Dreams and Messages

"Shall I live or shall I die?"

Even though I was unaware of it at the time, it was the existential question that I posed to myself in a dream on two consecutive nights … or was it?

On the first night, awareness creeps up on me, first stalking and then confronting my perception as the dreamscape seizes me. I am sitting on the back seat of an old, decrepit bus somewhere in what appears to be the Middle East. The mid-day sun bakes the interior of the bus as my senses are assaulted by the loud whine of an over-worked engine and the irritation of the barely visible dust cloud that obscures my vision. Initially, I am only cognizant of trying to remain stationary in my seat, jostled by bump after bump in the road. It was during this monotonous and lonely dance that I first notice her.

Beside me is a woman dressed in a red burka that covers every bit of her body except for her eyes. Her eyes are captivatingly gorgeous, yet such a brief description would do her a great injustice. How does one communicate something that goes far beyond the dimensions that even the most eloquent of languages lack the sophistication to portray ... Beautiful? ... Bonita? ... Bella? ... Jolie? Regardless, whatever word that doesn't exist to describe the brilliance of her eyes, I know the same is true of her entire body.

I understand it is such a clique to say anything even close to "desire mounted", but that is exactly what happened. Perhaps it was contagious or maybe it had already existed for her; either way I could sense that same animalistic desire emanating from her. Spellbound by it all, I found myself helpless, unable to even speak a single word. My thoughts were of nothing but her until the precious seconds of eternity were interrupted by the high pitched sigh of metal against metal.

The bus begins to slow as gradual understanding develops, her stop approaches. Instead of standing up and moving toward the front of the bus, she straddles me while looking directly into my eyes. Again everything else is forgotten as she begins to speak.

"Your eyes are so beautiful ... you look like an angel to me."

Her words fill me with further longing as she confirms, that she too, is consumed by the fire of passion that only moments ago began to ravage my soul. Then, in the same way such a fire leaves nothing but ashes, a glimpse of inevitable fate dawns upon me as the intensity of her yearning is overshadowed by the smoke of sorrow, which now begins to obscure all else … she continues.

"We are powerless though.”

Such immense sadness is in her voice.

“If we were ever to touch, my family would kill you in a very terrible way. I'm sorry ... for the both of us".

She lingers for a second as see continues to stare into my eyes to see if I can fathom the depths of what she has said.

I refuse to accept her truth. With a will of their own, my hands reach up her burka and feel the smoothness of her legs and bare skin while slowly moving up and towards her satiny inner thighs. I stop only when I feel the fabric of her inner garment at the top of her legs and the heat above it that beckons me onward ... I stop not because of the garment but because of the torrent of images that now flood my mind ... images of being tied up and decapitated with a dull knife and others that are just as frightening. She acknowledges my new found understanding and now begins to walk toward the front of the bus.

After initial hesitation and deciding to cast my better judgment aside, I also exit the bus. She does not see me do this and I am still unsure what I will ultimately do other than follow her.

At this point, the scenery no longer resembles the Middle East. It is a secluded dirt road nestled in the greenery of woods on either side ... heavy enough to shade much of the sun places. The breeze is gentle and the temperature is perfect; a fine spring day it seems.

I am about 20 feet behind her and slowly increase my pace to displace the distance between us. She remains unaware of me and is conversing with a female friend. I am still not sure what I am going to do. I know what I want but fear remains. Yet the longer I watch and follow her down this road, the more I push out the horrible thoughts of what could happen.

I am finally directly behind her. I place a hand on her shoulder and she turns around to face me. From her eyes ... ojos hermosos ... I see she is surprised somewhat but there is also a certain something, a knowing, that is there as well.

I gently guide her, this nameless beauty, to rest her against a crooked tree trunk directly beside us. With the previously smoldering embers now renewed, her friend might as well not even exist as she is ignored at this point by the both of us. Nonetheless, even in our abandon, all caution is not forsaken, as I only lift the burka above her waist, this time with nothing beneath it other than the almond brown legs that lead my gaze up to soft black patch of what I could tell would be complete bliss.

We embrace. The warmth of our emotions and our bodies now become one as want merges with want and need merges with need in orgasmic unity. The dream then begins to fade. Little did I know at the time, the dream was not yet complete. Part two could happen the next night.

I'm on a bus again but this dream is not to be as pleasant as the previous night's ethereal journey. Sultry was about to be replaced by manic. The remains the same but this time I am at the front of the bus. The driver looks to be this cracked out individual. It was in his eyes … always in the eyes. My suspicions are confirmed when he purposely drives the bus off the road, straight into a deep but raging river. Images are blurred and everything seems to be moving much quicker than life. I think to myself that at least I am perfectly situated to leap through the doors the moment the bus hits the water.

This was not to be though. As soon as the bus hurls itself into the water, a giant swirling whirlpool forms, sucking the bus face-first into a bottomless watery abyss. As the inside quickly feels with water, I frantically gasp for one last precious breath of life, realizing that escape can only be had from the opposite end of the bus.

Lungs aching, I finally make it to the rear and struggle with opening the window. With every second that passes, my chest feels more and more like it is going to explode ... I can't hold my breath much longer. My lungs continue to scream out for air as I finally get the window down and begin to swim out. Looking up toward the surface, seeing the impossible distance above me, I know that it now makes no difference that I was able to escape the bus because my breath is already being sucked out of me ... insists on being filled with something IMMEDIATELY. I cease my struggle to reach the surface of the water. Resigned to my fate, I drink in the water and hope for a quick end.

I shall not bore you with a precise psychoanalytic interpretation of the dream nor its symbols because the main thrust, I would guess, is easily discernable. However, all is not what it appears to be at times, and this was one of those times. I initially believed the dream represented a choice between living life or being emotionally undead. While it did, in many ways, represent such, my mistake was in assuming that each night’s dream represented the outcome of one choice or the other. Matters are rarely so simple. It was not until almost a year later, after I made my choice, that wisdom favored me with a more correct understanding. The dreams did not represent an either or, rather an AND. Death is death and no one needs a dream to tell them the consequences of that choice. The real meaning is far more complex and can only be understood as a dialectic, a synthesis of a thesis and its antithesis. No, the real message was that to choose life, I would have to choose death first. The only real question that now remains is this. Am I still dying or am I finally alive?