By nature, I’m an optimist, an idealist and generally a cheery sort of person. But there are times when my body rages against me so thoroughly that it can be hard to see, much less reach, the light. When the night terrors come, I’m told that my screams can raise the dead. Oddly, they never seem to wake me; perhaps this is one of the benefits of having lost most of my hearing… When I awake later on, I am only aware that my throat is sore and that my muscles are sore all over and even my bones seem to ache. Since I have no memory whatsoever of the content of those dreams, I am not really disturbed by them other than the aftermath and feeling badly for having frightened my husband lying beside me and my son, in his room next door when he’s here on a visit. I don’t know whether or not these dreams are related to the conditions and diseases which are ravaging my body or whether they’re related to external threats experienced in the past or present. The scientific side of me wants to believe that there is a reason for everything and that perhaps the night terrors and my amnesia to their stories are a blessing in disguise: perhaps my Superhero Alter-Ego is battling the demons inside and outside so I don’t have to when I’m awake.
For way too long I failed to question their cause and purpose. But it’s time to set my house in order and toss out what’s no longer needed or in the way and making a mess or which I wouldn’t want to bequeth to anyone. I know tomorrow will be better for having rid myself of this clutter tonight. Please bear with me my friends. Soon the REAL me shall return, one way or another, with silly little pictures and light-hearted tales.
Dark Prose for a Dark Night
“A Shaft of Light”