Throttled awake by nightmares, these powerful dreams command my participation. Dreams of ridicule and exclusion. Nightmares of a severely practical nature. They descend upon me like latent fire and floodwater, frightening in their tangibility, their believability. I experience them fully and lie awake ruminating once again my precise role in this life. I ponder the nature of the nightmares, their purpose in my world. Have they been born to thrust me into some sort of action or inaction? Fear is a mechanism of creation, a shield against failure. My mind is sending me signals, frightening me out of this trap where ideas fall short, where indolence and stunted creativity are hell because the turning point is always right at my fingertips. Like a stutterer burdened to defend his life with a torturous oratory, the ideas clear and righteous in his mind, the words webs of quicksand on his lips.
I tell myself to think of the nightmares as a safety net. They leech the sleep away and drain the mind of energy but at the same time resuscitate the deepest channels of recent creative void. This is having a new toy and no batteries to operate it. What results is a haggard presence in this world, a deep commitment unfulfilled, always searching for that next clear idea, that next deep sleep.
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