COVID-19 COLLECTIVE DREAM JOURNAL A record of dreams, visions and hallucinations by the People of the World.

As we collectively transition into the New World, we collectively dream a New Mythology. Borders are closed. Death looms. Masks mask our breath, upon which both spirit and disease travel. We are in quarantine, practising self-isolation and social distancing.

Perhaps the narratives in our dreams can shed light on our collective psyche in our time of collective isolation, mass death, surveillance and uncertainty. This project is ongoing, for as long as the pandemic is upon us. You are welcome to submit as many times as you dream. All dreams will be published.



For those of us unable to leave our suburbs, state borders and countries; dreaming is our only means of travel.  We are whipped into fictional shapes and effigies. Government-sanctioned restrictions are symbolic of our past selves. Communal loss, geographic distance, universal basic income, the fall of the elite and mourning bird songs are at the forefront of our visions.

Dreaming, like many mystical practices, requires a kind of discipline and training. It is a state of being, a mode of travel, a symbol system, a mystery beyond science and religion. Some refer to the dream realm as the ‘Land of the Dead’, some refer to it as the origins of mythology, the source of all creation, the wish of the soul. Before we begin existing, we dream the world we wish to live in.

We begin our work as sincere, conscientous beings by sharing our dreams to strangers. These are the keys to our Imagination, the contents of our Soul. We have had to learn the language of contemporary reality, but the language of dreams is innate and ancient. Tell a stranger about the hidden meanings in a transcript of a phone call between your disembodied self and a demonic entity. Tell a stranger about levitations and pyramids. Tell a stranger about cutting sun dials in half with violin bows, swimming in the black waters of Saturn under twin moons.

One of the reasons people shy away from re-telling their dreams is because they are deemed too mundane. The truth is, there is so much magic in the mundane. Most of the time, the waters and labyrinths of our consciousness are puzzling to our own selves. 

What a time to dream. This wayward, diagonal moment in history when reality has become wavy and dreamlike. Slippery. Incoherent. Unplanned. Absurd. Has it not always been? Have you always lived this way? When did you throw all the rules out the window? Did you throw away your dignity with it?

We begin our work by writing, speaking, singing and re-enacting our dreams to strangers as a tribute to our innocence. Lucidity can be located in the roofs of our sticky flowering mouths. Had we re-arranged the doors and drawers in our minds like free jazz musicians and extra-terrestrial cartographers, we would have known. Had we bitten down softly on hard toffee, cracked our teeth open, then cracked up laughing, with winged snakes flying out of our mouths, we would have known. There is always room for improvisation.