I dreamt that my mother had died.
The dream, as far as I can remember, began again as I got
off of a train, although in fact an d exquisitely and Arabesquely
ornate storyline stretched out prior to
this.
What little I can recall of my adventures by train will
probably become available to me again when I have spent more time riding the
buses and the Sprinter.
All that sticks out in memory is a supermarket interior
whose deceptive appearance of tranquility in making life had been
replaced by the demeanour of the more warlike markets I had encountered in
lower-income communities such as Freddie’s neighbourhood and the
supermarket in Carlsbad. Some sort of
battle I know to have broken out in one of these markets, ifnot in last night’s
dream then in an earlier one.
The thoroughly optimistic mind tends to draw
attention to the beautiful and convenient and to leave the ugly for the
Unconscious.
The first part of Mother’s episode began with my use of my
old debit card.I cal it ‘old’
now because its funds have been exhausted. The atmosphere of the environment
was neither the exciting and unbridled sincerity of the Escondido Transit
Station in Actual Life, nor the splendor of a
balanced mind. There was something eerie and Kafkaesque about how bright
and soaplike the Sun was, as though I were being prepared for a
disturbing Anime that began on a morning that feigned serenity only to under
scorethefact that suffering, tragedy, and terror could befall even
on the brightest days.
The remainder of the dream was set within a
house of shack-like quality but mansion proportion. This house
was shared by my family, yet it felt as though we were merely staying
there as though it had been leased to us. The only detail prior to the
events pertaining to my mother’s death that I could remember as
vividly was standing before a machine that mist have been taken directly
from the ticket machine at the Escondido Station. It must have
been situated on acement partition between two roads, on the other side of which (to my left)
shopfronts over-looked, although of this I am uncertain.
We were aware that mother was going to die. In
fact,prior to our withdrawal into the house wherein the death would take
place, we got wind of it whilst running errands desperately on the
streets.
As mother paced about,most akin
to Kitara as opposed to anyone else, serene and
uninvolved, I struggled most with my guilt. Trying
to enjoy her last moments in my Life, I could not assuage my
phobia of the Oedipus complex, a suggestion that was byfar more
numbingly depersonalizing than liberating.
Mother died and I was numb to the
passing, as though a bomb had gone off miles away and we knew that it would
but me could see neither it nor the countdown. The dream
continued afterwards.There was no one to console and little pressure to do
anything.Life went on, but we did not know in which direction it
was heading or what our place in it was.
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