Last night I had a dream. A Theist dream. Left me more determined to prove to whosoever it was that couldn’t give me a straight answer that I was NOT going to end up in hell. Or maybe it was the phantom zone. Yes, I’m a Theist. Of course I believe in good and evil as ACTUAL persons and places. It’s probably the most unsophisticated thing about me [in terms of logic and reality] but there it is.
Of course, one could say that eating a meal, then a fruit bowl, then juice, then multigrain crackers with rotisserie chicken MAY have something to do with it. I didn’t have it all at once, this was just a succession as the evening/night wore on.
So I’m in a room. I’m always in a room. I hate rooms.
So I’m in a room. Let’s just say there was a moderator and an audience. The moderator tested each member’s thought or whatever with fire, if they passed they moved on, if they didn’t they got pulled into a tear drop and moved further and further away into the darkness. When it was my turn, the moderator and I guess his superior(s) couldn’t figure out where I should go or whatever. They chopped up my thoughts which looked more like onions really [to make it more manageable I presume] and asked me whether or not I wanted to go back or let it be tried. Scared shitless I accepted the gamble. I don’t think it ended well. One thing I DO KNOW is that it felt as if had I not woken up I would have actually died there. Like in the matrix. What? The hell, man?
I hate death. More so, I hate the fact that I have no power over it. One time I thought I could get it [this power] but when someone dear to me explained that her mother – a woman who would drop everything for me – was in Chemotherapy, I realized I had absolutely no power. This may sound slightly hilarious, slightly delusional, but for a supernaturalist like me, I liked to believe that anything was possible; that the elements were mine for the spinning. That of course is the biggest untruth ever but hey… a boy could dream.
What really pisses me off about that whole dream sequence was the fear. I hate being scared. I feared heights, so I bought an apartment on the penultimate floor of the building. The elevators weren’t working yet either. Fear of death, fear of being alone, fear of leaving this earth realm without the accomplishment factor. Ridiculous.
I’ve won awards, I’ve been published (a 2004 collection– Amateur Poets around the world. I got the first page); I’m putting together comics and novels and documentaries – filling my mind with “things” that need to be done. I cannot AFFORD to leave without getting it out. I simply will not.
Our fears betray us. It makes our thoughts unworthy and the risks you take… pointless. Of course taking a risk with fear is to slap it in the face. I packed up from one company 6 years ago and moved to where I am now, effectively slapping fear in the face. Yet there are times when I feel it over me. I rationalize it. maybe I’m not totally whole. A whole person does not fear right? Right.
Most religions have some form of eternal reward policy built in to it, but I think the real recompense is to wake up here, on Earth, among those people (humans) knowing that you are fulfilled/can help fulfill something/someone; that the risks you take are worth something.
“But Tracy, why does it have to mean a bad thing?”
Quite. After all, the old people believed that dreaming of a funeral is a good thing (Represents change or new beginning or breakthrough or whatever) so hey, this could be that.
Whatever the case, one thing is for sure. I am DEFINITELY NOT eating after a certain hour again! Crap! Like I really need to dream about the phantom zone.
Tracy J H