Whether good or bad,
dreams get into us.
We’ve all had the experience of waking up
or being woken up
in the middle of a dream,
forced to put that dream aside
for reality.
Incomplete dreams are like incomplete conversations,
a puzzle still in pieces.
Freud called them unfulfilled wishes.
Fritz Perls called them unfinished business.
Whatever the term, the point is the dreamer is left unwhole.
And unholy.
It’s a nagging feeling.
Sometimes for my morning visualization,
I pick up where my dreams left off,
remembering the last fragment,
calling back the characters,
and letting the scene play out,
like a spiritual improv show,
wild and dangerous,
until the conversation runs out of words,
until the last line of the riddle is dropped into place,
sunlight shining on an open field,
my biggest fears snarling like chained dogs.
And I wake for the second time that day.