Recurring Dream

Recurring Dream

I'm locked inside a cage in the middle of a vast desert. Dunes stretch out toward every horizon. The sand varies in colour; bone-dead white and golden yellows, burnt oranges and deep reds. The wind blows gently, cooling my face and drawing patterns in the sand like waves, waves that are a microcosm, a representation, a map of the greater undulations surrounding me. Tiny grains tumble down pulverised mountains, always shifting. The land pulses. The land is alive.

My cage, my cell, is quite large. The thin, black bars that keep me inside seem wide enough to squeeze through, but they're not. They stretch high on all four sides and stripe the endless blue sky. The floor is soft sand, but I know the bars are buried below me. There is no escape.

I have a bed, a comfortable single bed, and other things that are harder to define. They exist, but they have no shape. They are nowhere, or nowhere visible, but they are here. Do you understand? Books. I don't know what sort of books, but they occupy me, they keep me content. Magazines. Pens and lined paper. It's enough. I have all I need.

The days are warm, and despite the fresh breeze that flows over me like a cool compassionate hand on a fevered forehead, I can smell the warmth laced with spices and scents; cinnamon and jasmine, cumin and lavender. I inhale it like a drug. It sustains and invigorates me. It flows through my body, infusing every cell, and I feel myself becoming. With each breath, I am more a part of this place, and it is more a part of me.

The nights are cool and a warm wind envelops me, embraces me.

I sleep well. I do not worry.

I wake gently, gradually.

Another day.

Another day of contentment, another day without worry.

Another day without hurting anyone, upsetting anyone, angering anyone, frustrating anyone, another day without disappointing anyone. Another good day.

I see a spot on the very limit of my vision, a tiny black dot at the edge of the world. Someone is coming. A long way to go, but coming.

It's you.

I know it's you.

I remember it's you. How could I have forgotten it's you? You always come.

I wait. There is no agitation in waiting, only the satisfaction of knowing you'll soon be here.

I am glad to see you. More than glad, overjoyed. I love you.

Every day you come to visit me in my cage. You bring me ripened fruits, light pastries and wine. Your eyes are like laughter and your lips like kindness.

We talk. You understand. You understand me. You understand everything and I love you so very much. Every day you walk so far to bring me provisions and your smile. You bring me your life, your laughter, your acceptance and your love and I am overwhelmed with emotion.

You reach through the bars and I take your hand and feel its warmth, the intimacy of your skin on mine. We kiss. It's awkward through the bars, but we kiss anyway. If our kisses could only ever be the slightest touch of our lips, we would kiss anyway.

The wind grows cold and howls. It is time for you to leave.

It's such a long way back.

I sleep and try to dream of you, but no dreams will come.

I wake with a start, and almost fall out of bed. I find myself sitting up with my arms stretched out behind me, my hands spread wide on the bed, trying to keep balance. I see you coming. I must have overslept. My subconscious detects a change so fundamental that it takes a while for my mind to process it.

The bars have gone.

This is incredible, incomprehensible. I'm glad you're nearly here. I need to talk to you about this, and I have a strange intuition that you know what's happened, that you know how and why.

I leave the former confines of my cell and walk forward to meet you. You lay your basket down on the sand and open your arms wide to greet me. We kiss. We kiss for a long time. The happiness inside me makes me feel my heart will burst. I smile so much it hurts and unsuccessfully try to hold back tears of relief, of joy, of such an overdose of emotion.

I reluctantly let you go so that I can see you, see your face, see your eyes so we can share this moment and lock it into our hearts forever.

At first I believe you are just as overwhelmed as I, but you feel something different. I can tell. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes. You're trying, you want to look happy, but you can't. You're hiding something, trying to protect me. I'm confused. We walk back to my bed in silence.

We sit together. Sharing my space with you is strange. I want to make love to you. I want to be as close to you as I can be, but this isn't the right time. It's inappropriate, at least for now. We must talk first. I know all of this just by looking at your sad, beautiful face. I know you don't want this conversation, and I feel selfish for forcing it on you, but I need to understand what's happened. You take my hand to reassure me.

"What happened to the cage? Where have the bars gone?"

You are silent, but your silence is an answer. You're saying I already know.

"No, I don't. Really. You'll have to tell me."

You will only look at me in sorrow. I'm still confused by how difficult this is for you. You are only just keeping your composure, and the effort is for my benefit. Again, without words, you tell me that on some level I know the answer, and that it's better to come from me.

The solution comes slowly, gradually, and the implications even more so. My voice cracks.

"There's never been a cage."

I stand up and walk around, pacing the room as if it's still there. It's too much to accept. Why would I do that to myself? So much time wasted. Punishing myself, denying myself and you, and all for what? All this time, I could have held you. I could have walked with you. I could have gone with you...

I can leave.

Of course, this is a good thing. I've always wanted this to happen, begged and prayed for it, and now it has. When you go back at the end of the day, I can come with you and never see this place again. In fact, why wait until the end of the day? We can leave right now. There's no denying that's possible. It's definitely something I could do. The only thing stopping me was the cage.

The cage that was never there.

The cage that I imagined was there.

The cage that I constructed and forced myself to believe in.

A thought enters my head. This is all too sudden. I need time to adjust. I'll leave tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Just a few more days at the most.

I don't give voice to this lie.

It's time for you to go. You don't ask me to leave with you, and I don't have the heart or the shame to make an excuse. We embrace, but we do not kiss. We will kiss tomorrow.

Tomorrow my cell will return. I will recreate it and forget.

How many times have I put you through this? How many more times will it happen yet? I cannot comprehend my selfishness. I deny it. I concede it exists, but as a separate entity. I reject this repugnant piece of emotional filth as a part of me. I wish I had the bars to shake, to kick, to charge at and vent my frustration, and suddenly they are there. I immediately want them gone, and they are gone.

I look to the shifting sands of the desert. The dunes tremble and quiver, and I know they too are a fantasy. There is nothing but void, nothing but what I create, and I have created a prison.

My head aches. I feel sick. I curl up on my bed and cry. I pray for sleep, knowing that tomorrow I can have my cell back and today will never have happened.

You will come back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. Pretending the cell is real. Pretending the desert is real. Happy because I am happy.

Tomorrow I won't know what I have done to you, but tomorrow is an eternity away. Sleep is a long time coming, and I deserve every waking moment 'til it mercifully injects my veins with morphine. The wind shrieks a moan of despair. It will do so all night. Understanding why the wind mourns and why it will not stop brings me no comfort at all.