There are no dreams at all. Life is about survival in its most basic form. Every night before I fall asleep, I feel lonelier than I have ever felt. No. It must have been worse at some point but life blessed me with no awareness of it. I fought decades for a grasp on the madness I was born into, to understand how it shaped and misled me, and to survive the self-hatred that flows freely, burning up in my blood stream. These days only sleep relieves my troubled thoughts.
However, when I am lucky enough to wake up in good spirits, or have a joyous moment, I savour it. I greet this prompt grudgingly but challenge myself on it. I seek out a thought or dream to borrow and feed on for a time. A wish for all of my communities and myself. A hope. An aspiration and necessity for my complete freedom. Yes. All of that contemplation sends me off to read Adrienne Rich again, from whom I quote now. “There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.”
