Change Change Change

 As in a lot of my dreams, I am lost. I am not in a hurry, but I am lost. What should be familiar is suddenly foreign. Time is wasted when lost. Hallways become miles and parking lots vast expanses. I see others and they seem to know where they are going but when I follow, I am still lost. 

And here I am, a half century into a life, lost. And here I am, he who should be awash in wisdom, lost in ignorance and doubt and fear...but not alone. No, I am a husband and a father to three young children. And my parents, perhaps lost souls as well, are not around to help, to guide me from the thickets into the light.

I also dreamt of women. Of the prettiest girls in High School. Thirty plus years removed from High School and the inferiority invades my dreams.

I dreamt of my parents. They were lost. Young and more robust...but lost. Unable to help. In need of help.

I used to believe that dreams are just electrochemical garbage; neural remains of the day that swirl about before their discard. Though many partners have awoken me as I screamed and hollered from the night terrors, I maintained my belief. 

I alone assign importance to things. Subjectivity rules. I deem what matters...to me. Maybe these dreams and these night terrors arise because I have not...mattered to me. Maybe deep down, the
bone-deep inferiority felt from a young age from an inescapable poverty, means that I don't matter to me. Maybe I don't value myself. Intellectually I can tell myself that everyone has worth, and value, and dignity. It is another thing to feel worthy and valuable and dignified. Another thing completely, distinctly. 

How do I matter to me? How do I change? How do I flip the script? How do I turn the tables on life and feel better? 

"I will walk along these hillsides in the summer 'neath the sunshine. I am feathered by the moonlight falling down on me..."

Change Change Change