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Do blind people see in their dreams?

Do blind people see in their dreams

“I’m quadriplegic,” said the caller to a dream segment I was hosting on radio many years ago, “but in my dreams I can run and dance, and I’m devastated when I wake up and remember that I can’t.”

Before his accident, he had enjoyed running and dancing, and he could draw on his sensual and spatial memories to experience those freedoms in his dreams.

Does the visual region of a congenitally blind person’s brain create images for dreams, as it does for sighted people with eyes closed?

Does the visual region of a congenitally blind person’s brain create images for dreams, as it does for sighted people with eyes closed?

Does the same apply to people who have become blind, or deaf, and can people who were born blind see in their dreams? Does the visual region of a congenitally blind person’s brain create images for dreams, as it does for sighted people whose closed eyes are not sending sight data to the brain while dreaming?

As you’ve probably guessed, the congenitally blind do not see images in their dreams because they cannot draw on personal experience. Their dreams reflect their more highly developed non-visual sensory experiences of life. In place of images, they dream of sound, touch, smell, taste, and, for those who have developed the skill, echolocation. They dream of the picture of the world they have built using their predominant senses. They picture the world, but not in visual images.

While we sleep, we process the last 24-48 hours of our conscious and unconscious experiences, and we experience this processing as dreams. So our dreams reflect the last couple of days, as our brain and mind work at making sense of the world. We each build our unique pictures of the world as we experience it, and awaken each morning to an updated view, mental map, or mindset. As this processing takes into account all our past experiences, it tends to consolidate our mindset rather than change it.

We draw on our experiences to imagine what it might be like to fly, and we can experience that imagined sense of flying in our dreams.

We draw on our experiences to imagine what it might be like to fly, and we can experience that imagined sense of flying in our dreams.

Sighted or blind, our dreaming brains get creative during sleep. We imagine flying, being the opposite sex, living in an underwater palace, having a pet dog of a breed that doesn’t exist in waking life, talking to a celebrity we haven’t met, being chased by an impossible monster, or just about anything. People who have been blind since birth can dream of what they imagine seeing to be, just as we can all dream of what we imagine flying, or talking to that celebrity, or being chased by that impossible monster might be like. We draw on our experiences of dancing or flying in a plane or trampolining to imagine what it might be like to fly, and we can experience that imagined sense of flying in our dreams. And it feels absolutely real because that’s the nature of dreams.

People who have been blind since birth can – if it’s important to them – dream of what they imagine seeing to be like, or dream of what they imagine objects or people to look like based on their own acutely developed senses and the descriptions of those who can see, but the visual region of the brain is not engaged. They are not able to access visual memories to replay or build upon creatively.  It’s interesting to note that their eye movements are weak or non-existent during REM sleep, adding weight to research that suggests that eye movements during REM sleep are associated with watching dream action.

Sighted people might dream of being able to echolocate, but such a dream experience is imagined, and while it may feel real in the dream, it is not real in the sense that a blind person who has developed echolocation to navigate in waking life would dream the sensation.

The colourblind are equally colourblind in their dreams.

The colourblind are equally colourblind in their dreams.

Sighted people can and do dream sounds, smell, touch, and taste, but visuals are the predominant dream sense, with about half of all dreams (according to research) including sound, but less than one percent of all dreams including smell, touch or taste. (You can train yourself to engage your other senses in dreams by paying more attention to them in waking life.) Some research suggests that congenitally blind people’s dreams include 45% sound and 55% combined taste, smell, and touch.

What about people who become blind? The research shows that people who become blind after the age of seven remain able to see in their dreams, though the emphasis on sight may decline as other senses become predominant, and, I imagine, more interesting and relevant. Those who lose their sight before the age of five seem to also lose the ability to see in their dreams, and that leaves a couple of years, from age 5-7, where continuing to see in dreams may reflect individual development at the time of sight loss.

People whose vision has been blurred from birth dream of blurred images, people who have been deaf from birth do not hear in their dreams, and the colourblind are equally colourblind in their dreams.

All of which serves to remind us that our dreams reflect our waking life experiences – conscious and unconscious – in symbolic and metaphoric form, and in all the sensual shades and tones of meaning that are personally relevant to us as unique human beings searching to make sense of our worlds, night by night, dream by dream.

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Dancing yin to yang

In dreams I am a most spectacular dancer, and from each dream dance a great lesson is learned.

In dreams I am a most spectacular dancer, and from each dream dance a great lesson is learned.

In night dreams I am the most spectacular dancer, always harmoniously partnered, cheek to cheek, heart to heart, soul to soul. Our weightless dances defy the gravity and clumsiness of waking life, as we move as one into every dimension of space until the dance ends and I wake up still smiling from the touch of the light fantastic. And from each dream dance, a great lesson is learned.

