My bed is a womb. She absorbs me in her moments of need and protects me in whiteness from all evil. My bed ever wondered a white witness. All quilts and pillows will shine from a pure whiteness.
Soft cotton, soft in the duvet, and spreads lavender scents. This is how I want my white cloud to be when I land on it for relaxation. I can not sleep and relax in any other shade.
In my bed, I put my thoughts. Everything that scares and terrifies me in the world sinks and melts on top of my cloud. The monsters dwarf creatures soft and fluffy like kittens. I am letting them flow over the pillows and disperse between folds. The worries are fluid and dissipating, and the headache melts away with them.
It is a pleasure to read a book and sink slowly, slowly into the sleep that envelops in the dream.
My dreams are a journey in my soul. Sometimes they are the transcendence of the soul and the pinnacle of abilities, and sometimes they are stinging and painful and scarring my soul even in ignorance. In dreams, I am inspired. Long-suffering and full of understanding for all. I find a solution for every need and a cure for every sorrow. I organize everything with talent and find time for fun and amusement.
Sometimes, however, my dreams are a journey into the pain and horror that filled me. In these journeys, I am met with monsters of terror well built according to my own measurements. There I stand, naked and naked in the face of the ugly truth that is me. In these dreams, I find no way to transcend the rage and insult that have been living in my soul since calling there my son’s suffering.
There is no compassion or sorrow for his fate. There is anger and grief over my fate.
In these dreams, he is unhealthy or healed. In these dreams, he is gone and deleted from my painful history. He disappears, and from that moment on the sun shines and paints my life with happiness and wholeness. The relief I feel in his disappearance is like erasing all the oppressive memories a person has throughout his life. I hover lightly. Hollow with serenity, rising into the air and rolling in a space not up and down. All the walls are shattered, all the gates are fading. Future sliced before, reach out and arrive. In these dreams, I collect pleasure greedily. Thirsty, I drink the clear drops of happiness and hope. And waddles in the new enthusiasm in the wildness of youth.
Shame floods me.
Misery. Shame. Remorse.
The torments of conscience torment. How could I enjoy my loss? My lowliness of mind burns my soul. I want to scream. Escape from me. To forget that such ugliness exists in me.
Feverish questions in me.
How will I look into my angel’s eyes this morning? Will he see my devil figure or the resin mask? Will he feel the venom in the taste of my kisses?
Who am I?