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My Dream/ Personal Myth.

(“You” is an old best friend of mine, All of the self pronouns represent me, the dreamer.) I chose to write it out in second person, because it was a more cathartic experience for me. I never had the chance to express any of these things to “you”.
You and I are walking down a winding path on a beautiful day. It looks kind of like the path in the park near home, but it's not. It's probably downtown or maybe even in New York.... (maybe, the location of this dream, symbolizes the heart of society?)
Flowers are growing around us on the ground as we pass by. We are so happy. We stop for a moment while you gaze up into the sunshine, letting it wash over your face. Your hair grows instantly (almost like the Mexican pelo candy, or play-dough salon, only more realistic)-it gets much longer than it ever was. You giggle like a child as you shake your head- letting your hair fly everywhere, brushing against your face. I react to this by jumping, and clapping.
A gnarled,wrinkled, root-like, hand grows from the ground right by our feet. It looks like a weak plant. Like it would rip, not stretch if anything were to strain it. We don't notice it at all. We are rejoicing the return of your long, shiny, beautiful hair. We gaze into the sky together. I point out a cloud that looks exactly like a trolly, and we appreciate it for a moment.
Slowly, the hand wraps its fingers around your ankle. The fabric of your pants is thick, and the hand touches you very lightly, so you still don't notice. Suddenly it yanks you down, your foot breaks through the cement path, exposing an inferno beneath you. I hold my foot out over the flames for you to grab, and I reach up toward the trolly we saw in the sky. Instantaneously, it meets my hand.
Only bars separate each window. There is no glass. There is also a narrow platform that goes around the perimeter of the trolly. It's half the size of a normal stair. I grab two of the window bars, and place my free foot on the platform. The passenger at this window, wraps his hands around mine, he is a black man. He wears a long khaki coat with several pockets, a black leather golf cap, and a pair of black sunglasses- the kind that blind people usually wear in movies. I use my weight, and his leverage to try and free you from the hand. The trolly goes into high gear as we play tug of war- you being the rope. (My ankle is hurting really bad, and my foot is scorched- it's very realistic.) You, and my foot are no longer being burned by the inferno. We have moved up slightly, but the demon hand still has a firm grasp around your ankle.
You begin to lose your grip on my ankle. I attempt to reach for you with one of my hands, but the man who is holding them will not let either of them go. I scream, insisting that he release one of my hands, but he does not outwardly respond at all. He maintains a serene facial expression. His hold stays fixed around my hands- Though he is not squeezing or hurting me. It doesn’t even hurt when I tug.
The other passengers have all moved to our side of the trolly. Two more of them grab onto my arms, ignoring my protests. As I am grappling with these people, your fingers slip all the way off of my ankle, then my foot, then they slide off the tip of my toe. There is a lot of screaming and commotion coming from you and I- but none of the passengers on the trolly are angry, or disturbed at all. They care, but they're not freaking out. I am hysterical as the three passengers that were holding me, hoist me into the trolly. I look out the window- down at the gaping hole in the path with the inferno bleeding through it-consuming all beauty around it. It has burned many of the flowers that grew around us during our walk.
The Trolly’s passengers all surround me. One gently comforts me by rubbing my back. The man who initially grabbed my hands explains that you could've boarded the trolly as well- but you didn't want to. I feel like this is ludicrous. Why wouldn't you have wanted to be saved? You wanted to get sucked into the inferno? It doesn't make sense to me. I become angry, but the enchantment of the trolly causes me to be incapable of expressing this in a loud, or rude manner- it comes out as an inquisition. Each passenger takes a turn trying to explain your situation to me, but I am unable to understand it for the duration of the dream.
When I wake up, my foot actually burns for a week.
It is only NOW that I understand. I didn't even realize how much this dream entails until now. At first, I thought that I still could have helped you. I thought it was my negligence, or lack of doing something I could have done, that caused you to be sucked into the inferno. I constantly assumed the blame for your circumstance because of this piece of enlightenment I was granted.
I felt that because I had this dream, I could have been aware of the weak plant as it grew next to your ankle- plucked it from the ground prior to it acquiring strength, or power; While it was still a thin twig. Before it was ready to grab you. I also wonder how strong it already was in its earlier stages- if it would have consumed me as I bent to pluck it. Should I have instead moved you from the area where the gnarled hand grew? Which brings me to wonder- If it grew to grab you? If so, would the demon hand have simply grown wherever you stood? Is the solution, to always keep moving? Never stop-even to rejoice for the things we feel are important? I know that I don't have the power to always keep you moving- metaphorically, or in any sense. Does it signify that evil manifests in time of celebration?
I ignored the explanations of all the passengers on the trolly. They painstakingly attempted to inform me of what I finally understand; You could have boarded the trolly with me. You really did choose to abstain from your rescue. The man who refused to let go of my arms was Jesus (The driver was God- A stocky black man with mirrored sun glasses.) It wasn't that He didn't care about you- or that he wouldn’t come to your aid; But you have to reach for him yourself. You have to want more for yourself than to sink into that hole. I can pray for you, but it’s still up to you to desire a rescue.
You have the power of your very own rescue trolly at your disposal; You aren’t expected to rely on the resources of my prayers alone. The pain in my ankle represented the strain that was caused by exercising every ounce of my capacity to pull you out of the inferno- but I am not strong enough to pull you out at this awkward angle, and it leaves me with a scalded heart. I will no longer enable you, by cushioning you from ‘rock bottom;. I’m only serving to distract you from the urgency here before you. You absolutely must reach out and grab your Trolly-cloud, your Supernatural aid- your savior; In whatever shape, or form they may display.


Kismet Witstatic

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