Guns

I found this very unfinished self portrait of Francis Bacon's. (Back to Francis, for reasons dealing with the subconscious.) Last night's dream took me once again into hiding. I've hidden before, not typically from monsters, but from savage men with weapons. Probably following patterns of past studies of the human brain and its dream content, I never get hurt in these dreams (nightmares doesn't do what they are accurate justice, so I resort back to "dream" because it implies something heavier, to me). I think I have read somewhere that the dreamer generally doesn't get hurt in her own dreams. Or, killed, rather. What troubles me so is witnessing others and their slaughter in my dreams. This has been happening to me more regularly as I get older, and whether they are spurred by stress, or anxiety of another variety remains irrelevant to the fact that it keeps happening. This morning I woke with such a fear paralyzing my mind that I almost couldn't get out of bed. In the dream I was in a house, some house someplace I've never seen. There were young men, my age, wielding guns, shooting them wildly, killing others in the house. The men were in torn fatigues but they were not military (the men were not). They were simply on a rampage. There were women in the house. There were other men, as well, many of them running, one woman even screaming so shrill that that noise in and of itself should have shaken me from sleep. The first portion of the dream I was in the open, watching it all happen, watching as bodies were shoved into space by barreling bullets, collapsing into meaningless piles of body. Someone ran directly across my path and I was able to duck into a closet. In this closet was a mirror that reflected exactly me. I tried to contort my body so that the gunmen, if peering into the closet, could not see me reflected. So there I hid, my limbs bent in painful shape to avoid the mirror's surface. Something happened and I thought to (but did not) crawl through ductwork. More gunfire, more screaming, whereat I awoke. Poor Craig must think I'm mentally unequipped to function some mornings, or he doesn't notice, but after dreams such as this one even being in his strong arm makes me frightened. In fact, he was possibly too foggy this morning to realize, but I was trying to force him out of bed, not because the alarm had been punched twice already, but because I was afraid.*So, things are about to change drastically for us. I cannot say more at this juncture but I definitely anticipate good things to come. It seems like the forces of nature armed with my alright-Karma watch out for me, and instigate the slightest (or most dramatic) alterations just in time, just when I need them, just when I think I've reached a stopping point. Life thrusting forward is what continues to inspire me, and all the changes life (and nature, and decent Karma) present me.*Now if only I could surpass the 10K word count in that lousy project of mine...!