The Dream

“The dream bore a picture of a soldier lying on the pool of blood of his own. The snow beneath him absorbed the redness of his blood; while it seemed untouched by the dying heat of his body. And in between the hazy glimpses, which one would register in those subtle moments caught by the eyes when they didn’t blink, it seemed he lay on a clearing amidst the trees all covered with snow. The treeline had lost its greenery to the whites and nothing could be seen from his position, and having no vantage point, he was at his most vulnerable condition. It was too demanding a task to hold those eyelids stretched open, yet, maybe the training kicked in and the need to gather some situational awareness surpassed the temptations to close the windows to the world shut”, wrote Saket into his journal after giving up all attempts to shoe away the fixation which the unnerving brevity and the clarity of his recurrent dreams warranted. “How can the same the scene, the similar turn of events conjure up in these dreams every single time?” he thought while staring at his journal. Disturbed by the cacophony of the shrill noise that the scene in the dream brought to the fore shielding the signal that might be lurking in the background. “I must find it, why the same shit gets played on my mind over and over again, there must be some pattern, some clue that I’m missing… what is it…..” he murmured.

After a brief period of sitting still pondering over the details of the dream that woke him up with a choking belch, a pained chest (or was it just a memory of the pain that sneaked past the realms of the dream into the realm of consciousness materializing itself into a tangible one – that’s a matter of discussion!), and a headache that might have consorted with the sleep that was shaken up midway through the midnight, he took note of the time, 0330 hours – he had to strike the pillow again!

An hour and a half later, his sleep was again broken, only this time by the sound of the alarm that banged a wakeup-cacophony on routine. It was his usual time to break off from his warm refuge and ready himself for the morning run. He woke up with a hangover from the bizarre stint of his mind that it played on him a few hours ago. Perplexed by the confusion, he took longer to get into action than the usual, spending a quarter of an hour or so on deep thinking. Gauging as to what shook his senses last night, it occurred to him that the more he’d think of the dream the more confused he gets and takes on to console his pounding heart enclosed within the fleshy walls of his chest that such things are just figments of his imagination which is stuck on that repeat-cycle which explains why he sees what he sees on various nights since many years.

To Saket, life has a different flavor altogether where the ingredients are mixed up with philosophical spices. And maybe he takes everything, every experience as a lesson. Always attentive, always vigilant and mostly straightforward he has this habit of brandishing his watchful eyes under the veil of silence. Maybe his experiences were taking a toll on him, maybe one thing that struck him was one such chapter from his otherwise unpublished, unknown book that he himself was unaware of. It’s like the old Japanese adage of a man having three faces; The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends and your family. The third face, you never show anyone, only in his case he masked the last one so efficiently that he himself was unaware of.

For the world, he was a no bullshit man with a temper problem known for his otherwise calm composure. A man who could not stand a slack in logic, though on some areas his logic was itself under the spotlight of questionable merits – his relationships of example! For his close friends and family members, he’s emotional, he’s caring and little skeptical. The kind who’d pick up a fight readily if an act of breaching the limits comes under the long stretches of the jurisprudence of his watchful sight. And lastly, he finds himself stranded as to know who he is, and is constantly under the sweat of culling down the thick fog that blinds his vision to a world within himself.

It’s said that the reference to dreams as to one seen with open eyes is different from the one seen with our eyes closed. The former explains one’s purpose that one envisions for himself to set his whole life on the task to accomplish, the concept of Swadharma, the latter explains the visions that get projected to a screen within the confines of the three-pound master that sits within the cranium – the origins of whose are too complex to define between the alleys flanked by the reason of experiences of the past and the metaphysical reason of the unexplainable on its sides.

All said, it seems Saket was on a fix, a deep-seated urge to know the reason behind the regular occurrences of his strange visions that tend to disturb his sleep often. For he was documenting every tiny detail by the dates and even though a lot many details seemed to have a touch of redundancy, he never stalled his endeavors. Perhaps the journal writing was a tool he developed as a consequence was a blessing in disguise. And he consciously admitted it, as he wrote in his journal entry a couple of years after the incident mentioned in the beginning. “It’s strange a feeling, it’s kind of a thing of past that my dreams have gone silent on that old radio frequency that had only one thing to broadcast – the dream! A lot of things have changed in me, maybe everything happens for a reason and those strange dreams were acting ladders prompting me to take that climb the summit of which is a total knowledge of the self. A lot many would still falter while answering who they are, one thing is sure, I won’t force myself into searching for words as to answer who am I, for I am onto the journey to know myself in bits. Afterall rediscovering who we are in situations unknown is a beautiful venture…”

"There is a strange positivity in his outlook that he wears. 
He sees opportunity in times of utter despair.
He feels his cup as being always partially filled,
Maybe that's why he wanders in the wilderness of  knowledge.
In his travels he gathers the guild,
Of fellow travellers who oversee the trade in whetting their edge.
LIke the hunters our forfathers were,
Outrunning their pray, till it ran out of air,
And each one from the pack watching  another's back." 

More in the next blog…

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3 thoughts on “The Dream

  1. What a wonderful way to tell a story. Each of us searches for answer to who we are and in different ways of our own. Your story signifies this particular urge of everyone’s with such an ease and yet so effectively. Very well done, friend. Looking forward to your next post.☺️

    Liked by 1 person

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