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Prometheus' Liver
Apr. 14th, 2002 01:05 pmI rarely appear in my own dreams. When I remember them, the viewpoint character is generally that -- a character. I view her (or him) in first and third person simultaneously, and while I can experience the character's thought patterns, I never confuse her with me. This character has been everything from sentient rocket ship to Siamese photojournalist, and has occasionally died so that the dream carries on without her.
Always, the dream is strongly plotted, beautifully photographed, and highly cinematic.
When I do appear in a dream, it usually shares a set of traditional characteristics. It takes place in an institution -- an aiport terminal, a hospital, a school, a museum. There are miles of empty corridors, dozens of stairwells and escalators, few if any windows, and diffuse light without a practical source. It is imperative that I arrive at an important meeting, and that before reaching it, I find an essential item. I cannot, however, stop to search for this item; instead, it will be located somewhere along the way, provided that I am vigilant enough to see it. I must always move forward, and never look back.
Behind me, there are footsteps. Hundreds of people are walking steadily after me; they are not following me so much as going to the same place I am. It is neccessary that I stay ahead of them -- so far ahead of them that they cannot see me. I turn corners to break up sight lines, but I know that evasion would be pointless; they are following the path I set, which is the path to the meeting no matter which direction I take. The people are not my enemies, nor do they realize they are pursuing me, but they will harm me if they find me before I reach the meeting.
I have had this dream many dozens of times. It never looks, or sounds, or feels exactly the same, but the basic structure is invariable. I have never been caught, and I have never reached the meeting.
The major variance is whether I attain the object. When I do, it is generally presented to me by a powerful but unimposing middle-aged man with the same vibe as Morgan Freeman in Glory. (Although the vibe is the same in all of the dreams, the appearance alters dramatically.)
The object is generally this: "You already know the answer. Do not be dissuaded from what you know is true."
The man always calls me by a Greek word: parakletos. I always know the translation: paraclete.
When this first happened, (shortly after puberty,) I had never heard either of those words before. I asked my mother what it meant, and she said that a paraclete was an agent of fate.
I promptly forgot about this until it happened again, at which point I looked it up in a Greek/English dictionary. "parakletos -- The Comfortor [note capitalization]."
Months passed, and I looked it up in Webster's Unabridged. "From para-, to, and kalein, to call. An advocate; one called to aid or support; a consoler, comfortor, or intercessor; hence, in Christianity, the Holy Spirit, considered as comforter, intercessor, or advocate."
I did some online searches to flesh out the religious aspect, and discovered several sites which maintained that The Paraclete was the second Christ -- that Jesus spoke of one who would come after him to continue and refine his work. Mildly suspicious, I looked at the texts they were citing, and came to the conclusion that they were misinterpreting -- Jesus was saying that he was a paraclete, and that there would be others. It was not a word that he had invented, but one that had been in use at the time. An agent of fate.
Once I confirmed the explanation, (the sporadic reasearch for which took me through freshman year of college,) the dreams stopped.
This may well be the explanation for the famous "Romie Exception."
Most encounters do not involve much in the way of fate. On a day to day basis, fate acts the same way as luck -- it sets the odds on certain outcomes, but it doesn't force them. For certain people, and certain situations, fate uses a heavier hand, but it can still be circumvented. Predestination is not absolute, just as a swimmer can fight against a strong current and stay in place instead of flowing with the water.
Of course, that swimmer often tires and drowns. If there are tasks set for him downstream, he does not complete them.
My function is generally to find the influential swimmers and convince them of their responsibilities, then angle them to avoid the worst rocks when they start swimming with the current. Sometimes, they hit the rocks anyway, because they've been holding their position so long that they must move incredibly quickly to catch up, and I can't divert them in time. In these cases, the most off-course and the fastest travelling, all I can really do is to wait by the rocks bandage what I can after the collision.
These scenarios cause me the most stress, obviously. In the worst cases, I stand the chance of losing them completely -- they may die, or they may lose the ability to do what they are meant to do. Of course, if I let them stay where they are, they are equally likely to die, and they will definitely not do what they are meant to. Although I know this, the letting go is very hard. After all, they are often my friends.
I'm damn certain that someone is going to hit the rocks. It's mostly a matter of when. I hope that he lets it be a clean and complete break that heals the old wounds instead of letting himself drown. I hope he actually relaxes and lets go before he hits so that he isn't more shattered than neccessary. I hope he lets me heal him instead of blaming me for the rocks -- which I do not create; only reveal. I hope he lets himself rest enough to mend entirely.
