Yes, not so much the profound musing of the subconscious as the idle musings of the semi-conscious -- most of the time. When someone insists on telling me about a dream, I cringe because, most likely, his dreams are as boring as mine. But maybe it's like any other gold: small bits of ore mixed into vast quantities of filler. Separating the two is task for the consciousness (mostly) and requires skill.
Last night, as we approach the first anniversary of her death, I dreamed of my mother for the first time since her passing. The dream itself was otherwise unremarkable, but the very fact that I had it might mean something about my readiness to think about those events. Again, a bit of gold that needs careful separating and refining.
But I'm uneasy with supposing that the dream itself has anything to do with my being (or trying to be) a poet. If others didn't have those glimpses of something shiney, how could they recognize and respond to what we try to create? I believe that everyone who isn't seriously defective experiences the same range of emotions -- all of us, of course, in different proportions and intensities at different times. Even the people I don't like. Among the big surprises that keep happening to me is how much I'm like people who seem so different.
RPW
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