An Odd Dream

In the beginning, nothing seemed relevant. But they say hindsight is 20/20.

It isn't. That's a damn bald-faced lie. It's better than normal. Normally, one can only piece together facts as they come to them. But now, I can see how the threads were pulling everything I knew apart, sewing them up in a different way, that was a perversion of what I knew.

I had a dream that night.

I was falling, but not the falling that manifests somatically as a myoclonic twitch. I was drifting downward, like some force other than gravity had control of me. It couldn't be gravity. Gravity is reasonable. Formulaic. Predictable.

This was none of those. I was falling at random velocity, twisting to an unknown acceleration. Everything was cream. As far as the eye could see, the same tone, like I was infinitely small, falling through a beam of light. A cream beam. What a pleasant rhyme. I had no way of knowing when anything would happen.

Something did though. Have you ever seen anything so unnaturally thin that you can't see it from the proper angle? In that dream, I did. Imagine for a moment a sheet of glass, so thin, so sharp, that it slices apart the molecules in its path. There's only one place it could exist, and that's inside the mind, for our minds can create the impossible.

I fell onto this, and felt myself being sliced apart so finely that there was no pain. There was no anything. I wasn't even afraid of it. It didn't hurt, and it wasn't real.

As I drifted past it on my laconic trip downward, I saw that it was a window, rimmed by sepia mist. Or frost. I couldn't know. I didn't touch it. What I saw confused me. It was disjointed. Not at all what I had expected. It was a bowling pin. A pinstriped pin, harlequin and somewhat menacing. As I drifted, an emaciated hand descended, no doubt connected to an unseen arm, and flicked the pin like it was nothing. It emerged from its sepia-surrounded realm, twirling perfectly end over end, on a trajectory that, from the sense of the dream, was both predetermined and random. I find that the tension between contradictory ideas leads to sublime synthesis. Thesis and antithesis coming together to...I'm losing track of things.

The pin did not hit me, as I woke up, with, of all things, a myoclonic twitch.

A furry paw stepped on me. Damn cat.