Friday, March 24, 2006
Don't give up on me.
Years spent living in a "man's world" is precise reason to dispute any apparent and perceived ability to understand the female psyche. Truth is, it is all at best untested hypotheses, with neither a sliver of truth nor possibility contained within.
Bigotted minds like mine would conveniently associate and try to subjugate the workings of the female mind as a slight variation on the male psychology. That is a rather careless assumption to make, once again demonstrating an inherently naive and immature state of mind that I have yet to have addressed.
Once again, dreams are the corridor to one's inner. The window to one's raw, unadultered emotions. Dreams reveal to me, the deepest fears, the darkest secrets and revealing that the concious thoughts are merely a weak farce.
The dreams say to me, "It is futile to deny your nature." Concious control over the body, the mind contemplating every action, incessantly droning on. It put forth a brave facade, as tought it was proud, dignified and mighty, but the truth is, it dare not let its guard down. Always on its toes, peeking out the corner of the eye, the mind is unwilling to relinquish its firm iron grasp on this body.
The dreams they say otherwise. The dreams. The dreams, they strip all assurance from my head. The dreams, they send a message to my heart. The dreams, they remind me of my weaknesses.
I dreamt the night before, I caused grevious hurt. I dreamt that night I felt excruciating pain. I am starting to comprehend the meaning behind the dream. Not a dream of longing, nor a dream of yearning. I only dream this because I have been causing hurt.
Reiterating a simple message.
How much is real?I stand in my dream, having lost my shining armour, my gallant stead long removed from sight, and the flesh is bare. Stripped apart are the layers of planning, gone are the meticulously crafted reality, and left behind is an arena that is truly, and suerly closer to reality.
Then She asks me, "Do I care about you, or is it meerly the circumstances that gives life to an illusion?" Like forever binding a lark to a chain. The lark is only by my side so long as I keep it in tethers. Will you fly back to me if I removed the string on your feet?
The dream reprimands me. "That is you! The boy holding a hundred thousand strings. Such sham, such shame, for you will never know, for you dare not let go. Forever and ever it shall remain your obsession. And you shall die alone, pulled asunder in a million varying directions!"
What do I know about the pain of the world? It has but been an excuse to hold ever tighter on the strings. To transform uncertainty into grief, and grief into guilt, and finally, guilt into melancholy. A melancholy that masks the fear of ever losing control.
Maybe, all you've been trying to say is that I deserve to feel happy. That I am entitled to the fruits of joy.
The message is clearer with each passing day. I don't want to tie you to any string. I want you to be free, I want you to fly up high. It doesn't matter if it's without me. I only hope that you have not given up hope on me yet.
Gavin
pondered @ 02:36
