Scratching the surface of sleep: with the crescent of a mind, and waxing subjectivity by the by the breath, sleep stage #1 ushers the unconscious into the scenery of my minds’ eye.
I absolves into a removed viewer, leagues under the sea. Deep water, like deep space, appears black. Black as the underbelly of a weathered hand coated in oil, where only the crease and motions of sweeping lines remain self-reflective. Under the sea, these lines were the echoing treads of small fish. The Fins waving like flags in the wind, sent ripples that danced in coordination. Half-aware, half analyzing possible meaning, my phantom dream right hand began to throb: a pulsating ache combined with a hollow whistling of my joints–the chilly sensation of cold, dry wind rustling through the emptiness of an abandoned attic. Until this point “I” had no “body”;”I” could not be located.
My grandmother was sleeping upstairs directly above me, and she thinks her hand is broken. She is not typically one to make a fuss or complain, so I know her right hand is in a lot of pain. In my dream, I saw the fish of my grandma and watched the echoing treads make their way and splash into me, and I felt another pang in my right hand. Dream empathy of the unconscious.
Pandora’s Box. Russian Doll. The maze I got lost in when I was 4 years old.
This dream is similar to those things and experiences.
Woke up, by alarm, ordered body to drag itself out of bed, put contacts in, and the body followed orders. I woke up, realized the first dragging was an illusion and I was still under covers eyes closed and all. I dragged myself up out of bed. I woke up, I realized I twice dreamed the illusion of this moment and woke up, initiating morning routine, for real, unsuctioned my eyes from the resistance of a sea muscle, latching lids, did my morning routine. I woke up, realized it was an illusion. Realized I was dreaming illusions. Despite my dream determination, the inability to turn off this cyclic entrapment inside the dream persisted, repeating waking up and reawakening up and reawakening up until another alarm went off an hour later. I got up, and have yet to wake up again from this potential illusion of a dream morning.
Why was this dream an echo of itself? Before I fell asleep videotape streamed against the green screen that is inside of closed eyes, remembering my earliest memories, dreams and nightmares. Some memories I realized what felt like the first time since they occurred: a wild experience. I closed my eyes sometime after midnight, and when I reopened then it was 1:40 am, and all of those memories and emotions parachuting them had been running for about an hour. I recall smirking to myself, because I fall asleep to The Office to distract such distractions at night. I put on the office, Gay Witch Hunt (one of my all-time favorite episodes) and coaxed myself to sleep.