Battling the Living Dead
I don't think there is anything in life more thoroughly satisfying then an afternoon nap on a crisp, but pleasently warm autumn Sunday. Especially when you dream of defeating the living dead.
A long spiral staircase leads to a long, narrow basement, it has a strong institutional vibe, the colors on the walls are pastel and hospitalesque, but i am aware that it is in fact the basement of my house. Their are chairs in a row infront of a large blackboard. We are to be taught by Mr. Rochester (of Jane Eyre), my younger brother Paul and cousin Beth are both present, but I am only aware of them, we don't interact. There is another long, spiral staircase at the other end of the long room, which I climb to escape the impending doom one can always sense in dreams. It leads to a tiny trap door.
(There are often small openings in my dreams which I am always terrified of. This is no surprise as I am afraid of small openings in life too. It's not claustrophobia, its fear of not getting through I think. As a child there was a small tunnel from a crawlspace in my room to Paul's room across the hall. I always remember fear, and being stuck. Not being able to go forward or back. This tunnle existed for a very short while before it was renovated and gone, I was maybe 6 or 7, I dont know if it even existed or if I ever got stuck or if it was a dream then as it is a dream now.)
Miss Havisham in all her unearthly bridal glory awaits me. I decide this is a worse fate then the unknown downstairs. Miss Havisham, plus the tiny opening. Too much for me. I descend the stairs. (I must add that I am untrustworthy with spiral staircases. I have to focus and pay attention or I certainly tumble. It's embarrasing.) To my amazment Paul is in a full scale battle with four zombies, I suppose is the most fitting discription. They are not alive, not dead. Not even real I think. I join the battle. It is a mental battle. In my mind I know I can defeat them. To defeat them I must utterly believe I can, in a sense already have won. But of course the fear. Their are four. Mr. Rochester is the first, Paul has already taken care of him with quite a formidable broadsword I think they're called. It is rather like some sort of video game, where with each defeat the next opponent is stronger and smarter. Paul has done the first two, its my turn. Tagteam I guess. I take up the sword and slash around with great skillworthy of Tarentino and beat the first. The second of mine is Nathan Enns, a childhood friend who goes to school at the same university as me. It is on this Undead that I have great psychological difficulty, my mind is aware of so many things on so many levels. It is truth that I will win. BUT I must believe that to win. But really this isn't a condition, I KNOW i will win. But still such great fear. And underneath i am fully aware that it is a dream, and it doesn't matter too terribly if I win or not. I deal the final blow, I think it was a beheading, and I wake up.
This is a surprisingly violent dream for me. Not true actually, but I am rarely the one being violent. I can't even kill insects. Usually I get shot in dreams.
I remember most vividly: The staircase. The colors of the walls. Miss Havisham. Fear. The total awareness and overactivity of my mind on so many levels.
Battling the Undead wasn't even a big deal.
A long spiral staircase leads to a long, narrow basement, it has a strong institutional vibe, the colors on the walls are pastel and hospitalesque, but i am aware that it is in fact the basement of my house. Their are chairs in a row infront of a large blackboard. We are to be taught by Mr. Rochester (of Jane Eyre), my younger brother Paul and cousin Beth are both present, but I am only aware of them, we don't interact. There is another long, spiral staircase at the other end of the long room, which I climb to escape the impending doom one can always sense in dreams. It leads to a tiny trap door.
(There are often small openings in my dreams which I am always terrified of. This is no surprise as I am afraid of small openings in life too. It's not claustrophobia, its fear of not getting through I think. As a child there was a small tunnel from a crawlspace in my room to Paul's room across the hall. I always remember fear, and being stuck. Not being able to go forward or back. This tunnle existed for a very short while before it was renovated and gone, I was maybe 6 or 7, I dont know if it even existed or if I ever got stuck or if it was a dream then as it is a dream now.)
Miss Havisham in all her unearthly bridal glory awaits me. I decide this is a worse fate then the unknown downstairs. Miss Havisham, plus the tiny opening. Too much for me. I descend the stairs. (I must add that I am untrustworthy with spiral staircases. I have to focus and pay attention or I certainly tumble. It's embarrasing.) To my amazment Paul is in a full scale battle with four zombies, I suppose is the most fitting discription. They are not alive, not dead. Not even real I think. I join the battle. It is a mental battle. In my mind I know I can defeat them. To defeat them I must utterly believe I can, in a sense already have won. But of course the fear. Their are four. Mr. Rochester is the first, Paul has already taken care of him with quite a formidable broadsword I think they're called. It is rather like some sort of video game, where with each defeat the next opponent is stronger and smarter. Paul has done the first two, its my turn. Tagteam I guess. I take up the sword and slash around with great skillworthy of Tarentino and beat the first. The second of mine is Nathan Enns, a childhood friend who goes to school at the same university as me. It is on this Undead that I have great psychological difficulty, my mind is aware of so many things on so many levels. It is truth that I will win. BUT I must believe that to win. But really this isn't a condition, I KNOW i will win. But still such great fear. And underneath i am fully aware that it is a dream, and it doesn't matter too terribly if I win or not. I deal the final blow, I think it was a beheading, and I wake up.
This is a surprisingly violent dream for me. Not true actually, but I am rarely the one being violent. I can't even kill insects. Usually I get shot in dreams.
I remember most vividly: The staircase. The colors of the walls. Miss Havisham. Fear. The total awareness and overactivity of my mind on so many levels.
Battling the Undead wasn't even a big deal.
posted by Kaelin at 10:36 PM
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