I had another dream about her. This time it was merely a fleeting image, accompanied by that infinite silk that covers everything when you’re in an altered state. She was near, but I was distant. Her name is no longer relevant; she exists at this point as a symbol, a metaphor of a time of great conflict and uncertainty, an idol of the feminine nature.
I find that thinking about dreams often feels the same way as remembering real events of the past, just as intangible and with that strange feeling of awe right when you see in your mind’s eye that image you’re pulling up from years ago.
My father illustrated a point yesterday that I had pondered many times before, but not in his presence, about the feeling one gets when they think of the past. The strangeness of its imperceptible distance and the intense feeling of blindness of struggling to recollect it. He told me that the past does not feel real to him, a sentiment that I share, but that is most likely compounded tenfold with age.
Now I understand the adult obsession with the past, the maniacal clinging to nostalgia and the days of yesteryear. We really are a species consumed with thoughts of the future, but intoxicated by the past. Is it because we misunderstand ourselves, we experience this longing because we consider ourselves constant beings. We are not children, then teenagers, then adults, and then dead. We are always children, we are always teenagers, we are always adults and we are always dead because we were never really any of them at all, we were just an illusion, the echo of infinity, chaos fit into a box.
The future feels the same as well. At this point in my life I am unsure of where to go, I was not prepared to answer this, I was always told where to head. I was to go to school and then to college and then… well there really wasn’t anything there after college was there? It was all just a dream, a vague illusion, a chemically concocted fantasy loosely related to the inner logic of the universe.
But such is the nature of the imagination.
When you think of the past, what do you experience? How have you reflected on this?