blood,dreams,questions,coma,sleep
Dreams give us things like ideas and hope and scares and sometimes they just completely terrify.
They confuse us and screw with clarity like it’s their molding clay
like our minds are willing to be twisted in knots and stretched and bounced around or something
but our minds really don’t have a choice and that’s the worst part about it.
Have you ever been stuck in a dream?
Convinced you know you are dreaming but still you can’t wake up?
Pleaded that someone will hear your discomfort and shake you until you’re ripped far far away from that place?
I wonder if that’s how coma patients feel sometimes,
Can you imagine being alive and unable to live?
Hearing the outside world spin without you,
screaming as loud as you possibly can all the while knowing
only you can hear your cries
and you wouldn’t even be able to end it if you wanted too.
Can you imagine hearing someone you love
beg for you to open your eyes,
squeeze their hand,
move your fingers just so they know that you are still alive in there somewhere at least trying to fight,
at least trying to hold on and not completely lost in a never ending sea of disillusion and unknowing,
not so far gone that you’re unable to tell whether you are closer to coming back into your well known life
or closer to whatever death may be.
Can you imagine not being able to to let them know you are still with them?
Not being able to tell them not to give up on you?
Can you imagine being in a dream
no one and nothing could wake you from?
There is something so messed up about a dream,
something no one can really pin point.
Maybe it’s the lack of control,
or maybe it’s being forced to take a glimpse of what your mind can really delve into,
what it is capable of conjuring up,
something so terrifying about the unknown.
But what is even more messed up,
is that the more messed up it is the more interested we become and isn’t that just the truth?
It’s like the way we squirm and twist our necks as we pass an accident on the highway.
Where’s the blood?
Where’s the hurt?
Let me see.
LET ME SEE.
And the twisted part about it is if we are fortunate enough to actually see some blood,
some hurt,
we cringe in disgust,
we scrunch our noses and pretend we don’t want to see because that is our moral instinct to do so.
What is so morally wrong about wanting to see the crimson red of life leaking through the tiny grooves of pavement thousands of tires tread everyday?
Something.
We know that much.
What is so wrong about dreaming
of blood?