I think I'm becoming more accustomed to talking in my sleep. Whereas I've typically caught myself in the act, and been rather embarrassed that the words I just couldn't get out in the dream came out a little easier in this world, I've made a transition sometime in the last few months.
It started in a dream where I needed to explain something to an acquaintance. It seemed very important, which pulled upon an earnestness of expression that, from what I can tell, encouraged a crossing of wires from dream world to real world. As I opened my mouth to explain, the words channeled themselves not into the dream, but out the mouth of my sleeping body. But, being a veteran of catching myself in the act of starting to talk in my sleep, I clamped my mouth shut. Also being a veteran of sustaining dreams through half-wakeful Saturday brunch-hours, it was not surprising that the dream continued uninterrupted by so lucid a thought process.
The friend in the dream awaited my explanation, and he began to misinterpret my silence. But how could I explain to him that the only significance of my silence was that my voice, my audio line-out, was not plugged into the dream but into my empty bedroom? (As long as I didn't lose the dream, he could hear me in either case, but I wanted him to understand just what indignity he was asking of me!!) So I very carefully and succinctly whispered what I had wanted to say, drawing sparingly on an imagined reserve of good graces from the Pragma of real life (a muse who preaches circumspection at all times, frowning and casting judgment upon the levity of all half-soaked partygoers, and also having time to point the finger at those who smile easily, and those Hannahs who don't quite succeed in refraining from sleep-talk).
This willingness to talk in my sleep was the conquering of a great dilemma. You see, the world of dreams can be like a vacation spot where nobody there knows anybody at home and nobody at home knows where you are. I mean, my dreams tend to be populated by versions of real-life people, but I have the overarching complacency that "what happens in dream, stays in dream." This makes a haven of uninhibited honesty, expression, and confidence. It's not that I never wake up feeling delighted or ashamed by what I dreamt, but nobody will come knocking on my door to arrest me for what I dreamed. (What if they did? It might be worth writing a novel about). But really, there is grace in the privacy of thoughts.
So I sometimes turn cartwheels, scale cliffs, or fly; I also might rescue an orphan, speak truth without fear, and confront evil, wearing the armor of God. On the other hand, I might swear in rage at someone I thought merely annoyed me in real life, or crawl into bed with somebody I oughtn't, or commit some terrible deed that will haunt even my waking self with the sober reminder of inherent depravity. And I can't always distinguish between noble and naughty while dreaming the dream.
Unlike telling a dream to someone after waking, I would liken talking in one's sleep to butt-dialing your housemates while you are on a trip. It's the variety of possibilities that makes butt-dialing your dream into reality so unnerving. Thus, a lifetime of clenching my jaw at night might be an ethical construct from taking myself too seriously.
Because really, if I got home from a road trip and learned my wristwatch had been bugged, streaming audio to an attentive audience, it's possible I would have some regrets. But sleep talking isn't even similar. And at the unlikely conjuction of: 1) my sleep-talking clearly enough to be understood 2) someone hearing me 3) that person understanding what I was talking about, 5) saying something so terrible it will be unforgivable even as sleep talk 4) the listener being personally offended, what am I really afraid of? Oh, maybe in romance novels John awakes to hear Jane crying in her sleep, "Oh, James!" And John's heart goes cold. Or people give away important real life secrets by sleep-talking. Whether this ever really happens or not, it's hardly grounds for paranoia.
That night, choosing to sleep talk as a grand sacrifice of personal inhibition, may have been a turning point. In this last night or too, I think I came to one of those moments of decision, where I strongly suspected I was about to talk in my sleep, and I barely deliberated. Hang it, I had something to say to an imaginary person, and so what if someone in the waking realm heard me? Maybe I'll even go into public speaking! (Does that seem to be a non-sequiter? But I am sure it follows logically.)
But if my newfound, cavalier attitude toward sleep-talking continues, why--I shall probably become a sleeping bard. Only, I'm guessing everybody else would rather be asleep, wandering their own dreamlands. Perhaps I would like to go creeping, find a room full of outspoken dreamers, and then awaken them with mocking laughter. And I'm sure they would be terribly amused, and we could all chock it up to one of those great moments of history.
