What Dreams May Come

Again I dreamed, and again I was not subject to any of the downsides I mentioned a few days ago.

I was only a child when I asked God to make them stop. I didn't realize at the time that I was passing up on a great opportunity for exploration and discovery. Yes, granted, many of my dreams, especially the recurring ones, were quite frightening, but I know now that I could have taken control of them the same way I did the other more mundane ones. I had managed to train myself to shake free from the paralyzing terror and even choose to wake up. There was no reason for me to ask for them to cease.

Or was there?

Perhaps I had begun remembering things that should have remained forgotten.

To this day certain environments trigger physical sensations that I cannot explain. They may not occur as frequently as when I was younger, but that could simply be because I avoid those situations.

I mentioned yesterday that my memory was sketchy. It's a gross understatement. Like many people I have a great difficulty in remembering names; unless I write them down they most likely will utterly disappear from my mind. Admittedly it's not a very uncommon problem, though I would be curious to know what common traits, if any, people with similarly functioning memories may share.

What does disturb me however is that I seem to have sizable gaps in my long term memory. I have been able to retain memories of events that were captured in photographs but it is quite a challenge for me to fill in the blanks between each frame. It is as if some of the pictures were removed from my mental photo album.

I call it snapshot memory.

I can remember those events in full color and detail but either I am experiencing a problem with my memory capacity, or I have had a virus that corrupted many of my stored files.

As for storage capacity, I'm not sure anyone has yet reached the point where their brain comes to a screeching halt and can no longer take in any more information. I have moved a lot. That could explain why I might be in need of a serious mental defragmentation session.

A virus could explain a lot as well. By virus I mean something that happened in my past that was serious enough to pollute my memory and cause me to purposely forget whatever events that may have served as the triggers.

For a while I suspected abuse. I do have very vivid memories of some of the more intense disciplinary actions taken against me by my parents.

I can still hear the buckle of that big white leather belt mom kept in the kitchen drawer for special occasions. I remember how she would be so enthusiastic in her swings that the belt would unfold and the buckle would start smashing into anything that got in its way, including her, which naturally made her assault more vicious.

I also remember the time when I had gone to a friend's house after school rather than going straight home, something I did probably far too often, even though it was so easy to be distracted when I was having to walk a mile on the busy streets of Naples at the ripe old age of nine. Apparently my parents had had an evening planned, a pastoral visit, I guess, and I had just about ruined the plan by not telling them where I was. My friend's conscientious mother made me call home when I told her that my parents didn't know where I was.

We stopped at our church in Ottaviano on the way to the dinner. My punishment couldn't wait, I guess. Dad made me drop my pants and underwear and bite down on a marker so that I wouldn't scream and disturb the neighbors while he whipped me with his belt as I bent over the altar. Thirteen lashes.

Because of the accuracy of those particular memories I don't suspect that type of scenario to have been the cause for my lapses. If it had been the case, surely I would have blocked it out, and, as you can read, I didn't.

I suspect a different kind of abuse. Many of the tell-tale signs are present, and knowing what I know about my father now I would not be surprised to discover that it was the case.

That being said I can't place any stock in a suspicion.

I do wonder however if my dreams were blocked or obscured for the same reasons as my memories. Humans do tend to build up mechanisms to defend themselves against pain. As much as I'd like to think myself capable of living above the level of base instinct I must concede that at certain times it is the only thing that saves and preserves me.

I don't exactly want to discredit the power of prayer, be it for its widely believed immediate connection to the Creator or for the way it can function as mind over matter meditation, especially since the prayer was answered immediately, but I also can't rule our the possibility of trauma or fear of death.

The thing is, I no longer fear death. Death used to signify a grand tribunal before an angry and vengeful God surrounded by myriad accusing angels calling out my every sin before all of the hosts of heaven. That's not death. That's the lie of religion that tells us that we are undeserving of the love and mercy of our creator. Death is merely a return of our energy to the collective soul.

Free from fear I am able to face whatever dreams and memories may come.

I am ready for them now, and if perchance I am once again granted the gift of foresight I will no longer flee from the responsibility that comes with it, no matter how daunting it may be.