I dream awake.
The first dream is a descent into the heavy darkness of a cavern.
The second descent is a slower drift into terror. Restraints follow the wallop, and wrists swell into a bloody mass. The mouth is taped to a bar. I think this must be me in the dream. Shadows shift. A compressive containment bursts open and air sucks away into a cavernous emptiness. I am freed and collapse. My body cools into arousal, foggy and uncertain.
The third dream is a slow-motion coast into the mouth of a grand cavern. The distinct red clay opening seems a coiled mass of confusion. Mists float and intermingle. Gradually balconies appear within the darkened shadows. Each holds a single female in a familiar stance, her champagne glass raised to sip, like an act intended to obscure the anxiety of the wait. The setting must be an opera hall. Sound ripples a felt sensation unheard. The body wakes, dumfounded.
The fourth dream repeats the void where patrons sip. Now I am clearly the curiosity. The onlookers have noticed me, a new patron on escort. I don’t know where I’m being taken, or why. Few new details emerge within a sorrow that suffocates. The passage seems endless.
The fifth vision is delayed by long travel through a coiled vault newly open to view. It rises level upon level upon level above view. What must be Ancestors cluster together to whisper and ascertain. I fear I am not destined for their company.
I have no words for what follows. Dreaming is only my second language. Silence is first.