Friday, July 29, 2005

5:22 AM | Nightmare

I have this tendency to shrug away instances of superstition as flaw of character, although in my quiet moments I believe there is a spiritual dimension to this world, a supernatural ether that surrounds us and affects us, although we do not have the eyes to see it. Last night, I was haunted by nightmares again. My bed, if you must know, has a pull-out that has to be manipulated from one side, and the room -- blank wall to one side and a bookshelf wall to the other side perpendicular to the former -- is arranged in such a way that the bed's headboard must face the free space of the room's center. So we always sleep with our feet facing the walls. We have always slept this way, except on rare occasions when we feel bored and decide to shift positions, with our feet now against the headboard, and our heads near the walls. The walls are decorated with a flood of books on the shelves, some paintings and framed photographs, and what-not. Last night, I was haunted by nightmares again. It was a strange dream -- hazy now in my recollection -- of a knife-wielding psychopath terrorizing a family inside a broken-down house. The crucial moment comes when we, in the dream, gingerly open the door, to reveal the face of the mad killer. The killer has my father's face. My father has been dead eight years. That was when I woke up, trembling -- and then a very strong epiphany came to me, unusual for a brain still half asleep. But the realization had an urgency clear as daylight. I nudged M. awake, and I asked him, "Remember when we were sleeping this way before, and you were in this spot where I am sleeping now? You had a bad dream of your teeth falling away." He nodded. Another time, too, when I was in the same position on the bed, I had dreams of demons chasing me. All my nightmares, it struck me, occurred when I was sleeping this way, on this spot. And yet, for all other sleeping positions, I usually have the most inane of dreams -- nothing to be scared about, or to wake with a start from, sweating, and with heart beating fast. Why must we always dream bad dreams once asleep in this same position, on the same spot?

That was when we decided to look up.

Hanging from the wall, right above my head, there was the small dreamcatcher Beth gave me a long time ago. When I took it off its peg, it was dusty and had a musty smell. In my hands, it felt a bit damped, in the wet way mildew attacks. It felt evil. I realized this dreamcatcher was not catching my dreams at all; I felt it was tormenting me and M. instead with visions of gruesome things. Before we went back to sleep, I hurriedly threw it away. I slept off the rest of the early morning with the comfort of dreaming nothing.

Good morning, blog!

Labels: life, strange things

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