Analyze this.
Nov. 2nd, 2003 10:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grammargirlI keep having dreams lately in which I die. Not the ones where something violent happens, a gunshot wound or whatever, and I wake up just as I feel death approaching. No, in these dreams I actually die. I find out what happens after. Is there life after death in these dreams? Well sometimes, sort of.
In the latest dream I'm on a train with a group of people--I think Meghan from ASB is the only person there I know. We're told that at a very specific time a few hours away, we're all going to die. We're not told how--train wreck, plague, violence--just that we're going to die at X time. I take the news well, all things considered--I return my books to the library (yeah, we're on a train, but there's definitely a full-sized library there. Dream logic, I guess), have "last conversations" with a few people, and am in the process of writing a note to my mother when death comes for me.
There is no pain, only the perception of being tugged suddenly backward through a tunnel, a feeling of separation from the world sort of similar to the sensation of peeling a band-aid slowly off a healed wound. When I force myself to keep my eyes open I can see the world dwindling in front of me as I am drawn backwards and away. We land someplace entirely nondescript and forgettable, if it is a place at all. An overworked-looking man comes out of an office and addresses us. He tells us that we are all dead now, that whatever happens from now on we will never be quite alive again. That we can go through the motions of being alive, but something will always be missing.
And then he sends us back. And I think, maybe it was all a bad dream, and I try to keep living my life. But always, at the back of my head, is a voice saying that I'm dead already, that I'm fooling myself if I think I an continue living as if nothing ever happened. Something, some vital part of me, is missing. I go through the motions, but I can never quite convince myself that any of it is real. I keep wondering when I'll go back to that nondescript place that, for all its forgettableness, at least felt real.
And then I wake up.
That was the most cinematographic, coherent, real dream I've had... maybe ever.
My unconscious can be a scary, scary place.
In the latest dream I'm on a train with a group of people--I think Meghan from ASB is the only person there I know. We're told that at a very specific time a few hours away, we're all going to die. We're not told how--train wreck, plague, violence--just that we're going to die at X time. I take the news well, all things considered--I return my books to the library (yeah, we're on a train, but there's definitely a full-sized library there. Dream logic, I guess), have "last conversations" with a few people, and am in the process of writing a note to my mother when death comes for me.
There is no pain, only the perception of being tugged suddenly backward through a tunnel, a feeling of separation from the world sort of similar to the sensation of peeling a band-aid slowly off a healed wound. When I force myself to keep my eyes open I can see the world dwindling in front of me as I am drawn backwards and away. We land someplace entirely nondescript and forgettable, if it is a place at all. An overworked-looking man comes out of an office and addresses us. He tells us that we are all dead now, that whatever happens from now on we will never be quite alive again. That we can go through the motions of being alive, but something will always be missing.
And then he sends us back. And I think, maybe it was all a bad dream, and I try to keep living my life. But always, at the back of my head, is a voice saying that I'm dead already, that I'm fooling myself if I think I an continue living as if nothing ever happened. Something, some vital part of me, is missing. I go through the motions, but I can never quite convince myself that any of it is real. I keep wondering when I'll go back to that nondescript place that, for all its forgettableness, at least felt real.
And then I wake up.
That was the most cinematographic, coherent, real dream I've had... maybe ever.
My unconscious can be a scary, scary place.
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Date: 2003-11-02 08:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-02 11:28 am (UTC)