Excerpt from Blueschild Baby, reflections on a recurring dream I had as a child.

Memories are a funny thing. Looking back through the years I notice one very strange thing when it comes to them, and that’s the fact that quite often my dreams leave lasting images and imprints that are stronger than conscious and waking moment events do. At times when a random face or action that I took part in finds its way into my head I don’t recall right away if it were a dream or an event. For me the lines become blurred beyond distinction and it has been that way from an early age on through the present. As clear as I recall any other memory there was one recurring dream I had around the same time as the aforementioned took place, so again I was around six or seven. I had this dream fairly often and any time I reached out for answers regarding the oddness of the imagery and meaning I got nothing but blank faces and silence from the adults around me. I’m sure now that they were just puzzled as all hell as to why and how a little kid would be conjuring up that certain kind of dream in the first place so an interpretation was far past the scope of what they assumed I would understand.

The entire dream takes place from my point of view, so I don’t actually see myself. I mention this because in some dreams I do see myself, sort of like hovering above, looking down at what I’m doing. It begins with me looking out on to a huge church or cathedral from the center pulpit where I am seated in a beautiful, ornate Victorian chair made of wood and baroque style upholstered red velvet that moves in waves while still being tightly bound to the wood at the seat and top parts of the arms. To my right there stood my entire family in rows, just like you would see at a wedding. To my left there were the same amount of people but I didn’t recognize any of them, although in that dream I knew them all intimately and just as well as I knew each and every one of my family members. It was that instant recognition that takes place in your head when you suddenly see someone you know real well but haven’t seen in a long time. In fact it was just like that. It seemed as if I hadn’t been with these people for a while and they were melancholy about it, wearing their sadness on their faces quite plainly.

All the while throughout the dream there was an undercurrent of this gradual elevation of tension and time. Everything was slowly starting to speed up and I could feel, each and every time I had this dream, my little chest heave with wicked excitement as the spectral blight was running its course again and again. Both groups of people stood there motionless, waiting for something to happen. When the dream came the first time I had no idea what to expect but as it became a frequent occurrence I began to expect the flow of events right with my anxious audiences. There were two beautifully ornate doors off in the distant center and at some point they opened up, seemingly on their own almost like one of those obvious ghostly guided movements in a rate b horror film. From the light beyond the opened space outside of this church appeared two children. There was a boy and girl and they looked as if they were twins. Both had porcelain white skin, flawless and glowing, cherub-like curls of blond hair and eyes as wide as those tearing children in those kitsch paintings executed on black velvet I used to see in the seventies. The two of them seemed to be holding something, balancing it ever so carefully between them both. As they got closer to me I could finally at certain point make out that what they had in their tiny hands was a platter, almost like a serving tray one would use only on special occasions. The tray held on it a baby lamb, propped up on its side and clearly wounded. The poor creature seemed like it was in pain and when the two children finally got right up to me they placed the creature at my feet. This beautiful lamb had a broken leg and seemed as if it were slipping into death because of it. Not at any time were any words spoken either by me, the audience or the child messengers but I knew the moment the animal was laid down that they were all to witness a miracle. I was to heal the beast and this was what it was all hinged on, as if everything depended on the healing, all life, all hope. Like some great ancient ruler I held within my hands the very gift of life or death and at the instant I recognized this I began to swell with pride. Knowing certain what all were breathlessly awaiting I exploded with lustful fury and I rose and came down on the animal with a fist so destructive and I tore the other leg from its socket, and with a sharp and deafening snap I broke for certain the bones within. Then one by one I did the same to the remaining two. The helpless creature cried out in pain and I echoed the screams with maniacal laughter. The entire audience rose like a perfectly conducted crescendo of horror and all began to wail, cry, fall to their knees, begging and simply collapsing. The speed got faster and faster and I then turned from my confidence to something of a seizure of cardiac arrest and I too then broke down and crumbled upon the now dead lamb and looked up at everyone who was now surrounding me. All was twirling round and round and spiraling out of control and it was always at this point that I would break into consciousness and scream with a gasp of air that must have been held in apnea for quite some time before hand. Needless to say, every night I would have this particular dream things were not so easy in my household. I would wake whoever happened to there that night, shaking them from peaceful bliss and tossing them into what was only the introduction to the hailstorm that was becoming, bit by bit, my life.

 

 

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