A dream can leave you with a feeling. For the longest time I was affected by a dream from my childhood. I am not sure what was going on at that time of my life, but I can remember the screenplay of the dream like I just woke up. It used to haunt my psyche, but not anymore. Thinking about it used to fill me with an almost infinite emptniess. I don’t feel that way anymore when I think about it.
Here is how I remember it.
A world of concrete. I am standing in an empty parking lot, which you wouldn’t know, but for the lines marking the spaces. The entire world is covered in rough, drab, gray concrete, speckled with small pieces of the shells of long dead sea creatures. It is daytime, and the sun is shining. The world I love is gone, and it has been gone for a long time. I am standing around with kids my age, milling about. Percieiving in shapes, colors, feelings and ideas, verbal language is nonexistent. A feeling doesn’t have a “name”; it just is the feeling. A thought is communicated without words. It just is.
I tumble in the natural time of a dreams-disconnected, non-linear. The attention of the group is directed and consumed by green. A weed has broken through. We gather around. I am amazed and filled with joy. In this world that my dream has trapped me in, where nothing changes, there is no variance. The sun comes and shines for its alloted time and then it is gone. Rain doesn’t fall. Clouds don’t mark the sky. The wind is calm. The tempature easy. And, now, here out of nowhere, struggling is variance and hope. Hours before I left the world of variety when I laid my head down. Although, it seems I have been here for years.
The attention of the group on the weed attracts others. Another distinct group of people approachs. The timbre changes. One individual steps from the group and pushes his way toward the weed. Without explanation or warning, he reaches down and pulls it from the ground. I am in disbelief. I want to cry. I want yell. I want to fight him. But I am powerless. I am pulled from sleep by an overwhelming feeling of doom and loss.
For years all I had to do was think about the dream, and I would be filled with the same empty feeling. Emptiness doesn’t come anymore and it bothers me. Is it because I have accepted a fate in a life without variance? Or is it beacause I am just generally numb? Or did I just get over it? I do not know.
I know this: it is imperfection that makes life worthwhile; children are better feelers than adults; dreams can fade.