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Saturday, April 26, 2014

A Dream Unwanted. By John von Daler

                      Once upon a time there was a Little #Dream that nobody wanted. Not that it had any special faults, it was mostly very innocent, but the story that it told involved people who hardly knew each other doing things people usually do when they know each other extremely well.

The Little Dream of course loved its own story, but the dreamer it worked for was not happy. He tried to forget the Little Dream. He could not get over the way it had fashioned new and strange patterns in his life without his asking.
                So the Little Dream more or less got forced out of the dreamer's #subconscious. The Conscience had steered the purge. It had pushed the dream into the conscious mind of the dreamer and had gotten it written down in a little book of forgotten fantasies. Now the Little Dream felt alone and untold and more or less useless.
                It sat for days and days wondering what to do. In all that time no one took notice of it. It might as well have been a piece of lint in the pocket of God. The Little Dream tried again and again to get back into the dreamer's subconscious, but every possible opening was closed, even when the dreamer was drunk. But then the Little Dream found a way out.
                I can never get back in as a Little Dream, it thought, but why not as something else? Why not in disguise!
                It knew about Nightmares from its time on the dreamboat. They were a weird and unruly lot, always out of line, always in trouble. But still the Little Dream had always found them attractive in an odd way. Why not become one of them? it thought. Why not become a Nightmare! Nobody wants me as I am, anyway!
                So the Little Dream made its way through the corridors of the mind down to the subconscious' seaport and onto the dreamboat. Below deck in the rumination room it found the Nightmares sitting by the red-hot engine waiting to be fired off. The Little Dream took a seat beside an old Runner of the kind found in stock Nightmares: you know, the Runners who never catch up with the things they desire and never quite escape the things they fear. This Runner was out of breath.
                "How do I become a Nightmare, you old sprinter? I'm tired of being just a silly, little story everyone kicks aside. Tell me the secret of becoming really mean, ornery and awesome!
                If you ever have spoken to a drunken alchoholic at four in the morning in a deserted bar, you know the same combination of desperate separation and eager complicity that can divide that person into two uneasy halves. They want you to participate, but at the same time to keep your distance.
                The old Runner spoke just a few words. He only had a little bit of breath left. He rose up as if to leave, put his hands on his hips, his chest heaving, the sweat running from his hair and forehead. His T-shirt read Run for your life! through the sweat.
                "Ah, yes," he responded. "Becoming a Nightmare?" The Runner stared intensely at the Little Dream. "You must embrace your outward adult and renounce your inner child." This he said with the pained and alluring expression of a lemming about to jump. "Then you will become one of us."
                At this moment he sprang away and up a rope ladder to the deck and disappeared into the night. The sound of his fearful feet pounding the cobblestones could be heard for minutes afterwards.
                The Little Dream sat still on the bench of Nightmares and thought about the tiny story it no longer could tell. Some instinctive reaction made it balk at becoming a Nightmare. Nice dreams just do not do that.
                It was at that moment that the Little Dream realized that its story was as barely innocent as the rump of a newborn babe. Without hesitating, it gave up the idea of becoming a Nightmare and found its way back to the light and to the bustling hall of dreams. It walked right through the door to the subconscious without the slightest difficulty. Amidst the confusion of the stories getting ready to be told, it lay down to rest and to wait for a new beginning.

My book
is not a dream.
It is real, live
Buy it and read it.



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