Lately, I've been dreaming a lot. I'm the type of person who claims to not dream. Realistically, I know that I do. We all do. I typically don't remember my dreams though. Not because I don't want to or because I don't care, but just because I'm not sensitive enough to be in tune with my inner desires, insecurities and feelings. I figure that if I don't acknowledge them, they don't exist. It's like Muay Thai, when you are partnered with some one you know can break your pretty nose, and they come straight to your face with a jab or a hook or a cross and, although you block, you still shut your eyes, believing that if you don't see it, you won't feel it. Well, dreaming for me is also like that. I know it happens, but I'm not really trying to discover what it means. My mind is already always in overdrive, always working, analyzing, questioning, wondering, dreaming, dreaming...But, when I dream and remember how I felt, the smells, the tastes, the visuals, it leads me to wonder what is the cause of this awakening.
My dreams are vivid, realistic fantasies tightly weaved with feelings of doom, confusion, exhaustion, fear, sadness and innocence gone wrong. My dreams are dark, perplexing, conflicting. They are magical realism at its finest. Don't get me wrong, my dreams are awesomely creative, haunting, other worldly. But they are also disturbing. I question my sanity once I wake up, my lucidity "Oh my God, I'm crackin' up/Get a grip Marshall". That's an exaggeration, but I'm Nicoya, that's how we roll, turn a kitty cat into a liger.
My dreams pull me apart from every direction; they dissect my unconscious. Awake, I dissect them. I pull the scenes apart, and like a puzzle, put them back together, never really sure where in my world they fit. I share them with the wise, hoping to see the light, to get some guidance in my life. Sometimes I feel like a lost soul, unsure as to what my purpose in life is. Other times I know I am a free spirit, with my impulses and dreams as my guide. The freedom excites me, makes me feel whole, but it also scares me. Not knowing what I want, where I want to go, and moving through the world blindfolded makes me want to run and hide, curl up into the tiniest of balls and stay in the fetal position until it's safe to come up for air, until I am sure of myself and the world, of my path, of my fears, of my doubts, until I no longer question. But accepting and conforming to the guidelines of society scares me even more. The realistic possibility of being a drone suffocates me. It's almost like looking into a broken mirror, the shattered glass distorting your image, never really letting you know which of the many yous reflected on its surface is the true you. That's dreaming for me. That's what it feels like. In my dreams, I'm in Alice's world. I've followed the white rabbit into the hole, where I've fallen and continue to fall until I wake up.
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