©2022 Michael Raven
I’m not gonna lie.
Along with the standard nightmare junk food in my normal dreamscape, I have started dreaming more — or at least recalling more — and some of the recollections have been pretty damn fricking pleasant, far outweighing the dark, brooding and gloomy material that normally fills my nights.
Some of it is so kind of groovy that I find myself recalling less of the ghouls, possessions and monsters of the normal content and recalling more of the good shit. As a result, I find myself craving, rather than merely enduring sleep. Add to it the fact that I am a chronic insomniac, and I have some serious Zs to catch up on.
I’m tired, friends. Tired to the marrow.
Unfortunately, real life gets in the way, as it is not very supportive of aspiring Rip Van Winkles. I’d seriously love to do away with cat daddy and people daddy duty for a week or more, crawl into a hole and catch up on the sleep, as well as the smile-inducing movies I get to watch.
It seems amazing to me that this all has come about by a simple choice to revert to a theme of thought. I don’t want to get into the details, as they are unimportant, but it was a bit of a mental homecoming, returning to a place I once came from, seasoned with a bit of surrender and acceptance. I simple realization and, while not everything is hunky dory by any measure, the place of dreams has shed off some of the perpetual night, stalking and anxiety it has been painted with for damn near as long as I can remember. A simple change in a very simple thought.
But my new conundrum is my addiction to wanting to sleep. Well, not exactly… “wanting to dream” would be more honest.