Unconscious Consciousness

When I die I want to come back as a bird.  For some reason I have always believed that when death happens, souls are recycled and stuffed into some sort of physical shell for another go ’round, whether in human form or some other living thing that can accept a soul.  To me, this explains some things like deja vu or certain dream patterns.  My theory is that your brain dreams as it has been tought to think through repetition.  A lot of my dreams are based on the sensation of flying, so maybe I’ve already been a bird.  Birds have always amazed me as I watch them fly so freely, without boundaries or restrictions.  They seemingly have no limitations and although their brains are relatively small compared to humans, their simplicity is quite brilliant and their intelligence is very apparent if you take the time to really observe them.

I have two recurring dreams.  One of these I’ve been having since I was in kindergarten and I still have this dream every so often to this day.  I guess the best way I can describe it is a series of rounded shapes, gray in color, slowly moving around, bumping into each other, sometimes merging into new shapes.  It’s almost like what goes on inside a lava lamp.  The speed in which the shapes move changes but never goes too fast.  There is no sound, no feelings associated with anything, just the movement of these shapes.  I have no idea what it means, I only know I’ve been having this one dream for 43 years.

My other recurring dream started just a few months after I left the radio business.  For eight years I was an air personality, a disc jockey, if you will.  When I went to broadcasting school one of the first things I was taught was that dead air (extended silence) on the radio is a serious no-no.  There were many times in my career where I’d have a song playing, I’d leave the studio to go to the bathroom, the song would end and I wasn’t done doing my thing yet.  Then came the mad dash to finish up, run full speed back to the studio and push the button to start the next song.  There’s nothing worse for a disc jockey than hearing the sound of dead air, knowing your listeners are also hearing it, knowing the station manager is also hearing it.  You want to crawl into a hole and hide.

Then there is the other dead air scenario, where you’re ready to segue into the next song and you have the famous technical difficulty.  Translation:  The stupid turntable doesn’t work.  That’s right – when I was in radio we still used records.  CD’s were just becoming popular when I left the business.  Anyway, back to the broadcast school training, you’re taught that when the inevitable technical difficulty happens, pull out that trusty weather forecast that’s written on a tiny piece of paper, open the mic and read that weather forecast while you fumble around to cue up another record on the other turntable that actually works.

That brings me to the dream.  I’m on the air, a song ends and I either don’t have another one cued up and ready to play or I have a technical problem, or whatever.  Dead air.  Sometimes it’s because I can’t find any music to play in the entire radio station – there are no records, I can’t find any.  So I panic and open the mic to read the weather forecast.  Most times I can’t find the piece of paper it’s written on, so I have to ad-lib the whole thing.  As with all weather forecasts in radio, you end with the current temperature for one or more cities or towns in the area.  My forecast, when I actually have it in front of me, never has temperatures.  I am forced to make them up.  Of course, you always end the entire thing with the current temperature that’s showing on the thermometer that’s right outside the studio window…but I can never see the thermometer.  So I have to make that up, too.  And the kicker at the very end, I can never remember the call letters of the station I’m working for.  Instead of saying, “…and it’s 72 and sunny at WKLT”, I say “…and it’s 72 and sunny at W………..LTK”.  I know the calls letters are wrong, and I wake up instantly.

It’s the same basic dream with a few variables always thrown in.  I think that dream is telling me in some way that my radio career isn’t finished.  There is a loose end that hasn’t been tied up.  Although the last time I did a radio show was in 1989, I still have a strong desire to have my own show again.  I miss it, and I feel I’d be so much better at it now that I’ve lived more life and have more experiences.  Every now and then I look for a radio station that is for sale, hoping I can find one at a decent price in a place I’d like to live.  I wouldn’t mind getting a business loan, buying a radio station in a medium-sized town, and making the station part of the community.  After all, that’s what radio used to be all about – being a partner with the local community.

Oneirology (the study of dreams) really interests me.  I try hard to understand my brain when I am conscious and I get nowhere.  But trying to understand the brain when the host is asleep is fascinating, especially when you consider that while you’re sleeping and you enter into REM, your brain activity is at its highest level, resembling activity levels of being awake.  The brain is actually smart enough to be in its coolest state when its human shell bows out.  It’s almost as if our own consciousness actually hinders or limits what the brain can do.  Some believe dreams are messages from our soul, which raises so many questions about the bridge between one’s soul and one’s dream state versus what we know about ourselves when we’re awake.

Think about it – are some of your dreams more exciting than what you experience in everyday life while you’re awake?  A lot of mine are.  In some of my dreams I am a guitar god, playing alone on a stage in front of thousands of screaming people.  Some of my dreams feature me as a young, good-looking stud with women falling all over me.  And then, of course, there are the dreams where I am soaring through the sky, swooping up and down, twisting, turning, almost breaking the sound barrier, cutting through the air with the freedom only birds can imagine…while they are awake.

Related: Dreams Blog

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