December 27th, 2004
|06:34 pm - A dream.|
Last night I had a dream. Apparently, this is the kind of dream you have when you can't sleep because you're in a bit too much pain. Here is what it was about:
A.J. Drew was on television. The line across the bottom of the screen identified him as an "authoritative author". Well, right there I knew it was a dream, but I've never been much for lucid dreaming, so I let it take its course.
AJ and some kid were talking about death, and the kid was showing a picture of a patient in a hospital dying. The photo was taken at the moment of death, and AJ was describing a strange, amorphous form that was hovering over the body.
"You see here," he said, "the soul leaving the body. This is one of five beings that we all have within us. This one represents who we think we are. In another second, the one that shows who we really are would be emerging. . ."
His head kept talking, but I stopped listening. Instead, I focused on doing a Chaos Working to contact these five beings. I called them up from the depths of myself, and they surrounded me.
The first was tall and lanky. Its head was larger, broader than its shoulders. It was my past.
The second was short and yet graceful. It wore a beard and carried a horn. It was my future.
The third was similar to me, but broken in places. Skin hung off its face, and it had no feet. It was my deep self.
The fourth was young and its face was soft. It tilted its head, listening and its right hand twitching, like it wanted to reach out. It was who I think I am.
The fifth was strangely similar to the fourth, but rather than tilting its head to the side, it tilted its head forward. It was who I truly am.
The air grew thick and damp, and I suddenly realized that I was in a jungle hut. It was night, and the "selves" faded. In their place came shapes of men. One man held a bloody knife in one hand, and a mass of flesh in the other.
The men spoke Vietnamese, and I knew these were VietCong. One stepped behind me and said something. He laughed hard at his joke, and cut my hands free.
I didn't move. I didn't want to. I fought back a terror, one that would force me to put my hands to my face. I fought it because I knew what I would find.
I knew the mass of flesh one man had was my face.
There were no lips. There were no eyelids. There were not even ears. My nose was a hole in my head.
I fought the terror. I calmly stood up and took a step forward. I felt pain as the stub where my foot once was hit the straw mat on the ground. I gritted my teeth, knowing that there would be no change in expression because there was no face to show it. I continued walking, precariously balanced on two stumps, listening to the laughter of the five men in the hut.
I moved into the jungle, slowly learning to balance on my stubs. The laughter died out, and was replaced with the dull beat of the rain on my now-bare skull. I shambled through the trees, intent on returning to base.
The moon rose above me as I traveled. I moved with it through the night, not stopping to rest. There was information I had that needed to get back.
Finally, I saw a light in the distance. I walked straight toward it, knowing that this was where I camped the night before with my platoon.
When I arrived, there was a fire and boxes of munitions, but none of my mates.
I heard laughter behind me, and I turned.
A small figure sat on a crate next to a small rocket. "Your friends are gone," it said. "I can get you to them."
"On this," he said, as he gestured to the rocket. "You ride it, and it'll get you to your buddies. They're on the other side of that hill, and you won't make it in that condition. The VC are on their way."
"And what do you get?" I asked.
"Nothing. Not from you, at least." Laughter came from the jungle. "Better hurry. Be sure to jump before you hit, or you're going to be in much worse condition."
I nodded, and climbed onto the rocket.
And I woke up.
Just for fun, anyone wanna try to interpret that?
Current Mood: weird
Current Music: "Nautical Wheelers", -JB