Dream is destiny

wakinglife

Last night I had sex with a stranger. I don’t remember who, but it definitely wasn’t you. I don’t remember the details clearly, it was just a dream. Just a dream that ended in a scream. I woke up feeling guilty, that you might think it was cheating. Blurry dream images flash before my eyes in a swirling mix of alcohol and lies. And the dream started fading into the distance, dissolving into the blackness within.

Early morning streaking sunlight; blushing memories of last night. Your lips crushing mine, suddenly demanding; your hands in my hair, roughly commanding; and me surrendering to your urgency, willingly obeying. We tease pleasure and pain’s fine line; but you only find your pleasure in mine. Memories, more real than the rapidly dissolving dream. Memories can be held in the palm of your hand; dreams become lost time, sifting through the hourglass like fine grains of sand.

We can surrender body and mind, a consciousness, a waking life. But dream is destiny, they say; waking or dreaming, life’s in disarray; I wonder what remains at the end of day? Is it memories that come to stay… or haunting dreams that won’t go away?

Dream is destiny

 

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Rebel, just a little

There is a cult of rebels born in every generation. These are the ones whose very basic instincts make them defy authority, especially that of the previous generation.

It manifests at a very basic, domestic level. The parents object to a particular set of friends and you make it your agenda to hang out with only those friends, till your parents give up and accept there’s no harm in it, which was your point all along. You grow up a little bit and suddenly get all serious and committed at an age when others are still frolicking in frocks and going on mock dates. After years of quarrels and ‘This is just what I want in life’ and ‘Can’t you just be happy for me’ showdowns, finally everyone around begins to accept that this is how you want your life to be. And then, just like that, you decide you like it better when you are unpredictable.

On the outside you appear soft-hearted, composed and relaxed. Who could guess that you’ve played your part in breaking the heart of someone pure and innocent? Who could possible understand the turmoil underneath that calm, composed exterior? You prefer that the rebel in you is known to as few as possible, making sure that every time you rebel, you have the element of surprise working in your favor.

You struggle with the very definition of settling down. You hate it when the water is still for far too long, and after a while of quiet contemplation of silence and peace, you can’t resist the temptation of throwing in a few pebbles so as to see the ripples break that surface of unrelenting calm. You are always craving the thrill, the excitement, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

And then there are those who have that instinct to rebel but whose struggles never go beyond the caged structure of their own mind. These are the ones with higher potential and stronger instincts. But they are not free. The more they try to throw off the load on their shoulders, they themselves add a little bit more. It’s a structure within which they are bound, and all the rebelling falls just short of the boundary. They accept that their rebel power is limited only to the walls of their mind.

I don’t know if I’m free, but I know I belong to the rebel cult, and I don’t understand this half-rebel-half-contrite, structured existence. I don’t know if they’ll ever be free from this structure and I don’t know if you even need to get rid of this cage in order to lead a completely honest, happy life. Maybe freedom has nothing to do with structure and maybe it all does really come down to your choices. And in that case, what happens to the ones implicated by your choice?

Tell me what you think. Are you a rebel? Or do you believe that structure lets you live a stable, happy life?