You have the ability to lucid dream. You start to notice the dreams are becoming longer and longer.
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Time has a presence, I didn’t know that until I lost it. It holds things together, passively, from the shadows and acts as structure to everything we do. Deadlines, appointments, birthdays, work hours, puberty, aging, mid-life crisis and growth. It dictates the universe in a way I never appreciated: because it was always there.
I ran from it, pushed the boundaries of my dream state and expanded my unwaking life. We all spend time running from it, an act of lunacy as it’s the one thing we’ll never get away from. It’s so inundated in our lives that we forget it’s there all together. We become accustomed to it the same way we become accustomed to gravity, light or doing our taxes.
And now that it’s gone, now I’ve been where I’ve been, I know I’ve lost a part of me. A quintessential piece ofthe human condition. The dream state was something I enjoyed at first: the ability to control a world of my own.
I walked at first, then I ran. I flew. I swam. I achieved. I traveled. I fought. I fucked. I killed. I saved. I destroyed. I created.
I dreamt. I became whatever I wanted. I elongated my dreams, pushing past the boundaries and limits given to me by the doctors. My dreams became my reality, I chose to stay instead of wake up. The prison of my body greeted me when I opened my eyes. My wheelchair, my cage, sat patiently waiting next to my bed whenever I chose to return. Who would want to go back to that? To assisted living. Catheters, spoon fed applesauce and protein smoothies.
Even in my waking moments I thought of my dreams. I longed for the machines to be hooked up to me, for the white, sterile room filled with clipboard wielding doctors. The prick of the needle entering my arm and the uncontrollable flutter in my eyelids as I slipped in the black embrace of unconsciousness.
Parameters, they said, the parameters were set in place for a reason. Parameters I discarded.
And now I am here, stuck between time, sleeping my life – my real life – away. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but every once in a while their comments break through my subconscious.
“Days, weeks, months…” words that I know denote time, but I can’t place how long they are. I know there are seven days in a week, and 24 hours in a day, but what does that mean? They are merely descriptions of color to a blind man.
I want to get out. I want to go home. I want to be done.
I want to wake up.
But I can’t.