Here’s another early post from this blog. It reminds me that there are times when you yourself can be an unreliable narrator. I refer to events that unfolded in the wake of my friend’s death in January of 2016. There is one detail in this reblogged post that is not entirely accurate. I actually heard my friend’s voice shortly after I woke up from a “blessed” dream. At the time I didn’t feel that I should risk that disclosure.
Some dreams are the opposite of a nightmare. I call them blessed dreams. My first blessed dream happened at the dusk of my teenage years. It was brief and involved my great aunts Ruth and Edna. This dream was exceptionally lucid, with a false awakening that made it seem even more real. While it is well established that very unusual things can be dreamed, their appearance was rare indeed. I have never met Ruth and Edna because they died in a car accident along with my great grandpa back in 1936, and I have only seen their death portraits.
In the dream, I walked into the long hallway of my parents’ house, and Ruth and Edna were bouncing a ball back and forth at the opposite end. The ball and their white dresses were embedded with an ethereal glitter. Seeing them provoked the most intense ambivalence I have ever felt, awake or asleep. I…
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