Prose : I’m Having Those Dreams Again

Literature, Poetry, Prose

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When I was younger, vivid moments of my past lives would play on in my mind as I slept. They’re back on repeat. It’s been years. I must be yearning for something I had back then.

I do feel my spirit is quite young and picky and my current life is my third go on this planet. The dreams of my first existence took place in an Aristocratic time. Through orchestrated scandal, betrayal and brutality, I thrived and created a mighty reputation. I was unstoppable…well…until my misdeeds caught up with me.

At first, oh gosh, I can still feel the endorphin rush I earned every day. It made my dreams glow. I dined with Royalty and religious elite. I lost count of my net worth. My estate grew rapidly as my enemies fell. Fun and entertainment recognized no bounds. So many people were at my disposal and the bloodshed I drew, sometimes by my very hands, gave me a great high.

That all did change and fear set in. The radiance my dreams had stained and darkened as everything I built crumbled, ultimately matching the environment I exhaled my last breath in: a dungeon. I remember violently waking out of the nightmare that was my death. It felt like I was ejected out of a portal.

Every dream, every moment, it all felt so real, including my passing. From then on, I had random dreams like everyone else. There is one I still remember clearly. I was hopping on furniture in the middle of the sea with a few other people. Thinking about it, there must’ve been a shipwreck. A shark was following us and it caught my leg as I jumped from a table. I woke the moment the fierce animal sunk its teeth into me and I felt tremendous pain exactly where it bit me.

Then I began dreaming of my time with a Native Chief, my second life. He taught me all he knew. I was able to craft and use spears and bows and arrows. I learned how to track and set traps for game and enemies. I had dreams of he and I fishing and hunting. He showed me what plants were edible, medicinal and poisonous. He told me many stories of his life and people while we viewed constellations that were mirrored in his tribe’s totems. We explored his vast territory and endured all seasons. He trusted me enough to accompany him on his visits to neighboring tribes, just to see more of the land we all share.

That life was the opposite of my first. Though I learned and saw so much, guided by someone so important and who seemed to not want anything from me, I still don’t know who I was then. I can’t say I was apart of the Chief’s tribe. I certainly didn’t feel like his successor or kin, yet outcast or passing visitor doesn’t seem true either. I don’t know, maybe I was just a figment of his imagination.

Those dreams held no stress or danger, no responsibilities or expectations, no goals or need for advancement. Nature’s serenity and my mentorship gave me great peace. I don’t know when or how I died in that life. All I ever dreamt of was my ongoing lessons. Then they stopped and I was left to lead my present existence, which has felt like a limbo between the two humans I once was, and now the dreams are back.

Why?

Are my past lives trying to tell me something? Honestly, I’ve been struggling. Peace and happiness are difficult to obtain and maintain because society says one has to find and fulfill one’s purpose. The journey lays out so much guilt and pressure to wear while havoc awaits an invitation. Living isn’t as enjoyable as it’s portrayed, especially when the hypocrisy to keep it going kicks in and becomes a hefty price that can’t be avoided, no matter what one can afford and if one actually cares. Achieving success doesn’t require respect for others or our surroundings and having respect for others and our surroundings isn’t instinctual.

I had everything I ever wanted in my first life: power and wealth, freedom in pop and luxury culture, all earned with a vicious pursuit and not one fuck given, the real joy behind it all. Everyone at that time had a foot or runny nose in the same game of life, a mode still very relevant today. It brings out the worst in us and, so they say, the best, which is very exploitable. This sport didn’t exist in my second life. Gaining enough knowledge of the world to protect the group and taking only what’s needed reigned supreme, even if you were a great leader. Joy came from simplicity and carrying on as if I didn’t exist.

I suppose I must reflect on all this and figure out why I chose to lead this life. It’s been a trek of hope and excitement that has only attracted challenges. Most of them have been so debilitating, I’m considering the theory of karma and I don’t want to spend a lifetime paying off debt. I assume intentionally ending this existence will only summon another type of payment plan. On one shoulder, I understand and respect the process. On the other, I don’t have the will to endure more frustration while constructing personal tranquility without causing any harm. If that’s the lesson of this life, which my contemplation is now pointing to, one more dumb person, one more horrible responsibility may just breach my loosely contained madness.

Of course, I’m just one of many trying to make it out of a shipwreck and I appreciate the many who have helped me get his far, the light I keep my stare on. The more I think of my life, I realize my second presence is telling me to stay calm and be open for further teaching, no matter the strain. Yet my first life wants me to manipulate and dominate to kill time, no matter the consequences.p

Why are my instincts so far apart?

The polar confusion has kept me in a docile state and I can’t keep up with our world, partly because I don’t want to and compassion eventually becomes an ache. Maybe that’s why I’m in these shoes. The lesson of this life must involve conjuring a desire to be apart of our world respectively without defiling it. Or maybe I have to embrace this time of superficial suffering to center my compulsions because the possibility of a more dire situation or life is very likely, and handling it with violence or paralysis will only make it worse. Gosh, I can only guess and aim for good, really because life, in general, doesn’t make sense.

For many of us, ‘Why are we here?’ is a big topic that carries many faiths, theories and studies with no clear answer. To believe I’ve lived a few times intensifies the question but with bills awaiting and relationships to nurture, I have no time to think beyond getting to work on time and putting on a big smile because sad poems either bore or worry people.

It’s all annoying!

I just want to be happy but the joy I’ve painted probably won’t become my reality. To make the best of things will always entail a facade to cope with disappointment and longing. Hopefully, that’s not the lesson of this life. Oh please, it can’t be. If it is, I rather leave my questions unanswered and let the unknown pass me by because I refuse to haul around the body of a functioning depressive.

Rushing into my next life is a better option. I just have to find a way to get there in one piece.