6.7.04
The Truth of Dreams
The Light of Axim sets me free...
Dreams. Dreams bring insight. Dreams tell us of our past. Of our present. Of our desires and fears. Dreams tell us of our future.
I dream. I'm in Zagreb. It doesn't look like the Zagreb I know, but I'm certain it is Zagreb. I am sure of where I am. I am in a wheelchair. I have forever been in a wheelchair. But I can walk. All I need to do is get up. I know I can walk, but I don't get up. I don't mind being in a wheelchair. Everyone knows I don't need it, I can see that knowledge in the eyes of the invalids I pass in the streets. I also know most of them don't need their wheelchairs, just like me. I cross some railway tracks. There are trains coming from both sides, but I can cross quickly, even though the road is paved with granite cubes (some of which are missing) and bumpy. I start towards the nearby station. It is a small station, with a single platform (where did all the tracks I crossed go?), completely out of place in a big city like Zagreb, but I don't find it unusual. There's mud on my way. It is yellow and sticky, and there is no way around it. I have to go through it to get to the station. The mud sticks to the wheels of my chair. It splatters my face and my clothes. I desperately want to get to the station with clean clothes and face, but I don't know how. I'm frustrated. I'm getting stuck in the mud.
The dream ends. I don't know if I've managed to reach the station. That knowledge lies outside the dream. But with the benefit of hindsight, I can see the solution: all I had to do was get up on my own two feet. I knew I could walk. I remember seeing patches of firm ground I could've used to get across. But the thought of leaving the wheelchair and walking never occurred to me.
They say, life is only a dream from which we must awake.
Dreams. Dreams bring insight. Dreams tell us of our past. Of our present. Of our desires and fears. Dreams tell us of our future.
I dream. I'm in Zagreb. It doesn't look like the Zagreb I know, but I'm certain it is Zagreb. I am sure of where I am. I am in a wheelchair. I have forever been in a wheelchair. But I can walk. All I need to do is get up. I know I can walk, but I don't get up. I don't mind being in a wheelchair. Everyone knows I don't need it, I can see that knowledge in the eyes of the invalids I pass in the streets. I also know most of them don't need their wheelchairs, just like me. I cross some railway tracks. There are trains coming from both sides, but I can cross quickly, even though the road is paved with granite cubes (some of which are missing) and bumpy. I start towards the nearby station. It is a small station, with a single platform (where did all the tracks I crossed go?), completely out of place in a big city like Zagreb, but I don't find it unusual. There's mud on my way. It is yellow and sticky, and there is no way around it. I have to go through it to get to the station. The mud sticks to the wheels of my chair. It splatters my face and my clothes. I desperately want to get to the station with clean clothes and face, but I don't know how. I'm frustrated. I'm getting stuck in the mud.
The dream ends. I don't know if I've managed to reach the station. That knowledge lies outside the dream. But with the benefit of hindsight, I can see the solution: all I had to do was get up on my own two feet. I knew I could walk. I remember seeing patches of firm ground I could've used to get across. But the thought of leaving the wheelchair and walking never occurred to me.
They say, life is only a dream from which we must awake.
