Nightmare

It’s 2:50 AM and I’m struck awake by a nightmare.

Yes, it was a nightmare. I don’t have nightmares. I just have uneasy, disturbing, realistic dreams, as I previously pointed out in another blogpost. But this, was a outright nightmare. And since when did I start dreaming, unrealistically, horrifically vivid dreams, with all it’s ghastly imagery imprinted in my mind, in the middle of the night.? Usually by this time, I am not even asleep for fuck’s sake. If I slept today ‘early’, at 12:00 midnight, to catch a great early morning full of positivity, I’m struck awake by a nightmare, whose weird imagery, in both its vividness and meaning to me, hasn’t been matched by any dream in a long long time, and despite feeling unbearably dark, claustrophobic, with my mind racing from one image towards another, still torturing itself, I’m seized by a sudden compulsion to write all this down, or else I won’t be able to sleep. Awesome.

My sleep is fucked anyway.

The nightmare didn’t start so nightmarishly at all, initially being just another uneasy dream. But it was not realistic, and that gave the dream boundless imagination, which was soon turned on me in most unexpected ways. It was some kind of stormy night, which happened to have occurred in an age of great unrest. I’m at my home, everything is very dark and dingy inside, so we have gone on our roofs. From the outside, in the view from the roofs, the houses take on a crooked, tall shape, shaping themselves into ugly, stuffy and convoluted dungeons. Everybody is crowded on the roofs of their wicked dungeons, which seem to be somehow very small. A flood has come, so all houses are submerged, all belongings gone in the water, submerged, and infested with worst kinds of sea-insects and moss. A storm is coming in the sky, from a distance. I can see it very clearly, it’s thunder loud and clear amidst the chaotic din all around me, and I know I can do nothing to stop it, and just watch it come towards us helplessly.

Suddenly, everything disappears, I’m sitting on my roof, with my father, against the most beautiful night sky I have ever seen. It is a very calm, eeriely calm night. The silence is other-worldly. The heavens have never been so clear. I can see Milky Way! I can see Milky Way clearly. The silence, the other-worldly silence is compounded by the sheer magnificence of the sight I am beholding which emits a cosmic music of its own, which sounds like siren’s wailings to me. What they are saying means something terrible, something very terrible, but I’m enthralled by the sound, transfixed, wobbly-kneed. I am looking at the stars, the abnormally big Moon, and they take a life of their own, no longer the real stars and the real Moon, but the animated ones, fluoroscent stars, even bigger Moon with strange patterns on its surface. “Do you see the real beauty, son? Do you see the real beauty in front of you?,” my father says to me in a very strange voice, a voice with a subtle hint of mockery, devilish provocation, premonition, and not-so-subtle hint of horrified dead tone, with his eyes transfixed on the skies. The stars take on the shape of a large ship, which starts sailing on. It was prophecied long back, that the time of the Aquarian will come, for a year or so, you’ll do wonders in your work. You’ll do everything that’ll come your way, you’ll accomplish anything. From now on, for that time, you work will be illustrious and great. That time has come. “Will you be able to remember it?”, he says to me, in that strange voice, looking me in the eyes. And I am seized by paranoid fear, deep seated fear. The fear that I won’t be able to remember it all. The beauty, and something important, with terrible foreboding meaning in it, is slipping fast from my mind. I am seized by paranoia. I need to write it down, but I can’t. I am struck by fear and paranoia.

Another rabble somewhere in contortions of space and time. I am watching a set. Probably, a movie set, set amidst rabble, in the heart of a great slum. As the renowned celebrity star reaches the window on one of the walls, a hand from outside breaks into the window, smashing through the glass, plucks out the right eye of the star, and retreats. Eyeball gone. As the blood gushes through the hollow socket, the star, worked up but NOT panicking, abuses in the calmest manner possible, abuses and threatens the eyeball thief to return the eyeball, while covering the hollow socket with his hand, blood rushing through the gap between his fingers. Eyeball thief is gone, of course, and so is the eyeball. As it happens in such cases, in my dreams, something bad or horrifying, when it’s happening, happens in two stages. I’m observing it happen to somebody else, and then at one point, the person becomes me. Holding my hollow socket, I say to my co-star/assistant/whatever, “I need to go to the hospital, maybe they’ll put back the eyeball. Will they?” “It’s impossible, sir. The eyeball is gone”. And I look, with the one eye left, at the broken window from which that hand had come.

Lastly, it’s emptiness. Complete darkness. And suddenly, the lights are turned on. White lights. And I realize I am not myself. I am not a human being anymore. I have turned into a human-sized bat-like creature. An ugly, winged, demonic, creature. As I see myself, in some sort of mirror, the same claustrophobic feeling returns back. My backbone, whose top arch has been paining for a few days, contorts in excruciating pain, the top creating a hunchback, and I’m flapping about in my unwieldy bat-wings, writhing in extreme pain. I’m stuck, in that body, with claustrophobia, fear, paranoia, horror, everything striking me with full force all at once. “Gregor Samsza” “Gregor Samsza” “Gregor Samsza” “Gregor Samsza”. The chants become louder and louder, filling everything. “Gregor Samsza” “Gregor Samsza” “Gregor Samsza”

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The heart is heavy

The heart is heavy. 

The book is finished. Impressions are absorbed. Perspective has widened. Lessons are learnt for the thousandth time. 

The world is meaningless. Happiness and sadness, both of them mean nothing. Go, find your own way. Make your own beautiful pattern, unique and beautiful. Live, love, be free, be happy. 

Yet, the heart remains heavy…

September Rains

It is raining heavily. Rains look strangely out of place in the mid of September here. It’s Saturday afternoon, but it doesn’t look like that. We woke up late, and the morning kind of stretched out into the afternoon inconspicuously.

Been reading Of Human Bondage with lots of coffee. It sounds so good, only if it weren’t for a single undercurrent of thought constantly picking away at your mind. Got a call from Ashank, an old friend, after a long time. Picked up the few trails of a life, which is fast withering away in the Year of the Change.

The rain is coming from all sides. It enters the room through the door, driven by the winds, wetting the blanket. Yet, on the opposite wall from the door, it enters the room by the window, wetting the table, stray notes i had picked out from my damp bag and left there to get dried. Devious rains…but I don’t get irritated, I like the way it’s imposing itself on us. And I know I’ll hate it in the night when the insects will crawling in hordes for our lives and our skin.

I am reminded of a book I read, long back into childhood, about the childhood years of Rabindranath Tagore. He describes the old alleyways, damp nooks, dark rooms, of the big house of his childhood, and all the things his boundless imagination made out of it. I close the door, the room is damp and ill-lit, the fan is off, but i don’t switch it on, as it’d disrupt the old, romantic tenor of the room and of my memories.

Out of place, out of time. Somewhere else….in my thoughts.

Amen

Blankness, for those who’ve seen too much in this world
Slavery, for those who were given too much freedom
Guilt, for those who thought they were too happy
Self-doubt, for those who achieved everything
Amen

Absolute is the mercy of God
To surrender, to lose oneself in the euphoria
To think, to fight, to survive, to define
Existence, swimming against millenia

God, give me strength to surrender
Shut these eyes, they’ve been open for too long
Close these ears, they listen too much
Sew this mouth, the tool of blasphemy

I just want to sleep
The beautiful sleep of nothingness
Amen.