Thursday, April 09, 2015
I analyze dreams. I'm pretty good at it. Yonks ago I took a course.
My dreams lately have been of despair. Of losing my voice. Of all those I hold dear turning their backs and darkening a bright room with heavy curtains. Très évident, you might say. And I would agree.
My subconscious working things out, of course. So I awake and lie there and fill my head with good thoughts. I sort them out and obliterate the lingering smothering of the others. Because I know, deep down, they can kill me. Death by a thousand cuts.
Because everything else? Brings me joy. And my mind is such that it can let all that shunning hatred coming at me stifle what is good and kind and fulfilling in my life.
And I'm a recovered addict too, so the siren calls of substances can be highly seductive. So I sail my own wee boat away from those lying lullabies.
And I keep the photos of the 3 loved ones I lost in the past 3 months nearby. And remember their words of unconditional support.
To remind me to live my life as if each day is my last.
As it well might be.