Dream Lucidly

Dreams are metaphors they say.
So why is it that I keep seeing you?
What are you a metaphor for?

In my dreams , I came to you, as always.

(I could not help noticing that even in reality It was I who came to
you , but you never came to me.The inequity of this equation always
bothered me...bothered me so much that I wanted to end everything
between us)

Ok no more hiding behind abstractions...I don't need the safety net of
ambiguities that I so always so carefully weave.

I came with a broken tv set to ask you to help me.(Don't ask me why
and what model)

Was the tv the real problem?

No I think I just came to see you.

Can you remember all those books I gave you with a promise that you'll
one day return them back to me?
I think you still have a few left with you.
I realized lately that it was a trick my unconscious employed to keep
in touch with people that meant something to me.
Let me explain...
I value all my books dearly,so I never lend my
books under normal circumstances.
But when I do lend a book, I extract an iron clad promise that the
book will be returned in good condition.

I realize that in all the cases the book was not important.

No , to the conscious mind , the book was important, and it was a
driving force to the real reason...
To the unconscious ,seeing the person again,whom I deeemed worthy of
lending my books (I make it sound like the book was literally
precious, but that is not the case).

The book solely existed as a reason...for us to meet in near future.
It gave you a reason because you knew how much I loved books and if
you did not return them it woul break my heart.(it really would break
my heart)

It was also a legitimate pretext...if you ever had second thoughts
about seeing me again, you could say 'I'm just gonna meet him to
return his books.Nothing more.Nothing less'

Ah , but pretext or no pretext, we met !

That's what my unconscious mind wanted.

Back in my dream, I climbed the stairs , and came to your house.

We sat next to the window, talking.
Your sister came and went.
She often feels that she ought to protect you from the likes of me.And
that I'm not to be so easily trusted.
She thinks you trust people too easily and that is one of your biggest
weaknesses.
She is wrong.

She didn't like it that I ignored her over you.To tell you the truth I
feel guilty sometimes that I don't pay her the same quality of
attention.

It was late night, and she finally left us alone, bored of being ignored

And we sat there,close to each other, and we talked.
What did we talk about? That too for such a long time?- I can never
remember, but I do remember us laughing and smiling all the time.
All the time.
Which is why I was convinced this was not a dream.

Suddenly I realised that we were no longer at your house.The
wooden bench that we sat upon, facing each other, our legs touching,
our hands casually brushing, was transported to outdoors.It was a dark
night,the sky dark purple and cloudy.We were in a well lit garden,
perhaps a park, still sitting on that wooden bench.
The wooden bench made more sense in the park than in your house.

It was late and I was concerned...Don't you have college tomorrow?

No, you said, 'I don't have the time'

I pondered over that cryptic answer for a while...but was startled by
a bullock cart that went past.The cart carried a white horse,injured
and bleeding,barely standing.It had a deep gash at its legs.

I turned back to you and you asked me 'I've become fat,haven't I?'

I focused my eyes on you, and realised that it was true.Your cheeks
had swollen and become red,like apples.You resembled your cousin when
she was pregnant.

Were you...?
was that the reason you had no time...?

I said,'I cannot lie, a little bit chubby maybe...'

I always liked your cheeks...they always looked so luscious,I could
just bite them..

(ok this is the part of the dream that goes really weird)

I said,'I cannot lie, a little bit chubby maybe...'

As I said that I saw a white cow, again bloodied and walking in a daze.

We went further up the park where I saw a white kangaroo (maybe it was
caucasian, or maybe it has Michael Jackson's disease)
As it was climbing a hillock, it went to close to a porcupine lying
nearby.The porcupine shot a single quill to the leg of the kangaroo.

Stung by this attack,
the kangaroo hopped a few feet and fell down writhing,
with a bleeding leg and the quill stuck to it.

A cat, which looked like Mala, who was nearby , came stealthily
towards the writhing kangaroo and pulled out the quill, ran away to a
safe distance, and began eating it.

This is where I woke up.

I'm learning to be a lucid dreamer(which I sometimes can do , and
sometimes cannot), and it was suggested to keep a dream journal.

Dreams are metaphors,
they say,
for life.
But I'm afraid that one day
I will discover that
life is a metaphor for
something else.

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