Freedom In Dreams: A Gimpy Monologue

My muscles are heavy, my bones are stiff and it pains me to speak. My hands, they disobey me constantly. The piece of metal straps my ass reminds me of the sort of electric gurney, it feels a bit like the standing gurney in Hannibal, being able to move around and to see the world around me, but never fully feeling as though I’m participating in it. The word caregiver is a common part of my vocab

Flower dream
Flower dream (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

ulary… Most of them are good, but I live in fear of the wicked ones. My body is a physiological prison, it’s a different kind of prison. It is in a prison made of my own inner darkness, nor by the hands of mankind. It is a prison sculpted just for me by the hand of Divine Providence, by God. But in my dreams I can soar with the birds and run endless marathons. In my dreams, I have found the perfect lover and the best friend all in the same person.

In my dreams my body is completely obedient to the whims of my mind. Free from the fetters of the outside world, my dreams are rich, and my fantasies red-hot. Sometimes, I have coffee with Jesus and the Buddha and the mysteries of life seem all too simple. But like a subtle knife tearing up the fabric of reality sometimes my dreams hold a tinge of darkness and and turn into nightmares. The worries of my daily life and the weight of worlds by upon my shoulders, my mind like any other contorts them into tangible objects, and sensations become more than real. Did you notice something there?

In my waking life my body sometimes oscillates between the roles of a medieval torture dungeon, and a tactile interface to an otherwise virtual world. But on the inside in my dreams I find the freedom to be me, to live as I see fit, to love as I will. Sometimes I wish my waking life was more like this, but it helps me to appreciate sleep all the more for my dreams, I find freedom.

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