The royal road to the unconscious

I have always had great trouble remembering my dreams. I know I do dream because when I wake up in the morning I remember something but it all vanishes within seconds. 

I have often tried to keep a journal of my dreams but it just does not work, I never manage to write it consistently. Yet something of my forgotten dreams stays on, I know, because I occasionally have a deja vu and then I know that I have seen it in a dream.

The best moment is when I am about to fall asleep and I am still awake but I am suddenly aware of being about to dream - images blur, I hear people speaking but I know they are not there: it's dreamtime.
I have two different takes on dreams. One is psychoanalytic and right now I am fascinated by Freud even more than Jung. Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious said Sigmund. Indeed they are: this is how we reconnect with it.

The other take is quasi mystical. My godmother claimed to be a clairvoyant, she read tarot cards and interpreted dreams. For her, dreams were the vehicle through which the spirits came to us and we could converse with the departed. They sometimes appeared in our dreams to tell us about something that was about to happen and usually it was some major catastrophe. My little sister claimed for years to be receiving nocturnal visitations from my departed grandfather and would tell my mother her dream in the morning, which then my mother and godmother would analyse in great detail, whilst my godmother prepared cups of Turkish coffee, so that she would then scrutinise the patterns left by the coffee in the tiny cup.  

Photographer: Vijay Jethwa

I never had such dreams and was incredibly jealous of my sister and the attention she received. She was a 'sensitive'. Wow. That meant she was very special. This is how sibling rivalry leaves a mark. Then by the time she was fourteen or fifteen she lost this ability to connect - I suspect she got fed up with being asked all the time. By then I was eighteen and ready to condemn this whole practice as humbug - I had acquired a very down to earth, very rational outlook on life, besides I was keen to be perceived as very different from my mother. Spirits? Do me a favour, I'd say. They don't exist. But deep down I continued to have a secret belief in the unknown spirit world  and wanted to explore it, through dreams. Within me there is a strong mystical dimension that longs for a higher and more transpersonal meaning in my life and I have often found that no matter how much I want to forget it it resurfaces when I least expect it..
Not long ago someone told me that DMP is the western equivalent of shamanism. I kind of like this idea, definitely something to explore further. If only to feel reintegrated, in a manner of speaking.

(All photos modelled by Alex B.)