I had a dream once. It befell me in strange times. A darkness had come over me, slowly and – at first – without me noticing anything weird at all. Things had changed, I had changed, and now often strained to meet the myriad expectations others set towards me. Rejection, correction, great effort; all in vain.
At first everything had turned just slightly blurry, a passing haze or so I thought. Simple joys and spontaneity made way for sophistication and complexity. Connections became fragile, perspectives drifted apart. I often relished in memories to retreat the past. Before long, a creeping despair had consumed me. Where once wonder and affection occupied my mind, resentment and delusion lingered. Pleasantries lost their spark, relationships their grounding, actions their meaning.
I was never afraid, but bereft of any esprit, as if having lost something I never knew I had. The artificiality of my aspirations and needs became overwhelming, daily rituals nothing but hardship. The world ended and began anew, but I felt stuck, suddenly unable to navigate in a shared reality. Hope, previously a question of wishful prioritization, succumbed to a void of unattainable ideals.
Then, the dream – I fell into a warm embrace of kindred passion, suddenly alive with great curiosity and exalted in an explosion of ideas; all trials and tribulations of waking life a mere flickering shadow in the long forgotten light of a luminous sun. For just an instant, the act of being was no insurmountable challenge but bliss, the future an undiscovered country of unknown possibility.
I woke with dreadful reluctance, deeply longing to continue the dream, surprised to realize the eternal darkness enshrouded me no more.
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by
Peter N. Andersson