The Schizophrenic Nature of Dreams

It starts with a dizziness. A falling sensation that you know you must refuse. But every attempt at resistance hurts. Every pull back causes an inner headache that forces you to give in. You are falling. Tumbling. Spinning. Head first. Feet first. In every direction at once.

Then you are lying on a hill, warm in the sun on the green bed of oft green blades. The air hugs you like a duvet, keeps you warm.

I wonder why I fought coming here. Why I had ever been anywhere else.

I lie in a pool of my own blood. My mug-shot plastered to the cold hard pavement beside me, oozing red.

The sky is blue again as your head steps off the round about.

I remember why I pulled away from this place. My heart seems to expand in my chest, welling with fear. It rises to choke me.

An arm appears at my side; warm and friendly. I know this arm. I know this person. Gently it moves to wrap itself around me. It feels like home.

Then it chokes me. The malicious fingers digging into my neck, biting down on my air ways like a hungry Parana. I am drowning.

I spin from the water and into the sun. The grass bounces beneath me – reaching out for my body’s embrace.

I am alone again in this Heaven. And I spin. Right up the vacuum nozzle in the sky. Flying and hurtling. Head first. Feet first. In all directions.

I am in bed. Consciousness hugging me. Hardening me. Making me stable again.

I am free.

[Sunday Night, 28^th February 2010, 12.00 a.m.]