Runic Dreams

I have vivid dreams fairly often (well, maybe most of us do, but I almost always remember mine in detail). They can be extremely realistic, completely out of left field, or so abstract that they’re nearly impossible to put into words.

I’ve dreamed monochromatic stuff, things that were just shapes, the usual “plays on huge fears” that our minds sometimes knit together for us (stop that, brain!), lovely idyllic dreamscapes, you name it.

It’s always interesting to me to try to figure out what a dream might mean. I don’t believe that every dream is heavily symbolic or indicative of a deep message; it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that half of my dreams are just the sleeping equivalent of blowing off steam, and I realize that some may just be my brain puzzling things through/gnawing on a problem I’m dealing with in waking life, etc.

But then there are those other dreams…the ones that feel important for reasons I can’t explain. Sometimes they prove to be prophetic, either directly or in an abstract way (something will happen and my mind goes, “Ohhh, so THAT’s why X showed up in that dream the other night”).

The other night I had a humdinger of a dream, and I’m going to leave it here for any thoughts or input. It may ultimately be “just” a dream, and that’s ok by me…but it doesn’t feel that way.

I was present in this dream, in non-corporeal form, as my here-and-now self. It was raining — but it wasn’t. Instead of droplets of water, the sky was breathing down streams of individual runes, each carved in a small gray stone or glistening on its own as though made from silver.

They weren’t hitting the ground, either. When the first runes got to the ground, they simply hovered right there, a hairsbreadth above the earth, and each rune above the bottom runes just hovered a hair above the one beneath, with more coming down so that they formed these random-seeming runic totems stretching into the sky, and they were still coming down.

I couldn’t read the runes; they weren’t Ogham or any others that I recognized.

Also present was a spinning top made of some kind of silvery metal that kept shimmering in and out of existence, as though it wasn’t fully on the same plane. The wind generated by its spinning made the runic totems dance like a beaded curtain, and behind the ever-falling runes, I briefly caught a glimpse of something deep pink, almost fuchsia. It looked as though there were thick, billowing silk of that color behind everything, and yet I sensed whatever it was would be more solid than that.

There was no emotion inherently present in the dream, other than a bit of my own wonderment at such a sight. I never had the impression I wasn’t supposed to be there, nor did I feel threatened or worried by being unable to read the runes. The top seemed almost sentient, and that deep pink color was fascinating to me, magnetic even though I don’t much care for that hue in waking life, aside from in nature itself.

The dream naturally faded back into that thicker sleep eventually, I guess — my alarm didn’t interrupt it. That was the entirety of it; nothing is missing from the beginning or ending.

I usually have some idea (or at least a half-baked guess) as to what’s driving a dream, but I’m blanking on this one. Thoughts?