So here I sit, on a bare mattress waiting for the sheets to dry. I weigh my options I could stay awake and wait for sheets or just go to sleep. the naked mattress just looks uninviting somehow. I believe i will wait.
I started writing that post the other night, but fell asleep on the naked mattress nearly mid sentence. I reread the jabber and I promise that what I had written wasn't worth anything. It is now deleted and blown away like most everything I write. Ironically, I happened to sleep quite well that night despite the mattress. I guess the aesthetics of my bed and the thread count don't matter as much as I thought. hmmm now that is good news I suppose.
Interestingly enough I had dreams return to me that had disappeared after childhood. I experience the plague of recurring dreams and that night the story began where it left off not so many years ago. That particular night I had dreams about clocks, time, keyholes, hallways, light bulbs, windows and mass grave sites. I did this often as a child, hence making these item's presence consistent in my dream world as adult. An ancient clock, a Mayan calendar, and an Egyptian necropolis reoccur. Perhaps it is the awkward fascination with Lara Croft, hidden treasure, and secret societies that cause ancient symbolism to creep into dreamland or perhaps it is simply my subconscious' topic of choice.
Whilst wandering through this city of the dead, time ticks down in a clock that was thought for centuries to be broken. It is golden with Arabic number so delicately informing me that time is passing and oh how quickly it passes. This clock and I are close, we rely on each other. I must cherish it for it to cherish me, somehow it has become a relationship like breath to lungs, I love my clock. It is a beautifully crafted time machine sparkling in the afternoon sun, a reminder that it will always be here with me. The omen that exists quietly. With my clock I take comfort and become content in the existing spaces between the entombed. I am wandering in a city devoted to the dead. Tombs go on for miles, and roads divide the resting necropolis, home of the dead. I feel strangely alive here amongst the passed, and my clock slows, the needle teasing me by pausing and then starting again. It ticks and I no longer have to gasp for air in the desert heat. On the horizon I see movement, a shadow only too easily mistaken for a mirage. Tomorrow night this dream will continue. Just me and my clock. I awoke, drew my clock in my bedtime sketchbook, rolled over and fell into a dreamless sleep there, lying on that naked mattress.
This sounds strange, crazy and embellished but I assure you this was one of the closest dreams to reality I have ever had. My clock and I, that is real. It is a relationship that is deeply embedded in my heart. These dreams enhance the happenings of my waking hours. These moments which have occurred nightly for the past week are experienced with eyes wide shut and are presented in vivid color. It is a story that I am sure deja-vu will claim as it does so often with my dreams. I know full well I will find a clock someday, I will see it and I will know, we have met before, it's tick will be familiar and will inevitably send shivers through my body taking me back to the desert heat, the mirage on the horizon only getting closer.
These night journeys undoubtedly give me inspiration for whatever I may or may not realize I am on the cusp of. I am well aware of the fact that they aren't ever that far off from being straight up fucked up and I suppose that is why I love them.We all are indeed experiencing that which we create and if we can not create it, our subconscious does it willingly for us.
The whirlwind in Dreamland makes me ponder reality and I am eternally grateful for the questions that these dreams evoke or the answers they reveal.
Life is a whirlwind so often uncontrollable and thus this is what makes it amazing. It's pulse beats quickly in certain moments and mindfulness and sensibility disappear. These are the moments we remember and want to relive again and again. To be sensible you must not be sensible and follow moments until their end. -- And they will end, they always do. Roller coasters are the best models for life, and an intent on living that way is realistic yet still considered innovative and daring. Make brash decisions, realize how stupid they are later or fully enjoy the fact that deviation from your plan has made your life better than you ever thought possible. Let it shake you. Hold your time machine close, always knowing we are only here for so long.
All my Wishes
-Stitches
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