I had been pestering Daddy for months, and now, here it was, the grandest of birthday gifts — a piano! The big delivery truck had rounded the corner and was coming down Charles Street toward our apartment building. I watched, delirious with excitement, as the truck pulled to a stop in front of me. The doors banged open…
The smell of disinfectant, the swoosh of rubber soles, The whispered orders heard by all, Pierce through the harried soul. A chemo needle buries deep and bruises fragile skin. The color pales, the cold creeps in And sleep’s the hope today. Or maybe, Just to run away. Her eyes blink open at the sounds but…
My previous post, Nightmares, Anyone?, whetted my appetite for a better, overall understanding of dreams. So, after a quick search of the literature, two contradictory theories caught my attention: those of Freud and of Hobson. Briefly, Dreams are psychologically meaningful (Sigmund Freud) Dreams are physiological (J. Allan Hobson) The contrast between the two is…