Rubble

Last night I had the same dream I’ve had several nights in a row now. The only difference is that on waking this morning enough fragments remained for me to consciously put words around what I’d been dreaming.

I’ve been dreaming of rubble. Acres of it in every direction. Rock and stone and concrete. Shattered. Desolate and grey. The remnants of what once was, now leveled, only uneven ground remaining. There were people picking their way across it, sometimes people I knew, sometimes myself. In a moment reminiscent of jerky documentary footage, I watched as a couple I know walked together. The “camera” in my mind zoomed in as they walked, surveying the destruction, and reaching for each other’s hands. That last image of their clasped hands as they moved on.

I passed the night in that space somewhere between waking and sleeping. Not fully present in either my own reality, or that of my dreams. Aware of my bedroom, of the space around me, but aware too of moving through this field of rubble, and watching as others navigated that same space.

The dreams are slowly intensifying again. Coming more frequently and vividly. I’m never sure if they should be welcome, or an object of regret. They simply are. A strange and vivid reality of my existence. Sometimes understood, and sometimes remaining in the grey and cloudy realm of confusion.