death of the self

sometime in the last few months i had the strangest of dreams. though i have known for years that my dreams are a degree of bizarre beyond what is expected, this was unlike any other dreaming experience i have had before.

in short, i found myself passenger on a scooty as we were chased and shot at by a bike following us. the driver was hit and slumped so i did my best to get us to the hospital. upon getting there, i realized i too had been shot…in the back of my head. i asked someone for help, and then i found a quiet space where i could lie down.

then, i died.

i couldn’t say if the moment lasted split seconds or a lifetime, but i had sensations unlike anything else i’ve ever known in the dream world or any other worlds. i experienced dying, in my mind, as i slept and dreamt. the closest way i’ve been able to relay what it felt like is to refer to the discombobulated awareness of waking up from a fainting spell. the strange disconnect between body and mind, and a self that exists elsewhere.

but the strangest detail of all is that i not only experienced dying, i died from a bullet shot by no other than myself.

more than anything, curiosity led me to seek any viable interpretations. i found a handful of theories but one stood out above the others–the death of the old self. many suggested this is a symbolic death of who a person used to be. intrigued i thought little else of it expect that even in my dream, even in dying, i felt peace.

over dinner last night, in retelling the dream, it occurred to me that i have indeed changed. that i have a shed a shell. that i have grown, and learned, and am emerging into more of who i aspire to be. finally. finally. finally.

finally. finally. finally.

years of frustration, of perceived stagnancy, of doubt, of severe inadequacy are slowing finding their way into my past, and are now (mostly) behind me. as for the future, i am keen and open to what it may bring, i now have direction, ambition, and this time…i am equipped with a plan.


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