I haven't dreamed in weeks.
This might not seem odd to some I've been told that there aren't many that dream every night, and fewer still that remember them in the waking hours. Whether my image filled rest is blessing or curse I can not say, but the lack of them has left me hollow. It has affected my ability to connect with those I love, be true to the person I know I am.
In my dreams I was never the hero, never of great renown. I was me, yes the settings changed from dream to dream.
I may be fighting in a war, solving some great mystery, or simply walking along a river.
In some dreams I found myself with friends or loved ones, and other times I'm utterly alone.
The best dreams however, are those that don't feel like dreams....The ones where I find myself in a field of grass and stone and flower surrounded by large ancient trees. In those dreams, I am visited by various creatures sometimes in a group other times singular.
A stag, enormous and proud.
A wolf, bold and perceptive.
A hawk, free and lighting fast.
They act as teacher, as guide. I walk beside them or listen to their words...not words exactly, but something deeper more true than this jumble of letters and phonemes that clumsy fall out onto paper or out of mouths.
In this sacred place sometimes others are there, friends, family. They sit with me or walk with me in the same way the animals do, not speaking but communicating, I am most connected with them in this place and long for our time there.
Or I did.
Dreams game me hope, in the future, in my fellow man...but they're gone now when I sleep I see nothing but blackness, and silence fills the once active mind. I lost them when things began to fall apart, my confidence, my courage, my self worth all, but crumbled a few weeks back, and all that's left is my stubbornness. I fear my dreams, what they my hold for me.
Will the spirits condemn my actions?
Will my friends and family turn there backs?
Will I see truths I don't want to admit, and face the demons that has been biting at my heals and whispering in my ear since the dreams stopped?
Am I doomed to never dream again?
To listen to those I love dearly talk for hours about their dreams, about there lives, about their future, and pasts. To be tortured as my mind and heart and spirit dies. I am breaking piece by piece, day by day. I fight to smile, fight to keep my cool, to choose love over anger and despair. I show those I love what little I can give them, but it is not enough.
The nothingness spreads, it takes my dreams, it takes my will, and I can do little to stop it.
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