I am already dead. I am a corpse.
It’s already a fact, and yet, in spite of being dead, I am rushing and scrambling to organize everything – things have to be put in place for my son after I’m gone, there are things I still haven’t taken care of, I cannot go until I’ve done all the things….
And I’m beginning to smell. Bad.
Time has run out.
Was it December when I dreamt this? Maybe even November? Long before the pandemic was upon us. It was deeply disturbing, yet had no obvious outside reference. At the time I wondered – was it psychological? Was “the old me dying”, and was I “moving into a new phase”?
Now I find myself scrambling to pull together all the info to have a will in place for my son just in case, just in case… and it’s as if the dream echoes around me, the dancing calavera mocking, following me as I, already a stinking corpse, rush to get everything organized before I get tripped up by the virus.
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Some traditions have an approach of “canceling dreams” (Toltec teacher, Sergio Magaña), or acting out a bad dream so that the dream is realized in a controlled way while the worst of its implications are avoided (Haudenosaunee / Iroquois).
Glimpsing this spooky dream in my peripheral vision again and again – while practicing pretty strict hand washing – I am pulling out the notebooks on techniques to do these things – the canceling and the acting out – and working on some homemade witchy magic to make it all “just a dream”…
* * *
And you, Dear Reader? Any pandemic dreams following you through your days?