Interpretation of dreams?

I live in my dreams. My reality becomes vivid, bright, lucid and absolutely crystal clear while I am in deep sleep. And, on waking up I feel, as though, I am in some transient and unreliable fictitious world. The sense of what's real and what's a chimera is reversed and I am at the edge of a deep and dark abyss looking down into the void. My mind whirls, and I almost loose my grip my hold and stumble a little towards the void and at the last deadly minute hold on and regain my balance...what if I fall into that black hole of nothing? What is inside that whirlpool of emptiness, what is it that attracts me to it, to that infinite solitude which is empty and void as a moonscape?

My dreams, that I wander in every night, are stories in themselves, short stories, long winding yarns, horror stories, nostalgic stories and finally stories that I just don't get - mysterious and fathomless! How I wish to unfold and unravel the hidden message that they carry, for I am sure they carry something of import. The people who come to me in my sleep - who are they? what are they? what do they want to tell me? or do they want to tell me anything at all? I know there is another life to me, another dimension, another being and essence and somehow I must understand that hidden part of me to truly get in touch with this visible part. My purpose in life is to get to understand what these stories are telling me each night and every night! But, how does one interpret these lucid visitations, these long happenings, which when awake leave a hangover and a sense of lethargy in me? In which I meet people in a different strain, they are all changed and warped and unknowable.

I see, inevitably my father, always a regular visitor of my dreams. At times he is there on borrowed time, where there is a lingering dread that we are meeting for the last time, that somehow the fact of life ending imminently is hovering above us, that we must make the best of what we have in hand, and I must do all I can to reassure him and his frail being of my love for him. That I must make him know how much he matters to me, to my existence and to who I am as a person, and with him absent and gone from my life reduces who I am, makes me less and less of who I am!

Then, at other times like last night, I see him beside me, as a guardian (perhaps) or as a child? whom I must give up and slowly relinquish to death. I saw him as a constant traveler with me to yonder lands, all peopled by strange festivities and stranger people, perhaps versions of my distant relatives. I see my siblings, I see rites of passages, I see the ordeal of the death of my father and my grieving. Last night I saw him alive and then sick and weak and finally dead, with me supporting him on my shoulder while he grew weaker and finally carrying him like a baby while his body literally breaks and the grim reaper claims him - and then my own grief, the incessant, incredible, knife of pain that cuts through your body and sears your soul, and yet again on his funeral I see him besides me, innocent like a child, not knowing for whom the bells toll, and me initiating him through over to the other side, to death? Is that fair? Is that even expected of a daughter? Oh what a heavy burden! Oh what treacherous task that I must lead my beloved father over to the other side with all its rituals and literally give him up for ever! Oh my cries, Oh! my deaf cries that fail to move heaven and earth.

I want my father in all realities. Not a visitor in my sleep, not mixed up with death and what it means to us, no! I want him alive, vibrant, whole and as strong as he was always to me!