My earliest dance lessons came from my father as he waltzed me around the room, my little feet perched upon his big, dependable shoes.

My earliest dance lessons came from my father as he waltzed me around the room, my little feet perched upon his.

My earliest dance lessons came from my father as he waltzed me around the lounge room, my little feet perched upon his big, dependable shoes.

By the time I was seven I had decided my life’s mission was to be a ballet dancer. On being told I’d probably be too tall, I thought I could be a choreographer. Either way, no money for ballet lessons soon buried that plan. Prancing and pirouetting around the bedroom did nothing to enhance my future career prospects.

Besides, I was knock-kneed as my dancing needs clashed with economical reality. I took up yoga and learned the art of freestyle dance instead. I have since learned that dance lessons fade to insignificance alongside the lessons of dancing. Step with me into my dancing dreams to see why:

My dream partner was dancing me as he stood firmly and fully on my toes.

My dream partner was dancing me as he stood firmly and fully on my toes.

I once dream danced with someone I knew from waking life. It was a kind of reversal of my father’s waltz routine. In this dream dance the man placed his feet on mine and we waltzed the perfect waltz. The strangeness of the dream was that instead of me dancing his balancing feet through the steps, he was in control of the dance. He was the one calling the tune. He was dancing me as he stood firmly and fully on my toes. On waking I realised that this man had indeed, in waking life, called the steps. He had often trodden on my toes, but I had not recognised this and so the dance had been perfect for my learning at that time.

Life is always in harmony and balance, even when it seems not to be so. What we need to learn about ourselves is reflected in our world. I needed to learn about issues of control and being controlled, of restriction and freedom, through the delirious dance of the trodden toes. We danced to the pendulum of extremes until the calmness of the middle path stilled the motion and the dance came to its natural end.

Yet people in our dreams are not themselves, but aspects of our own selves. My treading-toes dance partner was the part of myself which danced the tune of conditioned restriction and lovingly taught the lesson of breaking free. He was my outer world, my Yang. I was his inner world, his Yin. We danced, cheek to cheek, Yin to Yang in search of the still calm point between us.

Think of the Yin Yang symbol, looking like two tadpoles nestled into each other, opposites huddled together in balance.

Think of the Yin Yang symbol, looking like two tadpoles nestled into each other, opposites huddled together in balance.

Think of the Yin Yang symbol, for all the world looking like two tadpoles nestled into each other, top to tail, each complete with an eye at the rounded head end. Or perhaps the symbol is more of a sacred 69. One side is black with a white ‘eye’ while the other is white with a black ‘eye’. One is Yin, one is Yang.

They are extremes, opposites huddled together in balance. As you trace the black of one tadpole from the thinness of its tail to the abundance of its head, you see the white of the eye colour. What this means is that as we approach an extreme in our attitude or being (the extreme being represented by the abundance of colour) a seed of the opposite nature appears. At the extreme swing of the pendulum, an excess of Yang births the return swing of the Yin. By the time the pendulum reaches its Yin extreme, the seed of a new Yang birth springs into being.

In swing style, Yin and Yang dance the great pendulum arcs that ultimately deliver the mutual destiny of the middle path.

My tango dream: was I being too flexible, too laid back? Or was I over-extending myself?

My tango dream: was I being too flexible, too laid back? Or was I over-extending myself?

In another dream of years past, I tangoed across the tiles, leaning back so far in my dream stranger partner’s arms that my body was suspended horizontal to the floor. I momentarily hovered only a few centimetres above the ground until I was lightly whisked and whirled back into the next staccato tango pose. The lesson from this dream dance was to find the balance between the extreme of being too flexible, too laid back and the extreme of expecting too much from myself through forcing over-extension.

One dream dance duo had me cart-wheeling, face to face, hands to hands, feet to feet with my tumbling dream partner. Childish joy, upside-down, right side up, round and round, dizzying we roller-coastered our cartwheel harmony until my partner finally let go and I finished in standing pose, one hand out-stretched, ready for my next dance partner to continue my journey. And so the great lesson of the cycles of life, the ups and downs, the rounds and rounds, the repetitions, the recurring dreams and the final achieving of the still point was energetically clothed as a dream dance. There I stood, in the quiet moment between one cycle of life and the next, between one lesson completed and another about to start, between one dance partner and the next.

Dance lessons fade to insignificance alongside the lessons of dancing.

Dance lessons fade to insignificance alongside the lessons of dancing.

May you soon find yourself dream dancing cheek to cheek, Yin to Yang, paradoxically stepping the duality of life’s one path strewn with the lessons of so many perfect dances.

[Copyright Jane Teresa Anderson, September 2000. First published as a Dream Sight article.]

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