My middle dream was as uncomfortable as it was colorful. I was in the woods, sleeping on a mattress on a hill, it was evening and the sun should have been down. I didn’t know why I was alone out there, why I was sleeping in such a desolate place, exposed and vulnerable to everything in the universe. But somehow I knew I had chosen to be out there. Somehow I also knew that nearby there was a cabin and my mother, and it was there that scenes of an earlier dream played out when she’d shown me a box of little guns.
I shouldn’t be out here but it was too late. The horizon filled with lights and colors I cannot describe. It was a mix, purple, orange, yellow, it wasn’t trippy it was other world, and things from another world aren’t trippy, they’re terrifying. That’s how I know aliens would never be a beautiful site or a quaint mystical experience, their crafts and their lights, their energies and the synergies crawl under my skin in my dreams. The lights saturated the sky, an invisible craft projected a 3D shadow on the forest floor. The shadow had three bright points, they rotated in a circular fashion, my ears lifted in a cloud of deafening fear. Why had I chosen to sleep in the woods, why did I not realize the aliens would descend from the skies, dream or no dream, what was I doing here in such a vulnerable space.
But I did realize, the only thing I knew about this portion of my dream, as the purples and oranges grew brighter was that I chose to be here. The dream changed, my eyes made out a large screen in front of me, I was in a sleeping bag, watching the screen I realized it was an HD television, not unlike the one I own and if there was a tv, it had to be plugged into something…I am not in the woods. I looked at the trees and basement walls formed in place of them and they began to solidify, my mind tried to block out the looming lights, the erratic color bombshell of the heavens. My mother was nearby.Some would say my dreams are the worst kind.
They are not scary, they are in pursuit. My mind forms scenarios and the faces and forces change around it. I would not call my dreams “bad” because as nightmares they are of the highest caliber, so messed up, intense and surreal, no Hollywood screenwriter could touch them, no story could explain the confusion that forms at the core of such tangible nightmares. Its almost as if instead of being in a horror movie where you should be scared and scream in the face of ghosts, murderers, where you should be scared of being accused of a crime, or getting mixed up with the wrong crowd…I am instead accepting. Its as if the world was built of unfortunate events and that’s just the way it is. Its as if you could run from dimension to dimension but somehow each dimensional plane is unkind, threatening and nondiscriminatory.
The above was the middle dream, more on the first and last dream later.