I long for the days when dreams were fun. Flying through the air, luscious foods, swimming in jungle pools, enjoying massive, never-heard-before classical concerts — those were the kind of things that often made sleep a joy.
Last night I awoke abruptly after intentionally and selfishly lying to an associate. Why would I do that in my sleep? What is the point? My dream. My rules.
It is approximately 45 years since I awoke to the fact that much of my reality was a lie. During the night before, in the drunk tank, we shared the stories that brought us all to that point. We were all innocent. The stories don’t matter, certainly not mine. Being near the last in the alphabet, I watched as each person stood at the lectern to address the bench. I, like all others before me, said only: “guilty.”
I have worked for 45 years to bury that person, but there he was, again, live and well in MY dream. For 45 years I’ve attempted to identify and beat that deceiver into submission.
Of late we have all been mauled by lies, deceptions, and all manner of untruth. The falsehoods themselves are painful to witness. Perhaps the penultimate agony is seeing people, especially those we love and respect, accept and integrate these frauds into their belief systems. The ultimate is then watching as they act in accordance with those beliefs and inflict pain — whether intentional or not — on others (and most often on themselves). Jan 6 is but a token of a more universal and omnipresent pattern.
I get why we lie to ourselves. I spent my first 21 years doing little else. It was the culture of my home. It was the entirety of my existence. It was my identity. But, after fighting with that for so long…. Will it never end? What motivation could I have for lying in a dream? Is no space protected; is no space sacred?