I mentioned in 10 Things You Don’t Want To Know About Me that there were recurring themes in the nightmares I had as a child –
“…involving being eaten, observed, buried alive or locked into some soul destroying repetition (like building a house that always fell down). These themes followed me into my teen years where I turned to Buddhism to deal with my consuming fear of death and pointlessness. In my twenties I was a crystal therapist, a Reiki practitioner and dream analyst. I also semi-believed in past lives and spirit guides.“
That’s all changed but I still remember most of those dreams and still give them some credit for shaping who I’ve become. This is one of the dreams I promised I’d blog. And my first entry in The Freak Files – which will chronicle the stranger, sometimes darker side of myself. If you had recurring nightmares as a child I’d love to hear about them (I’m that kind of guy).
I become aware that the moon – which should be outside in the sky – is actually here in the room with me, suspended at the foot of my bed, rolling slowly in the air. On each rotation I see small bumps appearing on its surface.
The small bumps grow steadily bigger until they develop tiny slits, all running horizontally, from one side of each bump to the other. As it continues to spin it loses any moon-ish type features – apart from the fact that it’s round – and instead begins to look like an immense shiny golf ball with the tiny hollows turned inside out.
A period of time passes and then the slit of one bump – just as it was rotating away from my line of vision – opens up, and a dark red pupil peeks out of it. I have the sudden realization that this giant sphere is not the moon at all, but a planet of eyes, and as it continues on its slow rotation more and more of these eyes begin to open. They open very slowly, but it’s clear once they are opened fully that they are interested in me and me only.
As the ball continues to rotate the eyes that are moving towards the top of the ball strain as hard as they can to keep me in their sights before they disappear to the other side. The same happens when new eyes first appear at the bottom. They are so desperate to see me that I am almost terrified enough to consider running away but the thought that they might jump at me or at least follow me, is enough to keep me petrified to the spot.
Millions and millions of eyes opening to peer at me, and as the rotation of the planet gains pace they began to look more and more desperate, the skin around the eyeballs tighten to give me the impression that they are concentrating harder or maybe even getting angry. I have the feeling that they want me to do something but I have no idea what. The planet spins faster and faster, until long lines of a sticky fluid – like snot or saliva – begins to trickle down its surface and leak from the bottom.
There is nothing pleasant about this experience. I need space, I need privacy but it continues to pick up pace so that the saliva begins to flick off and land on my bed and land on my walls. It spins so fast that I get the impression that they are screaming, these million eyes. I try to scream back at them but no noise is coming out.
At last, all at once, it stops. The eyes facing me open wide – as if they belong to someone who has just been shot in the heart – and the entire planet disappears. It disappears with a long sucking sound and I finally hear my voice again; searching for my parents through the dark.