I read a book where the main character experienced his memories as dreams. Or you could say that the author had him dream his memories as a literary device. Rather than a simple flashback, the character experienced his childhood while dreaming. I’ve never had a dream that aligned with a memory. Dreams are a window into the future for me. While I never know whether a dream is a just mash-up of the day’s tasks and anxieties or a brief moment that has yet to occur – there is no golden frame around them to tell the difference – I have learned to recognize that feeling of deja vu as remembering a dream I had. They are never narratives, but moments. I could be sitting in room all day and suddenly look up, and remember the dream where I looked in that direction. This has been happening most of my life.
Dreaming of the Future
