DreamLand

It's 3 in the morning and I can't find my way there.

I fall to sleep with my thumb placed in the curve of my belly button, my palm rounding the small curve to the flat swatch of skin pulled tight across my hips. There is nothing erotic, nothing sensual in this placement. This place is always warm to the touch, my heartbeat a lullaby heard through my fingertips. Even in my current youth, I know the meaning of this place. I know how throughout the years I shall feel feet kicking out through my womb and hands tentatively grasping. I shall feel many tiny heartbeats, singular drums mapping out my life. This knowledge, of past lives, of ancestor memory, is passed down with every instinct we have, of a mother’s intuition: of a girl’s intuition.

We are told fairytales as children, so we are distracted and do not struggle when sleep surprises and swiftly subdues us. I find myself telling me stories: the future, the past, the present; every occasion, no stone left unturned. Raw experiences—the first kiss, the morning after: I wrapped in various glamorous bathrobes, coffee mugs in hand. Stories of high school, college, life, death. Husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, enemies left in my wake. Awkward love and heartbreaking rebuffs, Witty rejoinders that never appear till after a situation passes. Love stories, Hate stories, Ever-After stories that help me complete my journey. Every experience experienced: In practice and in memory.

            These stories; started on the journey do find themselves there—at the final destination. Now uncontrollable they act out in unpermitted directions: what we dare not dream when we control our dreams. Faces we do not want to admit we would like to admit to these dreams take on The Role of Lover: moving with you, lying with you, and divulging love with you. Anger, Hatred come out, past battles come out: wrongs never forgiven. Abandonment, innocence you have lost as you hardened into rock, lost as you became jaded comes out: you cry out in these dreams as you lash out, find blame and wish for release.
            But these struggles are internal, subtle as the rapid movement of your eye. And you leap back, race the journey home, as you make your ascent from DreamLand

Author's Note

first draft, first time trying my hand at semi-essays. Constructive criticism appreciated.

Reviews

[Alex McFadyen]

It is really well written, easy to read, but stimulates the mind, which is just perfect.

To improve, give your essays some theme and focus. I find it hard to grasp your point here. It is random like a dream, perhaps THAT is the point. But not everything can be written in such a way.

Take one idea: then expand it. That is the only way to hit home with me (if you even care about me, which you don't) :P