Just musing ....
When I was about ten or twelve I used to have this recurring dream. I couldn’t make head nor tail of it, but I knew it was about memories. I used to wake up with the feeling it was trying to tell me something. I’ve had the dream a few times over the years, but with years between them. The dream never changes. Nothing is added or taken away. When it starts there is a feeling of familiarit, I know what’s coming, but it still goes through exactly the same dialogue. This morning, for no reason at all, I remembered the dream.
Bear with me ...
There is this small book, it has a soft to the touch black cover, like fleece. The cover opens and the pages start turning ... they are all blank and very white.
As the pages turn there start to appear a few pencilled lines of writing (it looks like my writing). As the pages keep turning, more lines of writing are on the pages, always in pencil. There are spaces, like paragraphs, between a line, then a few lines, then several lines
Gradually, as the pages keep turning, the spaces between the paragraphs get smaller and smaller, like an awareness than space is now running out
At the end of the book, the writing has become very small and squashed up. There are no spaces, no paragraphs... it’s just crammed with words.
[In my dream I knew this was memories, gradually filling up my brain, from birth to old age. As the memories increased, the space needed to store them was getting smaller.]
Then the dream gets even stranger
The book starts flicking the pages backwards. There is no room, no spaces left to keep writing, but there are new memories to write about.
I rub out, erase, a paragraph and write over the space that’s been created. Then the book flicks a few more pages back and again I erase a paragraph and write more memories.
I wake up. I know I’ve erased some important memories, but I had to do it, but I have no idea why or what it means. I was only about ten when these dreams started
So. Today I’m walking Pooch up the hill and I remember the dream. It started me thinking.
Is this what causes mixed memories. We overwrite bits of old memories with new ones, then mix them together?
its funny what too much time on your hands can lead to