Chocolate to the rescue

When dreams weigh in on grieving—and offer surprisingly accurate (and delicious) nutritional advice—it's worth listening.

“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.”
― Charles M. Schulz

Hello, Dear Reader,

Did you have sweet dreams last night?

I had one recently that was indeed sweet! Literally.

I’m sharing that dream with you today because its message was too good to keep to myself. But also because it offers a peek into how your dreams can help you, too.

I’ve been writing down my dreams since I was about 15 years old, and I’ve been looking to them for insights and understanding about my daily experiences for nearly as long. But I realize that for most people, the value of remembering and recording dreams isn’t as obvious.

In today’s missive, I share a bit of my process, as well as some dreamy poetic inspiration.

I hope this will inspire you to spend a little time with your dreams, too. Take a moment when you wake up to replay your dream in your mind, or write it down, and consider what helpful message it might be offering you. And even if no great insight arrives, it might inspire some meditative or poetic writing.

To get you started, I offer you a writing invitation in this post, too!

Now, let’s get to the sweet stuff!

Some dreams are really sweet! (Photo by D. Stoyanova on Unsplash)

Chocolate Covered Dreams

In the dream, I am seated beside a young girl, who is sobbing through her grief, and her aunt. I am reassuring the girl with platitudes about loss, and although I’m speaking calmly, inside I’m feeling my own grief at having lost two loved ones recently.

The girl’s aunt is not saying much, but I sense that her presence is a comfort to the girl. Not only that, she is holding a cartoonishly large dark chocolate bar, from which she is breaking off palm-sized chunks for herself and the girl to eat. I, meanwhile, have a very reasonable, small square of chocolate in my hand, which I’m nibbling, while silently questioning whether the aunt’s allotment of that much chocolate is a prudent idea.

Waking from the dream, I immediately noticed the differences in how the girl and I were grieving. I was talking about grief, while she was feeling waves of sorrow, and heartily expressing her emotions.

I also noticed the difference between my measured relationship to the chocolate and the girl and her aunt’s unapologetic indulgence in it.

I titled the dream, “One Small Square of Grief for Me.”

Beneath the dream report, I wrote down the wisdom the dream might be offering me. I put it like this:

Indulge your emotions. A little (or a lot) of extra chocolate might help, too. 🙂

If it were your dream, what title would you give it? And what message would it be delivering to you?

As soon as I wrote the words, “A little (or a lot) of extra chocolate might help,” I had an idea.

When an outsized amount of a single food (trays laden with avocados, six-foot sugar canes in my kitchen, or, in this case, a cartoonishly large dark chocolate bar) appears in my dreams, there is usually good nutritional advice on offer for me.

So I asked the all-knowing Oracle, the Internet:

Can eating dark chocolate help with grieving?

And guess what?

Apparently, it can!¹

According to one site, the flavonoids contained in high-quality dark chocolate boost mental clarity and blood flow to the brain, which helps to clear the fog of overwhelming sadness.

Then there’s the more general observation that comfort foods, which are generally high in carbs and fats, provide a temporary burst of energy that counteracts the sluggishness of sadness.

That said, I don’t generally give in to cravings for sweets or carbs. Just as in my dream, I measure out my indulgences with care.

Of course, there are exceptions to my self-restraint.

My favorite quote from the Talmud says:

“A person will be called to account for every permissible thing he might have enjoyed but did not.”

It’s called comfort food for a reason

Just after my soul-friend died in August, another friend invited me out for lunch. At the restaurant, I couldn’t resist ordering a decadent Belgian waffle piled high with whipped cream and swimming in a lake of syrupy sweet sauce. Needless to say, this is something I would never normally order, especially not as a main course. But the urge was so powerful, and my moderating voice was so quiet, that I didn’t bother to pretend that I’d prefer a green salad instead.

That heavenly dessert brought me immeasurable joy, even as I was submerged beneath the first overwhelming waves of heartbreak. Plus, afterward, I didn’t experience any of my usual remorse at having eaten the whole thing.

In short, my desire for comfort food truly was comforting.

That type of tidal wave craving hasn’t returned since. But my recent chocolate dream seems to be weighing in, reminding me that I’m not done grieving.

And since I do love midnight black chocolate, I think I’ll accept my dream’s invitation later today, and enjoy a queen-sized serving, with a side dish of as many tears as need to flow.

Poems, like dreams, love chocolate

I came across this poem recently, which combines the theme of my dream, and the Talmud’s invitation to enjoy earthly pleasures while we can:

"The dead man likes chocolate, dark chocolate.
The dead man remembers custard as it was, spumoni as it was, shave
          ice as it was.
The dead man talks food with an active tongue, licks his fingers, takes
          seconds, but has moved on to salads." 

- Marvin Bell, from the poem "The Book of the Dead Man (Food)". 

Your turn: Write your poem of chocolate, grief, or both!

With all of the above in mind, respond to one or more of these journal prompts:

🍫 Have you ever had a dream that offered delicious nutritional advice?

🍫 Do you have a favorite poem or a chocolate-covered dream?

🍫 What has your relationship to grief and chocolate—or love and chocolate—been?

Then, inspired by Marvin Bell’s poem, write a reflection, poem, or story using one or both of these sentence starters:
- I remember eating chocolate when …
- Let me speak of chocolate with an active tongue …

Until we meet again, I am wishing you (chocolate-flavored) sweet dreams 💝.

Tzivia Gover, author and Certified Dreamwork Professional

1. Full disclosure: The Internet sources I’m relying on for this information don’t cite specific scientific research to back their claims—but my gut tells me we might be onto something here! What do you think?