M1D32012 – High powered tequila and a wheelchair

The surge of excitement from inside the bar swelled my eyes with curiosity as my friends and I make our way to find a seat. The only open table was center of the lounge area and to the right of the bar with the dance floor in full unblocked view. The only trouble was that there were only four chairs and yet five of us. The table to the left of us had four women one of which was in a wheelchair, as they rambled over martinis and wine one of the ladies with me asked the group if we could have their vacant seat. Unexpectedly the woman in the wheelchair became very rude and refused to give up the chair stating she was using it, and in respect my friend continued her search for a seat. Along the wall was a cute young hipster couple who had an empty seat yet when asked they advised that they were waiting on someone to arrive. Returning to our table she decides to ask the group of ladies once again if she may use their empty seat. Her persistence infuriated the woman in the wheelchair and they begin to argue loudly, attracting the attention of many others bar patrons. After several colorful words and a miss-aimed martini was thrown my friend snatches the empty chair from the now stunned and agitated group of ladies and quietly joins us at our table. Appalled by the reaction of the lady in the wheelchair and a bit ashamed of her own actions my friend orders a round of shots for all of us and a round for the table of catty ladies. A bit on high alert after her request I kept a sharp eye on the adjacent table anticipating a shower of high-powered tequila to come flying our way but surprisingly the group of ladies were quite pleased with our offering of truce.
Rather tipsy yet coherent everyone enjoys a few more drinks before exiting the bar.

Stepping outside to an alive street side with night owls fluttering from one water hole to another crashing into each other as they zigzag along the sidewalk. With each collision there was a snap shot effect as if they had frozen in place for a split second just to increase my delight of their drunken foolishness. With no parting words my friends take separate paths as I continue down the roadside. Now alone, I struggle to focus and regain my composure as a public transit bus backs up and collides with a parked tour bus full of children. Their shrill screams bring my awareness to full attention as I run to their aid. Rushing the children off the bus it is clear that all are safe just shaken up and scared. As the police arrive the bus driver is taken into custody and the parents of the children rally around me, barking and snapping their demands for answers but I remain composed despite their aggressive persistence. I take a breath and hand out what appears to be business cards, surprised by my own actions I try to read one of the cards but like in many dreams the words are blurry no matter how close they are to my face. One of the parents asked what my hours are as they would like to bring their child in for a therapy session that day to assure they got the help they need after such a traumatic event. It is clear to me at that point that I was either a psychologist or therapist of some form. Excited about this discovery I suggest they bring the child in immediately and they could follow me to the office. However as I turned to walk to my so-called office I realize that I don’t know where it was or how to provide professional services to their child. I felt myself grin in waking life as I proceeded to walk down the street despite my worries. At that point the entire group of parents and children were following behind like a benefit parade for sheltered children and their high dollar low self-esteem mothers and disconnected fathers I tried to direct my attention to the endless street ways that surrounded, hoping for something to strike a memory or provide a hint of direction.
Many of the fathers had cellphones in hand completely disconnected to the event in which took place; I could have easily guided them off a cliff like sheep’s to the slaughter they followed blindly to an unknown destiny, disillusioned by the ideals of a societal caged man. The mothers clung to their children, inspecting them from head to toe as they walked stumbling through an endless list of “does this hurt” never giving the children a real chance to answer if anything really did. It was quite a show we put on but the streets and buildings were empty, and the amusement of this haphazard cluster of lives was solely for me to behold but I was the one leading this group of character clichés so what does that mean, how does that reflect on me?….then I woke up.

Guise Of A Common Mans Treasure

The room erupted in a grand uproar as the belly of this fixed four-sided figure crumbled from beneath, unable to catch my footing I leaped into the cyclone of nothingness expecting to spiral into a dark endless fate. With no light to guide my mind; down is now up and I’m unsure which way I’m going. A force of energy jerks me from side to side, in fear of what suppressed evil has grabbed a hold of this moment, my body goes limp to reserve the strength needed to wield my battle sword once again (A war that can only be won in the spirit)….A back flash of the great collision rolls upon me. A life conflicted; I prepare for battle… the persistence of The Great Collision of 1692 continues

In dream I am champion and my faith is a weapon, my spirit possess the strength of thousands as I ride the storm wall before the downfall of peace amongst two sides awaiting the darkness of a past life to fall in from all corners allured by the gleam of my battle sword (their sickness feeds on the light of my happiness) but there will be no shadows cast upon this moment, my light shall rise! With faith I’ll destroy them all, reminisce of shame, sorrow and disheartenment will be wiped from my core. Clearing the path for his grace to rein, I refuse to continue to carry the weight of a charlatan’s pelt. A guise of a common mans treasure, a misperception of worth will not swathe my spirit again.

M1D92012 – The Confinements of Guilt

The lack of light in this space is damaging. The faces that linger in the corners of this caliginous box are blurred, bearing the same expression, bodies meek and appear poorly drawn. What is this strange dimension I’ve found myself deep in the middle of? A small rectangle window next to a steel door catches my eye but I’m hesitant to take a step as filth and stains of an unknown source cover the ground. Flaunting a retched stench it appears to be alive preying on the bare feet of these miserable beings. Glazed over enlarged eyes snap to attention as I make my way to the window, I dare not catch a glimpse of their glooming stares in fear of what powers they might posses. With each grazing step I could feel the infection of the ground below creep into my veins. At first my limbs tingled as if they were asleep and then they went completely stiff, internally departing from my being. In grave pain and unable to move I remain fixed to the world unraveling outside this misery box. The sky was beautiful and clear, the lands went as far as the eye could see, and the serenity of the landscape outside these sordid walls was bewitching. Like a wild animal caught off guard and caged, I lashed out for my freedom as my limbs found their way back to my body. What unspeakable things have these people done to be condemned to such torture…what have I done? Finally my words reached my lips and spoke out in a vengeful roar “What have we done to deserve this!” “What dwells on the other side of this door for I only see glory in its purist…yet no one speaks? I small child walks to my side and grabs my hand, looking down I find that this child is my own. Weeping within my waking life I cried out in dream that this vision before me is not true but the child, my child remained alongside me in this horrid spell of despair. I quickly lifted him off the ground, frantically wiping his feet, muttering to myself and praying that he not be infected by the diseased earth that plagues this rigid confinement of shame and sadness. Racing to the door a woman’s voice from the other side belts out in authority “You are not to leave, step back from the door!” Frozen in my tracks gripping my son tight, I tensely stare at the door awaiting some form of she-devil to breach the threshold but the door remains sealed and the air becomes very still. Standing at arm’s reach of the door, thinking aloud I question “who truly is the oppressor, we are many and she is one. There is no lock upon this door except the guilt of some unknown deed. I do not except this fate and I refuse to drag my child through my past battles or will he be damaged by the shards of another’s, he deserves glory!” Grip tight around his delicate body and with an intense rush of adrenaline we burst through the door and into an outpouring of life, blanketed in glory.