See The Sea of Dreams

Have you ever awoken from a dream, only to realize your state of consciousness is just as dreamlike?  Or maybe something suddenly sparks your memory about a certain time in your life and you convince yourself that HAD to have been a dream.  There is no way you actually step foot in the Taj Mahal, held a naked Mandinka Gambian child in your lap, or watched the boy you were once madly in love with be called to drum live on stage with the band with whom you'll always be mad for.  Things like that only happen in dreams... Or do they?

Kiddos from the five primary schools where ChildLinK works at Children's Day 2012

Have you ever tried to keep a dream journal?  The first time I ever started writing down my dreams was for an assignment in high school psychology class.  We were talking about the unconscious mind and states of sleep and were encouraged to keep a notebook and pen on a nightstand, for those few moments when you awake from REM sleep, and you have the best chance of remembering your most recent dreams.  I even bought a dream interpretation book that allowed for some insight into what was happening when my eyes were closed.  Dreaming has always been a fascinating subject, and can be even more so when you remember them long enough to log them.  Don't get discouraged if you can't remember your dreams, right away.  Practice thinking about dreaming, as you drift off to sleep.

That's a steel pan drum set in the back!! 

I have to admit, my reality often feels very dreamlike.  Not just here, in Guyana, but for much of my life.  However, in reality, our dreams can take us to an entirely different world.  They can give us a completely different perspective, lend to new ideas and create alternative meanings and solutions to our realities.  Or they can be completely obscure and irrelevant make us question what was in the water we just drank.  Am I using the right kind of filter?!?!

Here it goes...Last night I dreamt that a Peace Corps Volunteer I once knew, but have had zero contact with, in Gambia was sending me care packages, one at a time, in Guyana.  Sweet, I know, except the care packages consisted of his "art instillation" which was a collection of paper egg crates and animal bones.  On each one, he had written endearing notes.  In my dream, I couldn't figure out the connection of an art project consisting of egg crates and bones and I couldn't figure out why, he had paid to send the whole collection, via individual pieces.  I'd be leaving Guyana very soon anyway, and who knows if I could fit them all in my suitcase, just to take them back to right where they came from?  

Besides, we've all experienced the horror and pain that is to pick up a package from the Parcel Section of the main post office in downtown Georgetown.  Why is it that something that brings so much joy and excitement creates such anxiety during the pick up process?  And although I'm fine with practicing my patience, something seriously needs to be re-visited.  Communication is key.  Safety is important and I understand that opening the packages and checking the contents might prevent the distribution of illegal items.  However, a simple numerical system, communication and accountability could help the 99.9% of the patrons picking up Pooh Bear party paraphernalia and "egg crates and bones" get back to work about an hour and a half faster.  Did I mention you also have to pay the worth of your package, according to what the customs officer thinks?

Interviewing for the video short debuting at WEnEX, at Lusignin Good Hope Learning Center.  Note the tank top/ Christmas tree juxtaposition. 

Recently, I also dreamt this group I was with was directed into a basement for a fire drill (makes total sense, I know), which was when someones glass shoe shattered into pieces.  I began to pick up the pieces by hand, but a fan was on and blowing the pieces I tried to gather, in every direction possible.  Finally, I decided I needed a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess.

That very same day, in reality, at the ChildLinK office, someone dropped a glass in the kitchen, and it shattered into pieces.  My counterpart started picking up the pieces by hand and trying to wipe the rest up with a towel, while a fan blasted on high, in the background.  I piped up about my dream about that time, and suggested they step back and let me sweep it up with a broom and dustpan.  If I hadn't come across as "different" already, I definitely just blew my cover.

For me, it's a unique and rare example of a dream that parallels reality.  It's not something to dwell on, but rather an opportunity to be introspective about the happenings in the world around us.

Every child has the right to a safe and secure home.

Thanksgiving marks exactly one month until I return to a life that will feel as foreign as not sweating or running out of credit in the middle of a cell phone call.  I may not have had a "host family" during my PC Response service, but I have encountered something just as, if not more meaningful: a "host community".  Today, while I biked around putting up fliers for WEnEX, I ran into three people in my friend circle.  This evening, while running in the National Park, I saw three more.  That doesn't even include the Peace Corps Volunteers I ran into at the office and joined for lunch.  I have been here for three months now, which is not that long, in the grand scheme of things.  But it is long enough to integrate into a community and it is long enough to experience homesickness, all at once.  It is long enough to accomplish tasks and contribute efforts to a myriad of causes, travel to a myriad of places and network with a myriad of people.  But for some reason, I feel like I have only scratched the surface. 

And I wonder, when and if I move on to something new, how long it will take to feel like I've been dreaming for four solid months... I'm a dreamer though, at heart.  I always have been and I hope to always be.  So far following my dreams has taken me from sea to shining sea.  Who knows where they will take you?