I realized this morning that you can't escape from a pursuer in a dream. I was dreaming that a man was chasing me through a house. This house was a labyrinth of halls and stairways and rooms and doors. I made it into a small room and locked the door behind me. My pursuer was banging on the door to get in. I turned to survey the room, when I noticed another smaller door on the adjacent wall. A momentary idea to use it to escape was undone when I heard the man stop banging on the door to run to the other door, the door he couldn't have known about.
That was when I realized in my waking state why I could always stay a step ahead of my pursuer but never really escape. The pursuer knew about the other door almost as soon as I knew about it. And I knew his intentions as soon as he went for the other door. Because I and my pursuer were both part of my subconscious, part of me. We were two parts of the same person. One couldn't learn something without the other learning it a second later.
What does this mean? That I am both predator and prey? That I prey on myself, and simultaneously fear myself?
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
The pain that lingers the longest when you love someone deeply but she doesn't love you in return isn't the loneliness or sense of loss you experience when you think about her; it's the certainty that she will never understand the depth of your affection, that you will never be able to show her how much you love her. That love has nowhere to go, no release, so it just stays inside, hurts like hell, and she'll never know and, worse, never care.