I dreamed there was a consuming darkness. Even the sunlight was tainted by shadow. The world seemed faded and muted and dull--and yet, each negative sensation was more severe. All of the painful, confusing emotions that we typically try to keep at bay were enhanced and overwhelming. Thus, people found odd ways of putting their guard up.
I went to a museum, dressed in all black leather, and felt at ease in my surroundings merely because I appeared sinister and untouchable. I wore awful heeled boots (definitely not real life anymore) and believed I could kill, if I wanted to. I felt that powerful, and that close to the edge. But the darkness seeped into even the indecipherable art in the museum. I knew I was looking at a sculpture, or a painting, but couldn't make out distinct colors or shapes.
In search of something more engaging, I went to a mall. (Now we have definitely left Kansas.) I informed my husband and a friend (the same friend who visited me in real life last weekend) that I would be at the mall, and they should come pick me up. Once inside the enormous, gray shopping center I tried to find a suitable department to browse, but everything was separated by large doors and security agents. You couldn't look at baby clothes unless you were certifiably pregnant, or at formal dresses if you had no proof you would be attending a formal event, and the same went for any type of clothing or appliance or houseware. The agents would interrogate customers in order to let them through the doors and so I curled up in a shopping cart and took a nap.
When I woke from my mall nap, there appeared before me a large rack of scarves. They were all brilliantly colored and had bright patterns. They were draped at all angles on the rack, calling me with their blues and reds and golds. I crawled out of the shopping cart and marveled at the scarves--the only truly colorful things I had yet found in this shadowed world. But each time I attempted to pull a scarf from the rack, it became caught. I could not have a single one, could not hold it or touch it or enjoy the fabric.
Infuriated, I decided it was time to go home for dinner. We would order a pizza, because surely a pizza can't let you down in a shadowy place. I saw my husband and my friend approach the mall from a distance. It was extremely windy outside and my husband was carrying my purse, struggling against the coming storm. It would have been a funny sight except that he decided he would just meet me at home. My friend waved goodbye--he was heading back to his home on the train.
Once arriving at home my husband informed me that all pizza was now banned, and so we went to bed. I asked if our friend had made it home safely, and my husband looked at me like I was crazy. Apparently the friend was alright, but he had been in a train wreck, because the train had been carrying a large yacht. This overwhelmed me with sadness and despair and I wept, uncontrollably, inconsolably, for what seemed like years, until my husband started talking again. He said that all of this had happened a long time ago, and I had been in a coma, and while I was in the coma he had started helping out a woman with a baby. She was unmarried and needed to borrow our car on a regular basis. She had the car at that very moment.
Dazed but angry, I redressed in all of my powerful leather and my horrible boots, and went back to the mall. I wanted to get the car back, at least. When I returned to the mall I saw her immediately. She, too, was wearing all black leather. However, she was Latina, with long, dark, curly hair and gold hoop earrings--she pulled off the look much better than I did. Her eyes were sharp. She was pushing a stroller, and I knew there was a little girl sitting in it, but I could not tell what she looked like or if she was even alive.
The woman intimidated me. I intended on confronting her but found myself incapable. I asked her where the car was and she said, "This way, another storm is coming." Her voice was hard and yet beautiful, her words pointed and haunting. We to the entrance of the mall and it started to rain. It came down in waves of water, relentless and violent. I stepped outside with an umbrella, which promptly broke. With my vision almost completely obscured I pulled my leather jacket over my head and we walked towards the car.
With every step the rain lessened. When we reached the car it had stopped and the ground was drying, but I noticed all the car doors were open--even the trunk and the hood. I suddenly realized the woman had not gone into my car, but had gone to another car next to it. Hers was white, and she put her child in the back. I also realized there was a green car pulled up behind mine. Initially I thought, "You've got to be kidding me! I can't back out with them there!" until someone started talking.
Sitting in the car were two black men, wearing Harvard sweatshirts. They announced that they were taking my car, and one told the other to search the car for valuables. I told them I didn't have any, and the driver said, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't give a damn." A voice in my head somehow restrained me from telling them that the car wasn't worth much either, although it was definitely worth more than any 'valuables' inside.
The woman drove away in her white car and I stood next to my black car, drenched and confused. All the doors were open and my life seemed to spill from it, pouring out of the seats and the little garbage bag and the blankets stored in the trunk. I felt defeated and broken from the inside out, like the shadowed world had taken advantage of me, had robbed me of my very soul, my only hope. I kept thinking that it simply didn't make sense, that I had so little--why would someone take from me when I practically had nothing to be taken?
And so I told myself it wasn't real. I had an ounce of strength left and I used it to remind myself that none of it could be true, and I had to find what was true.
I woke up breathless in the dark. Half-asleep, the sound of my own breathing and pounding heart immediately reminded me of the ocean. My senses slowly returned but I still felt terrified that all I had was gone. I listened carefully and found the sound of my dog snoring on the floor. I could not regain awareness, did not know where I was, could not find my husband. A few minutes of breathing deeply finally allowed me to roll over and find his warm back.
It was a nightmare. None of it was real.
I know I've mentioned before how lifelike my dreams are. I am easily convinced of their truth, in the beginning. I am carried away by the excitement of a new world, a sleepy discovery. This is why my nightmares are never short-lived. They carry on like a Charles Dickens novel, and you keep waiting for the happy ending, except that in this case they never come. The orphan does not find their family, or come into riches, or marry their true love. And so rather than stay trapped, I keep exploring until I can escape.
And so I am thankful for my mind. It is a gift, surely, to be able to dream up such magnificent, detailed stories. I have traveled the world and flown the skies and had the desires of my heart, all without leaving the comfort of my bed. But when I am in danger, there is no real suffering. My mind has learned, after all these years of dreaming, to defend itself against the lies of a nightmare. It has learned to find a way out before my heart believes it is broken, before all the misery of the world crushes me in my sleep. It finds a way back to what is true.
I wasn't going to write a blog for the 23rd by itself. It was a long day and so I was going to pair it up with the 24th. But I went to sleep filled with anxiety, apparently. And I had this nightmare. So I was all shaken up. I tried reading the Psalms... but I couldn't resist the need to write it all down.
So perhaps this post is a little odd, considering the others I've done this month. But I truly am thankful not to be trapped in my nightmares.
Thanks, mind. You're incredible. Scary, but incredible.
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