Nasty, Brutish and Short

In the dream I am short with broad shoulders and a three day beard. As a man I have the air of an opportunistic weasel. A bit of a medievil Peter Lorre, I guess. I find myself clad in a suit of armor guarding a lonesome gate to a castle. Stretching out behind me is a vast expanse of green grass at the end of which is a sharp hill that looks like the end of the world. There are no trees or any kind of cover to speak of. I am alone at my post, armed only with a sword and a shield. I can hear a skirmish inside the castle walls and I suddenly realize just how alone I am. I stare expectantly toward the end of the world feeling the weight of my armor and lamenting the loss of my helmet.

The sounds behind the gate grow more frenzied and I see horses coming over the rise. I grab my sword and the gate breaks down from the inside. I look to my left, then to my right and make a decision to run. I can feel the pounding of feet on the earth behind me and see a glint of steel out of the corner of my eye. At first I feel it on the back of my neck, sharp and cold. Although, I do recognize that it is not cold from the sword. No, the sword was already warm and wet with other men's blood. The cold was the unfamiliar sensation of the wind blowing across my exposed muscle tissue. Within a split second my head is severed violently from my body and I have the sensation of rolling through the air inside my own head. I actually see my body drop behind me. Before my head hits the ground I hear a voice telling me to let go. I think to myself that death really isn't so bad. Surprising and possibly unfortunate, but not bad. I wonder why I had felt the intense urge to flee and feel ashamed of my cowardice.

Then I wake up.

It's akin to that moment in the movie "Defending Your Life" where Albert Brooks visits the Past Lives Pavillion and realizes that he has always been a whiney little loser. What strikes me most about this dream is the physical sensation of losing my head. It's so real, so visceral and kind of cool. So is the sense that I died and the event is no more important than losing at a game of Donkey Kong. I zigged when I should have zagged. I'll have to remember that next time.

I don't know if there is a "next time" but I have other dreams like this one. In one I have a sharp metal object poked into my breast and wiggled around before I feel the hot and bubbling sensation of fire under my feet. In another dream I have the sensation of being stabbed repeatedly in the back by someone who is clearly taller than I. If I have died before it is abundantly clear that I was not well liked. If I have not died before, then I have a really sick fixation on violent death and some gender identity issues!

In truth, it really doesn't matter what these dreams mean. What I take away from the experience, however, is that death really isn't so bad. Does it matter if that is true or not? No. What matters is it puts my mind enough at ease so I can let the fear go a bit. Unfortunately, I haven't had any dreams to let me know that life itself isn't so scary! I've got to get the ol' gray matter working on that one.

Nighty- night.