A Life Less Blog

To dream, to die.
July 13, 2010, 11:00 pm
Filed under: Philosophy, Poetry | Tags:

how close is dreaming to death?

in our dreams we carry on our lives subconsciously

in our lives we have conscious and unconscious dreams

in dreams we can be anyone and do anything

in life we strive to be anyone and do anything because of our dreams, or in spite of them

dreaming creates electrical impulses within our brains

living allows electrical impulses within our brains to occur

in life we must sleep to dream

in dreams we must dream to live

the images in dreams can cause emotional responses

the images in life can cause emotional distresses

in life dreaming is considered lazy

in dreams simply living is considered boring

feelings in dreams can be amplified by experiences in life

feelings in life can be enhanced by experiences in dreams

living is hard

dreaming is an illusion

it is better to live and strive for dreams

than to dream and strive for life.


A Disturbing Dream
July 13, 2010, 12:59 pm
Filed under: Emotions | Tags:

There is always something that one forgets to do that can have dire consequences or no consequences at all.  I have had this recurring dream for years and consequently NEVER forget to lock a door no matter where I am.  I think our actions in this life have purpose and meaning and sometimes we need to be reminded by our subconscious exactly why these actions matter.

I have this recurring nightmare where I am back home living with my parents and for some reason I have shrunk back into my 13-year-old self.  We are just sitting down to dinner but no one is really eating.  In fact, no sounds are made except the clinking of our silverware and the pushing of food around our plates.  Everyone seems to be staring into space.  It is as if each member of my family is in a private room at a separate table, eating alone.  The light fixture above the table works on a dimmer switch but one of the four bulbs is burnt out so it is darker than usual.  All of us are lowered in our chairs to try to see the food we are not really eating. Suddenly, we hear a loud bang as the door to the back porch into the kitchen swings open and shut. The light in the room becomes blindingly bright .  A tall man in a dark jacket rushes up to the table, aims a long pistol at each member of my family and shoots everyone except me, right between the eyes.  My parent’s and sister’s heads crash into their plates and the lights go dark again. The only sound, my crazed hyperventilating and a faint drip, drip, drip as my family’s blood leaks over the lip of the table and onto the floor.  This isn’t even the weird part.

When I look down at the table I notice the dish we have been eating is spaghetti and the sauce on my family’s plates has been sucked away leaving just the noodles.  When the lights come back on, all four of my family members sit up as is they have been re-inflated by bicycle pumps. They pick up their forks and start eating their noodles (sans sauce) as if nothing has happened.  I am so shocked I only can stare at them and notice how their skin is completely white and their movements seem jerky as if they are being  re-animated by remote control.  Another distinguishing factor about the scene is the complete lack of blood from their wounds and the huge, gaping black bullet holes in between each of their eyes.  When my mother gets up to put her plate in the sink, she almost glides to the trashcan to scrape whatever is left of her plate (which is nothing, all of my family’s plates except mine are completely spotless as if they have never been used before).  I look down at my own plate and it is still full, but all my noodles have disappeared and they are replaced by a large bowl of blood that is flowing over the edge of the table and onto my feet in a warm, squishy puddle.  I stare at my sister and she is methodically scraping her empty plate and bringing invisible food to her mouth; just going through the motions of eating…my father and my other sister are doing the same thing.  Their eyes are glossy and dead looking but I can tell somewhere, far away, they are looking at me, watching me, waiting to see what I will do.  I jump up, run to the back porch door and lock it.  Upon waking up from this nightmare, I always have this sick feeling in my stomach that I could have prevented this dream.  I think I can still prevent these eerie events from happening.  Call it superstition, or call it common sense but I am always compelled, whenever I visit my parents and we are sitting down to dinner, as a last-minute thing, to get up and make sure I’ve locked the back porch door.