Friend of Shadows

Even as a child, I realized dreams are significant and can be helpful. I used to be plagued by nightmares with monsters, especially when suffering my fair number of childhood illnesses. One night I decided, perhaps when I was four or five and suffering delirium from a high fever, that I would befriend the monsters that made a habit of terrifying me. It was pure inspiration, because the idea worked perfectly. The monsters were quite taken aback. They simply didn't know how to respond. When I sat down with them to negotiate terms of working together to fight off other, less friendly monsters, I believe there wasn't one that didn't sign on. If I had nightmares after that, they were fewer and farther between than before, and I was never again alone in the shadows.

Since then, I've befriended the shadows, those parts of myself I do not fully know or am not even conscious of. Together, my unconscious self and I still strive to overcome the less friendly monsters and bad habits anyone can struggle with.

I am still learning to develop and focus my education and experiences into stories. They are the unique channels I enjoy tuning in to, and am always trying to hone this skill as a way of knowing myself better, even as I indulge in dreams and wonder about the thoughts that come to me. More often, I am delighted in and surprised by the thoughts and dreams of others: some sad, some hopeful, and many not so easy to categorize.

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There is a lovely poem by Lewis Carroll at the end of his book, "Through the Looking Glass," in which he describes the events that led to his wonderful story: rowing in a boat with Alice and her sisters, charming them as they charmed him. This is an example of how I hope to see myself as a thinker and a dreamer, charming others with reflections on the utter beauty of love, life, goodness and truth. (Interesting to note is that the poem is an acrostic, the initial letters of each line spelling out Alice's full name. The haunting and implicit references to death refer to Carrol's memory of Alice, running down the hill and leaping the last brook into womanhood.)


A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July--
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear--
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland the lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream!