while we gently dream 



The police cars keep wailing their way down the Kentish Town Road, I drift in and out of an uneasy sleep, full of images that are about to become portals onto dreams but I don't want to let myself get swept into them; there is the barn with the bales of hay shining in the sun, the green pastures in the distance but I know it is a trap and the Horror lurks behind in the barn. I turn around and it takes all my strength not to drift in the dream which I still can see unfolding as I force myself to wake up to my bedroom window, the reflections of the spinning blue lights from the police cars still glinting against the glass.

But I'm tired. I slowly slide downstream into another window of dream. I can see the moon coming out from behind the mountain in the distance, big and orange. There are huge forest fires on the side of the mountains, one can hear the sirens of the fire engines as they go across the city in the distance, heard but unseen. As i start to walk the earth begins to shake violently and rumbles. Must get out, must get out.

As I lay half awake, I wonder about my friends' words. She said I was very weak and fragile and at the same time very strong, stronger than anyone she'd ever encountered. And I immediately recognised myself in that. I can see what she meant

I also reflect, as I slide down into another dream scene, about the nature of our relation with the world, permeated and modulated by layers of perception and interpretation. Seen from a certain point of view, we don't see anything that is outside ourselves,. I am not seeing the frame of my window, I'm seeing what my brain knows is that, interpreted from what light hit my eyes' retinas... we cannot possibly know of the outside world in a truly objective way which is not modulated by the limitations of our perception of it, the fact that all we have of the outside world is the representations our minds make of what we make of stimuli outside ourselves... of what we 'see' of what there is out there

except i'm not seeing it, i'm dreaming it and i know i must make myself awake as I can sense that the Lurking Horror is hiding in one of these quaint little houses with front gardens with flowers, a couple of shiny cars from the early fifties parked in front of them, a cat sitting on a fence grooming itself and looking at me with utter indiference -can it be the cat? Can it be the cat? there is something, must wake up ....  

Posted: Mon - May 17, 2004 at 06:44 PM          

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