Monday, October 26, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
memories of a former life
Last night I dreamed I was packing my all belongings and leaving the only home I knew. However, it was a dream home, where you know in the dream that this is your home and these are the people that are important to you, but the physical appearance is unrecognizable, it's just the intuitive notion that drives these fuzzy connections. It makes you wonder if these were people are from a former life, or random people that you saw on the street and their images imprinted in your mind only to resurface later in a dream, as your brain brings up past memories.
The house I was leaving, was an old almost Victorian house, with ornate rugs and chandeliers, and with narrow stair cases that lead to narrow hallways and sparsely decorated bedrooms. I was frantically throwing everything I could into boxes and crates and running down an impossibly long slender hallway, racing towards a window in the night, only to thrust my belonging on to an unknown lawn, where a young man was loading them into a beaten up truck. I was desperate to leave, but desperate to not leave important items behind, because somehow I knew this would be the last time I would see this house, and the last time I could ever return home. Fear clung to my neck as I ran back and forth from my dream room and the open window. It was fear of being caught, of not working quickly enough, but what was I running from? In my rushed escape and I clung to every last bit of reasoning and sanity my fear would allow, I had think my way through this hushed and hurried affair any small mistake could end in unknown disaster.
This fragment of memory or subconsciousness message upon waking only leaves the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if it was almost to vivid to doubt. Feelings of loss and fear still linger in the fringes of my mind. Was this a former life, some tiny cell memory transferred from another time finding its way into a tiny vignette of my dream? If past lives exist, was this mine, and did I escape these unknown demons?
The house I was leaving, was an old almost Victorian house, with ornate rugs and chandeliers, and with narrow stair cases that lead to narrow hallways and sparsely decorated bedrooms. I was frantically throwing everything I could into boxes and crates and running down an impossibly long slender hallway, racing towards a window in the night, only to thrust my belonging on to an unknown lawn, where a young man was loading them into a beaten up truck. I was desperate to leave, but desperate to not leave important items behind, because somehow I knew this would be the last time I would see this house, and the last time I could ever return home. Fear clung to my neck as I ran back and forth from my dream room and the open window. It was fear of being caught, of not working quickly enough, but what was I running from? In my rushed escape and I clung to every last bit of reasoning and sanity my fear would allow, I had think my way through this hushed and hurried affair any small mistake could end in unknown disaster.
This fragment of memory or subconsciousness message upon waking only leaves the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if it was almost to vivid to doubt. Feelings of loss and fear still linger in the fringes of my mind. Was this a former life, some tiny cell memory transferred from another time finding its way into a tiny vignette of my dream? If past lives exist, was this mine, and did I escape these unknown demons?
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