Category Archives: Fear

Lucid Nightmare

I have a recurring dream. In it, someone I love and should be able to trust does something horrible. The worst part is, this person thinks it’s fine and has no qualms about having done it. Moreover, s/he keeps talking and talking about it. Just won’t shut up.

I hate this dream.

Only last time I had it, about a week ago, the dream changed. Everything went as usual until the part where I normally wake up. This time, I stayed in it long enough to speak up for myself. I simply said, “This is wrong and it hurts me.” Usually in the dream, my mom sits by my refrigerator giving me a reproachful look. But this time when she turned to look at me, she wasn’t my mom. She was ME. Tears rolling down my cheeks, I smiled at myself.

I think the initial dream has to do with my lack of trust. I don’t feel I can count on those close to me to make wise, moral decisions. I cannot trust them to take my feelings into account. I see that maybe they don’t know any better, but it hurts just the same. And of course, dear old mom is standing by ready to disapprove.

But with the new twist, I feel like I stood up for myself. I said plainly that what was going on was harmful to me. I advocated for myself. The other person’s behavior didn’t change, but mine did. I woke up just as emotional as ever, but with a more positive charge to it because I had done something different. And instead of looking to my mother, I was looking to myself for approval.

It feels like a turning point.

My son has practiced lucid dreaming for over a year now. He gave me some pointers on how to know when I’m in the dream. He says while I’m awake I need to practice noticing something in the dream, so when I’m asleep and see the object, I can check my lucidity. His example was if I see a bird fly overhead, I can count my fingers. If I count only two fingers, I’ll know I’m dreaming. so I’ve been thinking about sticking my arm through the refrigerator door. If I can do it, I’ll know I’m in the dream.

So what will I say or do next time? I know I can’t change the other person’s behavior. I probably can’t change my own trust issues overnight, either. But what can I change?

What would you do? Have you ever tried to control your dreams or had a lucid dream? Did it work?

Daily prompt: Nightmare

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Love scares me.

My broken heart
Bleeds bitter black
From pain I can’t face
Old weight is in place
Heavy on my back
Pushing me down
Face to the ground
Rocks gash my cheeks
The answers I seek are
Nowhere to be found
I turn around
And there you are
Is that a smile or a sneer?
Blinded by fear I don’t know
Who you are
You reach out a hand
To heal or to harm I don’t know
I don’t trust your charm
As closer you inch
I flinch
You reach for the weight
To help? To strike me down?
I lash out, strike first
You never had a chance
To make amends
Become a friend
I’ll never know
What you intended to show
I place your heart fresh cut
In your hand held out
Don’t ever say I gave you nothing
You just never saw it coming

Daily Prompt: Fright NightWhat’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
I’m scared to love. Scared to give it, scared to receive it, scared I’ll blow it, scared I won’t know it. Found this poem written sometime in the past year. The fact that I’m still here says I am doing it.

Brave

I’ve been loving this happy song, and pretty much her entire CD, all summer. I want to write as bravely as these beautiful people dance. And as a writer, I pretty much NEED Sara Bareilles’s pants. (I may not be brave enough to wear them.)

How big is your brave?

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast, or be the backlash
Of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up
Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
When they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside, no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you
Say what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave
With what you want to say…
—Sara Bareilles

Ghost Post 31: Treacherous Trio

English: Tomb of Rosario Castellanos in the Pa...

Origin

Over the dead body of a woman I am growing,
on her bones my roots are coiled
and from her disfigured heart
emerges a hard, vertical stalk.
From the coffin of an unborn child.
from its stomach shattered before the harvest
I rise up, tenacious, definitive,
brutal as a gravestone and on occasion sad
with the stony weariness of a funeral angel
who hides a tearless visage beneath his hands.

Rosario Castellanos

The Street

Portrait of Octavio Paz
Octavio Paz (Photo credit: DanAllison)

A long silent street.
I walk in blackness and I stumble and fall
and rise, and I walk blind, my feet
stepping on silent stones and dry leaves.
Someone behind me also stepping on stones, leaves: if I slow down, he slows;
if I run, he runs. I turn: nobody.
Everything dark and doorless.
Turning and turning among these corners
which lead forever to the street
where nobody waits for, nobody follows me,
where I pursue a man who stumbles
and rises and says when he sees me: nobody.

Octavio Paz

Jane Goodall
Jane Goodall (Photo credit: nick step)

Untitled

Eyes mad with fright, their lids torn off
That, helpless, they must watch the red-hot iron
Creep closer, closer, through the oozing blood
Each fiber tight with horror for the end,
The angry hiss as deep into each vital orb
The red-hot metal bores. The scream that issues
From the womb of agony herself.

Jane Goodall

 

Daily Prompt: Trick or Treat:
No tricks, just handing out tricked out poetic treats today.