It lingers in my periphery.
A voice, a word, a wave, a face, an animal… They come to me with no announcement, no proclamation of what they are. Fleeting, slivers of time where they exist and not exist.
I call them the little nudges.
They tell me when to leave jobs, people, situations that aren’t favorable. They push me to new opportunities and better relationships. One too many of a nudge prevented me from being in a critical accident.
It’s a strange way of living but it is my way of living.
I prefer the nudges over my dreams, though.
I can ignore the nudges if warranted. My dreams, however, refuse to be suppressed.
I see things.
A void neither light nor dark with tendrils of something stretch, twist, pulse in all directions. Waves of sweltering heat and blistering cold pierce through my marrow.
Though I couldn’t tell through sight, I know that I stood in the epicenter of the undulating things.
The grotesque imagery will never send my dream self into a panic. Not even a tinge of resignation.
If I really wanted to think hard about it, I would feel…glee.
But I choose to not think too much about my dreams. Interpretations would lead to more questions than answers.
It’s not healthy, I know. My long list of therapists will agree with you.
Yet, when I’m still and allow myself a moment to just be, I can feel them.
Under my skin.
Rippling.
Ripping.
Writhing.
It is euphoria.
