Lisa Geichman Prosek

I don’t experience the traditional kind of nightmares often, but when I do, they usually feel like whoppers. Someone chases me, or I miss a critical deadline, or I return to a hellish college math course, failing consistently. I wake up drenched in sweat, with my heart pounding. I let out a relieved sigh when I realize my reality is more comforting than the dream.

A few weeks ago I dreamed of my sister, Beth. She strode across a parking lot to join me in my car.

“You’re walking,” I said to her, and she smiled broadly.

Five months before she died, Beth lost the use of her legs when tumors pressed on her spine. This after being an avid walker all her life, visiting parks and reveling in life.

During those last difficult months, confined to her bed, Beth had a recurring dream in which she square danced at a party in a barn. She told me about this with a smile on her face, but the dreams must have haunted her. First, the exquisite sensation of being up on her feet and moving to music–feeling it in every part of her body. Maybe even feeling without worry–cancer free for the first time in ten years. Then she’d wake up with the realization that she’d never be able to walk again and that her life was ending. That moment must have been excruciating, maybe even more excruciating than the dancing dream had been exhilarating.

I wonder: If Beth had been able to control her dreams, would she have chosen to? Would she have turned off the square dances and the joy they brought?

I’ve learned of people who say they trained their brains and became able to program their dreams. Mostly, the people who discussed this ability suffered with nightmares and needed a way to stop the debilitating cycle. They trained themselves to realize they’re dreaming when the scary parts occur and developed the ability to change the course of the dream. But there are other people who simply want to dream what they want to dream.

Given the opportunity, I’m not even sure I’d know what to dream about.

Would I dream again of Beth walking or of hugging my deceased mother or cuddling the beloved little poodle I lost two years ago? Would I dream away this last year that brought my sister’s death and deepened my furrowed brow but which also brought me knowledge and a better understanding of suffering? These dreams would be sweet, but they’d end in pain upon my waking.

So, instead, would I want to dream of meeting Abraham Lincoln or Charles Dickens or of being there as the Great Pyramid was built? Would I dream of having a book published or a screenplay produced?

Or would being able to program my dreams–to limit my subconscious–also limit my ability to reach heights I can’t even yet conceive?

If you could program your own dreams, would you? What would you dream about? Would you dance in your dreams, even if you couldn’t dance in real life?