(Or near enough for two old people from the flatlands.)
Frisco, Dillon, and Sapphire Point
This post has been aging, or gnawing, or nagging for a couple years. I seem reluctant to publish out of some apprehension about what the reception might be, at least partly spawned by the reaction of the few people who have first heard the oral version.
When you hang around with a lot of social scientists and other creative types, recounting dreams is not without risk. I know how I respond when I read accounts in the same general vein. Typically, disdain, skepticism, incredulity, or sarcasm. Or, all of the above. I am familiar with some relevant research, having read, for example, Carl Sagan’s books Contact and The Demon Haunted World. I have had enough course work in psychology, normal and abnormal, to have some understanding of spontaneous temporal and schizophrenic command hallucinations and of the interpretation of dreams.
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(Since I last posted, WordPress has done a significant redesign of its user interface with infinite flexibility; I think it’s probably better but haven’t yet mastered it. We’ll see.)
 I was not looking for my dreams to interpret my life, but rather for my life to interpret my dreams. Susan Sontag