Hope and Dreams

Hope is the dream of a waking man. Aristotle. 

“He [Aristotle] assumed that hope is an act of the imagination which is so compelling that we believe it to be real, just like when we are captivated by the apparent reality of a dream during sleep....

...instead of imagination, some of our dreams are real-life experiences that could occur in the future. When a possible autobiographical future becomes known to us, it acquires a physical existence in our brain that can generate the cognitive phenomenon we call hope, but the origin of hope [unlike Aristotle's definition] is the perception of real future experiences.”1

Dr. Paul Kalas is an astronomer who says, “The Oneironauts (o-NEAR-o-nauts) are the dream travelers — people who experience their own future through dreams... His discovery of a large comet belt around the nearby star Fomalhaut using the Hubble Space Telescope was recorded in his dream diary nine years earlier. That hope has a physical basis in our tenuous perception of future events through dreams. This perception is called the ‘oneironaut phenomenon’.”2

In this context, hope is not a cursory sigh of resignation. It’s an inspired intention, and as a writer, I can attest to that definition. My debut book is a memoir of mystical transformation. My dreams and visions, and this kind of hope, fueled my transformation. In particular, two dreams fitting Dr. Kalas’s definition played out in real life.

It was spring, 1974. I was still asleep in the early hours that morning when my dream began. Note that I’ve summarized the main points of the dream. The original version is much longer and detailed. 

Dusk was quickly fading into night. I’d been walking a long time and was tired as I turned down a long, winding driveway into a forest where towering, old-growth trees lined the needle-and-dirt-covered driveway. A light shimmered in the distance. I was almost home.  

After a sound night’s sleep, I felt well rested–yes, I slept in my dream–and aware I needed to get ready for an important concert that evening. My mother and one of my sisters dropped in with a pile of clothes to try on for the concert. I tried them on, one on top of the other, then took them off except for the dress I’d sewn as a teenager for symphony concerts. In my dream, the dress featured a crescent moon and one star. 

In real life, at 16, I played flute in an orchestra and made myself a long black dress. The dream’s last detail, a persistent feeling, lingered after waking. Imagine feeling bliss, love, and timelessness all at once. I felt euphoric for days. This dream felt better than real life, with details that engaged all my senses, yet also predicted events in the future. Keep in mind it took place almost fifty years ago. The long journey was my former life, and the winding driveway, the perfect metaphor for my retreaded life as an author, healer, and visionary. 

Ancient trees, like the ones lining the driveway in my dream, spoke to me and advised me. Initiated by the old-growth trees, I awakened and experienced transformative events that impacted my life. My debut novel features twelve visions, each unfolding within a clearing nestled amongst ancient trees. 

Transformation demanded I dig into the layers of circumstances and events of my life, symbolized by the clothes I put on. As old patterns changed and healing occurred, I took the layers of clothing off and became my authentic self. The symbolism of the crescent moon and star on my dress could be many things. I’m sure, just as the dream foretold my current life, I will know what it means in the future. 

My vision took place in that awake/sleep state right before waking. I call it a vision and not a dream because I was more awake than asleep and it had a powerful impact on my writing and my book. It also included a vivid visual component. Again, I’ve shortened the description to basic details. 

On August 12, 2022, the day I began writing my first book, I had a strange vision. There are three characters: a hatchling, a mother dragon, and the alchemist. The mother is fleeing a thunder of warring dragons who are hunting for her hatchling. Of course, his mother wants to save him and conscripts an alchemist into helping her. His solution was awful and caused her much pain, but she agreed. The hatchling falls asleep and remains hidden until I wake up. I watch him fly upwards as he changes from a hatchling into a full-grown magnificent dragon made of brilliant light. 

 Again, my vision was detailed and vivid, yet felt mystical. And, spoiler alert, something similar happens to me at the end of my first book. Not all my vivid dreams foretold the future. These two dreams had an extra quality to them that left me with feelings I remembered long after the dream. I didn't need to write them down as there were as clear as the day after, even decades later.

Could anticipation of events from these two dreams manifest my life’s events? Truthfully, I thought the first dream was about owning a home of my own, my career as a professional flute player, and family issues. The feeling was how happy I would be with my home and career. The dragon dream came after I saw glimpses of the hatchling’s transformation in a ThetaHealing session, so this wasn’t anticipation. Confirmation bias could be at play here, as well, but for over fifty years, I’ve had time to reflect on the meaning of my dreams and visions. I couldn’t have predicted who I am now, even 30 years ago. 

 In fact, diverging from the path illuminated by my vivid dreams always resulted in a gentle or forceful redirection. Dreams were gentle; severe illnesses and traumatic events were forceful, and transformation work was, at times, brutal. Is it my soul, my dreams, divine intervention, divine timing, showing me the future? I can’t say for sure. I can say I believe all of them are working in my life. 

But are the incredibly real dreams and visions valid methods for seeing the future? As it relates to me, I believe they are, and time has revealed the results. I can say further that I can’t ignore the impact these dreams have had on my life, as they are so intertwined in my waking reality that they are inseparable. After all, “hope is an act of the imagination which is so compelling that we believe it to be real.”3 And I can assert, as Paul Kalas does, that hope does have a real existence.

1. The Oneironauts website, https://sites.google.com/view/oneironauts/ideas?authuser=0

2. Paul Kalas, Is hope a waking dream?, Paul Kalas Blog, November 21, 2018.

3. Ibid.