Dreaming Atlantis

I know—another dream! I hope you don't mind; I even hope you enjoy it because, truth be told, I can't stop. My brain, working like a finely tuned large language model artificial intelligence chatbot, simply won't let these dream narratives go unshared. Let me explain why.

When I was young, in Shady Grove, we had a special breakfast tradition that was unique to my mom's Welsh family. My great-grandfather's generation had settled in the area due to the abundant coal deposits, which, according to history, was a typical choice for the Welsh. (What can I say? We Welsh have always had a nose for what's hidden—almost as good as our nose for a proper cup of tea.)

Every morning at the breakfast table, someone would share their dreams from the night before. It was important to wait until breakfast was served because discussing a dream before eating could cause it to come true. But why not share the happy dreams, you ask? Mom explained that we can't be certain whether a dream predicts something good or bad. We can attempt to interpret the dream, but we can never know for sure.

It all reminds me of the probability distribution functions in quantum mechanics. One can only know the probability of the outcome before the dream actually comes true—Schrödinger's dream, if you will, both fortunate and disastrous until the universe collapses the waveform. I suppose my ancestors developed their own quantum theory long before physicists caught up. Not exactly Hamlet, but impressive nonetheless for coal miners.

One person at a time recited their dreams, and the others looked for meaning in the symbolism—all dreams were considered symbolic except on those occasions when the reason for the dream seemed obvious. Like dreaming about chocolate cake after being denied dessert. That dream needs no magic 8-ball to interpret.

This ritual was my life well into my early twenties, by which time, it had become a part of who I am. I still "interpret" my dreams as being important for me to understand, rather like reading tea leaves but with less caffeine and more REM sleep.

And so, with that said, here we go:

Last night, I listened to the Sleep With Me podcast to help me fall asleep. I clicked on the most recent episode, "Skybridge Discovery Tour," where Scooter describes his recent hike along a high ridge with expansive views in a park in Oakland. At some point during the first hour, I fell asleep. What could possibly go wrong? Hilarity ensues in dreamland.

In my dream, I found myself "at work" in a tall office building and was preparing to leave for the day. I thought I had parked my car across the street, but when I walked over to look for it, I realized I'd actually parked back across the street where I worked. The dream version of me apparently has the same stellar sense of direction as the waking version.

Not wanting to navigate the hilly streets again (dream-me is apparently as exercise-averse as awake-me), I decided to take a bridge that connected the two buildings. I walked around the edge on the very top of the building (a low wall made it safe, though my dream architect clearly never met an OSHA inspector). I must have stirred in my sleep and awakened for a few seconds because I don't recall any more of the dream. However, a similar feeling dream began when I returned to sleep, like a Netflix series that automatically plays the next episode.

The next morning, I discovered that a different Sleep With Me podcast, "A Bittersweet Life Crossover," had played during my second dream. My subconscious, it seems, is susceptible to subliminal podcast influence. I was pumped to discover this connection!

In that dream, the narrative shifted from searching for a bridge to participating in a guided tour with a group that was creating a documentary for TV or YouTube. I suspect my dream self fancied becoming the next Ken Burns of ancient civilizations.

I walked along the edges of the same buildings from the first dream, narrating the documentary, while the film crew followed behind. The buildings themselves transformed into magnificent granite structures, obviously ancient, and were actually the remains of the capital city of Atlantis. I was quite pleased with myself to be the expert. I wore my beret strategically dipped above one eye, which made all the difference in presentation as I guided viewers through this lost civilization.

If you're a regular here on The Circular Journey, you probably remember that I had vivid dreams of Atlantis as a very young child. I didn't know anything of the legend then—I was more concerned with mastering the art of tying my shoes and avoiding nap time. I only realized much later what the dreams were about. Either I'm the reincarnation of an Atlantean prince, or I saw a movie that I have no memory of.

As I age, I dream of Atlantis less and less, and when I do, the dreams are usually brief—just a postcard from the subconscious rather than an extended vacation. I've carried those memories of childhood dreams with me throughout my life, and if those dreams came true, they must have been good because it's been an amazing, magical, thrill-ride of a life.

I wish the same magical life for you, my friend. May your dreams be bridges to wonderful places, may your breakfast table be filled with good omens, and may your parking spots always be exactly where you remember leaving them. Be well, be happy, be safe.