'I had a dream last night'
Aug. 15th, 2008 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12I don't often dream this symbolically...
The beginning doesn't really matter, except that it established, in that way that you just know in dreams, that I was a 12-year-old boy who lived at the top of a tower with a younger sister. And my father, whose friend, for reasons that never were explained, wanted to eat me. Well, being a fairly life-loving boy, I didn't want to be eaten, and I escaped from the tower and hung out for a bit at the town down the bottom, but eventually accepted my fate.
I began the long climb up the ladder that stretched 170 floors to the top of the tower. It was very high and windy, and clouds floated past below me. Finally, I reached the top of the ladder. I had to step out from the enclosed ladder onto a narrow bridge, shaped something like the sole of a foot, and walk across it to the house at the top of the tower (where, presumably, I'd be eaten). But the thought of leaving the protective ladder filled me with horror. I looked at that exposed bridge, and blanched. I froze. And froze. And froze. I could not move forward, but I was now too frightened to climb down again. I stood, frozen in terror, at the top of the ladder upon which I had struggled, for hours, to climb, staring at the bridge onto which I must step, and could not move.
In case you don't know, I've just spent about a year applying for a place at Cambridge, and yesterday I did the last of the paperwork - sending off my student visa application. If all goes well, I'll be travelling all the way to the other side of the world, away from all that is familiar and safe.
Symbolism indeed. God knows where the stuff about being eaten comes from, though.
The beginning doesn't really matter, except that it established, in that way that you just know in dreams, that I was a 12-year-old boy who lived at the top of a tower with a younger sister. And my father, whose friend, for reasons that never were explained, wanted to eat me. Well, being a fairly life-loving boy, I didn't want to be eaten, and I escaped from the tower and hung out for a bit at the town down the bottom, but eventually accepted my fate.
I began the long climb up the ladder that stretched 170 floors to the top of the tower. It was very high and windy, and clouds floated past below me. Finally, I reached the top of the ladder. I had to step out from the enclosed ladder onto a narrow bridge, shaped something like the sole of a foot, and walk across it to the house at the top of the tower (where, presumably, I'd be eaten). But the thought of leaving the protective ladder filled me with horror. I looked at that exposed bridge, and blanched. I froze. And froze. And froze. I could not move forward, but I was now too frightened to climb down again. I stood, frozen in terror, at the top of the ladder upon which I had struggled, for hours, to climb, staring at the bridge onto which I must step, and could not move.
In case you don't know, I've just spent about a year applying for a place at Cambridge, and yesterday I did the last of the paperwork - sending off my student visa application. If all goes well, I'll be travelling all the way to the other side of the world, away from all that is familiar and safe.
Symbolism indeed. God knows where the stuff about being eaten comes from, though.
