I don’t believe that dreams foretell the future. I don’t believe that nightmares warn of upcoming danger. I do believe dreams are reflections of the thoughts, hopes and fears we are subconsciously working through and I am always intrigued by the ways these things manifest themselves, the imagery of dreams.
I dreamed last night of ghosts, trailing, ephemeral ghosts with red and white ripped gossamer sheets for sleeves, their faces covered. They slipped through my son while he was holding my hand and, though I woke at that moment, I knew I would have to dream of them again, and that it would be my turn next time to have them pass through me. I spent the night overcome by a terror I could not escape, no matter how much my mind acknowledged it was only a dream. And I woke to wonder at the meaning, to wonder which are the ghosts I must still pass through as part of my life.