During a recent move I came face to face … literally … with the fact that I have accumulated nearly fifty journals. I began keeping a diary at age 12, and I still have that plaid cloth-covered book with a little brass lock. I don’t know when my diaries grew up and became journals. Nor do I know what percentage of those books are dream journals. Some months and years I kept separate dream journals, others I just wrote the dreams alongside, beneath or above entries about daytime adventures. Lately I’ve been starting journals from both ends (is that like burning a candle from both ends?) I draw a moon on the front cover of the notebook and flip it over and make a sun on the “back” cover. So, moving from the front of the notebook, each morning I record my dreams. Before bed, I flip the book over and beginning from the “back” I date the page and write a bit about the day. When day meets night we call it dusk. But when day meets night in my journals, I call it: “Time to go buy a new notebook.”

An assortment of dream journals ...

I peek inside a "day" journal, in which I muse on the importance of dream journals ...