Admittedly it’s not a random sample, but many of those who I talk to or correspond with these days relate how much they are inundated with bad dreams. Personally, I’ve had dates with full-blown nightmares way too often in the last year, but that could be explained by illness. The general increase in harsh nocturnal screenplays is surely related to the state of the world, the state of our lives in these strange times.

The poem I am introducing below struck me as all the more remarkable when read against this backdrop.

In Praise of Dreams

In my dreams I paint like Vermeer van Delft. I speak fluent Greek and not only with the living. I drive a car which obeys me. I am talented, I write long, great poems. I hear voices no less than the major saints. You would be amazed at my virtuosity on the piano. I float through the air as is proper, that is, all by myself. Falling from the roof I can softly land on green grass. I don’t find it hard to breathe under water. I can’t complain: I’ve succeeded in discovering Atlantis. I’m delighted that just before dying I always manage to wake. Right after the outbreak of war I turn over on my favorite side. I am but I need not be a child of my time. A few years ago I saw two suns. And the day before yesterday a penguin. With the utmost clarity. – Wislawa Szymborska

So is this poem from View with a Grain of Sand (1996) a description of a person who comes into her own in her nightly dreams? More than that, really – is it a boast that she excels, displays mastery, is in full control over life and death and obviously dreams, can decide when and where to focus attention, to partake, to belong?

But for a few stanzas, everything starts with “I” – the narcissistic focus of an imagined parallel life? Or the determination to have some agency in dreams, when deprived of it in real life? Is it an invitation to focus on the positive, as exaggerated as can be, to set lofty goals instead of enduring what’s on offer here and now?

The poet is a real magician in how she draws us in – starting with a painter’s name that triggers something visual, just like in a dream, perhaps a painting that most people have a vague memory of – didn’t the girl with the pearl earring or something related pop up just now? Progressing to some auditory bits (speaking Greek, hearing Saints,) with a side dish of time travel, just like in dreams that move so fluently between the past and present, the worldly and the otherworldly realms. She’s in control – of cars, of flying, of outcomes – no broken bones from falls, no drowning episodes, no futile pursuits – hey, there’s Atlantis after all! She’s no less than a master in everything she touches, from visual art, to music, to writing, and you would be amazed – calling in the recognition that’s deserved by addressing us directly. The prevalence of falling in dreams is acknowledged, a stanza that does not begin with “I”, though it, as well, ends up with dreamt invincibility.

So what happens in the end? A clear memory of a real dream which contains nothing of the professed wizardry, but instead simply two suns. A double dose of light to illuminate the futility of wishful thinking? A symbol for another universe, one where the gap between reality and wishful thinking can be bridged?

A penguin dream, the other day. Getting cold feet, waddling on thin ice? Or the ability to perceive possibilities, strange creatures, with clarity, even if they exist as far removed from us as they currently do? Your guess is as good as mine.

The whole thing requires some serious thinking. Turns out that’s just the thing that will defeat bad dreams.

I am not just saying that. Scientific data are truly reassuring: we can influence our dreams with thinking, even post-traumatic nightmares. Here is a good, easily read introduction to the findings and methods.) Go ahead, practice!

Sweet dreams.