull another book down from the shelf and show him a picture of an adult Wilbur having new, grown-up adventures.

I woke from that dream missing my baby. I mean, really missing that gorilla. I think I actualy have been grieving all week.

Am I losing my mind? Or am I supposed to become a vet, or move to the jungle, or ... what?

Go ahead, friends. Analyze away.
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Photo found on www.aboutcinci.com