In a dream, I am an accidental necromancer
An invitation for dream analysis
This post is an extract from The Weaver 002. Deliriums & Dreamscapes. Learn more about the publication at the end of this post. You’ll also find a discount code to purchase your own copy.
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In a dream, I am an accidental necromancer. I take the ghost of a departed friend (who is very much alive in my waking life, though no longer a friend) to the basement of a romantic bar. Other patrons also bring their ghost-friends. In a death-glistened room tucked away beneath the jazz of nightlife, the ghosts begin to whirl and unwind, we whoop and cheer from the sidelines. The ghost-friends become animated once more and join their previously undead friends upstairs at the bar.
In dreams, we act out all potentialities. The good, the bad, the weird, the unknowable parts of ourselves. Dreams offer us versions of ourselves spread out like trinkets to toy with. A dream is an imaginative function of processing, of play. A chance to dance with the metaphorical devil. A dream is by no means reality, yet some dreams—with their symbols and narrative tools—feel far realer than any Truth could possibly be.
The act of dreaming is a practice in witnessing; how willing are we to trace out the genesis of our psyches? A dream is the root-end of a plant plucked out of fertile soul, still fresh and alive for as long as we tend to it. Re-pot, re-grow. A dream is regurgitated nutrition, an ouroboros to be endlessly consumed and influenced in cycles. In most dreams, I am a necromancer—bringing back to life, to the stage, potentials of what is dead and gone.
The “ghost” of an ex-friend was haunting me, I would see them in other people and places. The version of them that came back to life was a reflection of what I saw of myself in them, of course, but still—I know it’s done. Dream symbolism is twisted and wicked. But I’m here for the ride.
Have you had similar dreams? What do you make of mine?
The following is a recollection
of an odd dream I had which traverses many dream-clichés. I awoke from this dream both confused and laughing: this dream felt like the parody of a dream. Something an AI language model might spit out if prompted to simulate a human dream. I invite any interpretations of this dream as well.
Nov 7th 2023: with bare feet, all ten toes exposed, I enter a bathroom stall only to discover its unique time-travel capacities. Upon realizing the power in my hands, my first concern is to not lock the bathroom door, so that the next person doesn’t have to crawl under the door to be able to use it. The thought is: if I lock it, then disappear, others won’t have a way to get in. I also don’t know how to use the time-travel function: is it a flush? Two? Should I turn the lights on and off? Maybe I lock the door and that’s how I’ll time travel? No mind of mine wonders where or when I’m going. In my state of anxiety induced by the complicated matter of time travelling via toilet, I grind my teeth (which I don’t do in my waking life). One molar falls out. I swish it around my mouth. And then, another! My mouth is gritty, seemingly full of sand. I call my sister to ask if she thinks I should go to the dentist.
Deliriums & Dreamscapes is about the things that taunt us, tease us, tempt us, traverse us, transcend us! Blurred realities, sweet escapes. Dream analysis. Dream incubation. Dream study. States of mind—altered or as they are. The roles that dreams play. The things that happen to our bodies on those wandering nights. The things that happen to our minds. This issue is an exploration of what happens to time, to space. That dance between realms. The creatures that roam this space.
You’ll find in this little magazine worlds of dreams that change everything; dreams that play with the idea of death and resurrection; dreams as a training space for somatic experiencing; dreams of alternate realities. Will you dream with us?
(psssst: use code PECULIAR10 for 10% off)