Dream Theory

C's dreamy hands1Parking garages are the most frequent setting for my dreams. Sometimes they are crumbling. Sometimes they are flooded. Sometimes I find my parents there. I'm always trying to find my car. Last night I dreamt I was walking the jetway to an enormous Korean airplane when I keeled over because of an unholy pain behind my face. Several people were inside my mouth, writing strange graffiti across my teeth, and I frantically tried to get this under control before my flight departed. Most of my dreams occur at airports, train stations, parking lots, and docks—places for waiting to go elsewhere. But where?2For most of my life, I discounted my dreams as random babble drawn from the muck of memory. If you scatter a few coins across a table, the eye hunts for a pattern, so naturally the day's riff-raff would be hung on the skeleton of narrative, however bizarre or rudimentary. But now I believe dreams serve a more vital function. My dreams allow new truths to marinate and seep…