But mostly. . . Mostly, I hope it knocks some sense into him.
Always, the dream is strongly plotted, beautifully photographed, and highly cinematic.
When I do appear in a dream, it usually shares a set of traditional characteristics. It takes place in an institution -- an aiport terminal, a hospital, a school, a museum. There are miles of empty corridors, dozens of stairwells and escalators, few if any windows, and diffuse light without a practical source. It is imperative that I arrive at an important meeting, and that before reaching it, I find an essential item. I cannot, however, stop to search for this item; instead, it will be located somewhere along the way, provided that I am vigilant enough to see it. I must always move forward, and never look back.
Behind me, there are footsteps. Hundreds of people are walking steadily after me; they are not following me so much as going to the same place I am. It is neccessary that I stay ahead of them -- so far ahead of them that they cannot see me. I turn corners to break up sight lines, but I know that evasion would be pointless; they are following the path I set, which is the path to the meeting no matter which direction I take. The people are not my enemies, nor do they realize they are pursuing me, but they will harm me if they find me before I reach the meeting.
I have had this dream many dozens of times. It never looks, or sounds, or feels exactly the same, but the basic structure is invariable. I have never been caught, and I have never reached the meeting.
The major variance is whether I attain the object. When I do, it is generally presented to me by a powerful but unimposing middle-aged man with the same vibe as Morgan Freeman in Glory. (Although the vibe is the same in all of the dreams, the appearance alters dramatically.)
The object is generally this: "You already know the answer. Do not be dissuaded from what you know is true."
The man always calls me by a Greek word: parakletos. I always know the translation: paraclete.
When this first happened, (shortly after puberty,) I had never heard either of those words before. I asked my mother what it meant, and she said that a paraclete was an agent of fate.
I promptly forgot about this until it happened again, at which point I looked it up in a Greek/English dictionary. "parakletos -- The Comfortor [note capitalization]."
Months passed, and I looked it up in Webster's Unabridged. "From para-, to, and kalein, to call. An advocate; one called to aid or support; a consoler, comfortor, or intercessor; hence, in Christianity, the Holy Spirit, considered as comforter, intercessor, or advocate."
I did some online searches to flesh out the religious aspect, and discovered several sites which maintained that The Paraclete was the second Christ -- that Jesus spoke of one who would come after him to continue and refine his work. Mildly suspicious, I looked at the texts they were citing, and came to the conclusion that they were misinterpreting -- Jesus was saying that he was a paraclete, and that there would be others. It was not a word that he had invented, but one that had been in use at the time. An agent of fate.
Once I confirmed the explanation, (the sporadic reasearch for which took me through freshman year of college,) the dreams stopped.
This may well be the explanation for the famous "Romie Exception."
Most encounters do not involve much in the way of fate. On a day to day basis, fate acts the same way as luck -- it sets the odds on certain outcomes, but it doesn't force them. For certain people, and certain situations, fate uses a heavier hand, but it can still be circumvented. Predestination is not absolute, just as a swimmer can fight against a strong current and stay in place instead of flowing with the water.
Of course, that swimmer often tires and drowns. If there are tasks set for him downstream, he does not complete them.
My function is generally to find the influential swimmers and convince them of their responsibilities, then angle them to avoid the worst rocks when they start swimming with the current. Sometimes, they hit the rocks anyway, because they've been holding their position so long that they must move incredibly quickly to catch up, and I can't divert them in time. In these cases, the most off-course and the fastest travelling, all I can really do is to wait by the rocks bandage what I can after the collision.
These scenarios cause me the most stress, obviously. In the worst cases, I stand the chance of losing them completely -- they may die, or they may lose the ability to do what they are meant to do. Of course, if I let them stay where they are, they are equally likely to die, and they will definitely not do what they are meant to. Although I know this, the letting go is very hard. After all, they are often my friends.
I'm damn certain that someone is going to hit the rocks. It's mostly a matter of when. I hope that he lets it be a clean and complete break that heals the old wounds instead of letting himself drown. I hope he actually relaxes and lets go before he hits so that he isn't more shattered than neccessary. I hope he lets me heal him instead of blaming me for the rocks -- which I do not create; only reveal. I hope he lets himself rest enough to mend entirely.
But mostly. . . Mostly, I hope it knocks some sense into him.
