a few months ago, i dreamt that i died. it was the most powerful and realistic dream that i could remember ever having, and it spooked me for months. i can’t remember the precise feeling anymore. i was thinking of turning over and making myself more comfortable, but moving would be all too difficult, considering i only had seconds left to worry about it anyway. it wasn’t against my will, it was necessary, it was just the way it was. i was resigned. i wondered what it would really be like, would i feel anything? when would my consciousness stop? it would stop, there would be nothing. i couldn’t change anything now. i wouldn’t have to worry about it but others would. it was a bit like the time i was convinced to go on a fairly tame pirate ship style ride, when i was working in england. i got in and i couldn’t get out of it, and had to actively think that it was ok, i’d get through. the first couple of swings were blank fear, then i figured out how to breathe in the right places and prepare for each swing. i didn’t enjoy it, but i got through. i would get through this too. it would be scary but then it would be over. i stopped breathing. at the point i died, i woke up with a massive rush of adrenaline that didn’t quite dissipate all day. my friend told me that facing death makes me stronger, as fear of death is the big one that limits many people. maybe she’s right, it feels a little like i came to terms with it.
last night i had a worse one, or rather, it came with a feeling i couldn’t come to terms with; a physical feeling of overwhelming loss. i had to get out of some scary white institution, with meela i believe. it involved breaking and getting through a small window on what seemed like the set of a play, travelling at night and crossing a border, don’t know which one. if i went i couldn’t come back, it was permanent exile, but i didn’t really have another choice, i had to go. the institution where i couldn’t stay, or the unknown. i had an old envelope which i wrote the name of a bus company on before i realised it was dangerous. evidence. my father was there, i couldn’t say anything but we knew it was goodbye. he pointed to a random phone number i had on the envelope, and said ‘contact me there.’ i had to go. it was black outside.