I had a dream about my dad last night. Well it was a fuzzy dream, you know. He was in it or as it is in that REM type of dreaming, the thought and vague impression of him was there. The presence of him. Well anyway it was interspersed with other dreamy things, those visions of forests and outer space and back alleys and blurred faces and stuff. Kind of like those deep sleep dreams are, they’re never fluid really.
I wasn’t talking to my dad in the dream and I’m not sure he was aware I was there either. But in the dream I was thinking about fathers and sons, and what it’d be like to have a father. Or what I consider a good father anyway. That was the prominent feeling in the dream. The feeling of having a good father that is. So I guess my real dad’s peripheral and blurry presence was naturally some part of that.
I dreamt that I was falling asleep as a child in my little bed in my dark room, with the light on in the hallway and the door slightly ajar. I dreamt of this good father sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly rubbing my back and being comforting. My mood in the dream was insecure and I was upset. A kid thing really, scared of the big and confusing world which frustrated and distressed me as this kid in the dream. It felt right to have my good father right there at my side, like no matter what went wrong he was there to protect me. And with nary a pause nor hesitation.
The good father wasn’t going anywhere, while I lay on my tummy and started having visions of forests and outer space and back alleys and blurred faces, and the other things that begin to pass through your mind when your body and soul start to drift off to sleep. The feeling and closeness of the good father didn’t go away. I knew everything was going to be okay. I dreamt I was safe and secure and was loved. It didn’t take long then.