On dreaming and healing
The Muse Letter No. 21
The following text was written at the beginning of lockdown, when sleep was interrupted and rare and the newspapers were full of articles about people’s strange pandemic dreams. Since then a lot has changed: Flour is back in stock, toiletpaper went back to it‘s usual popularity, people have been hugged again and friends met in the park. Still I feel like sharing it now is right. Because of that. Because it’s so easy to forget where we once were and what it has meant to be there.
Last night I woke up screaming. It was a sound coming from my mouth so sudden and raw it felt like a primal roar. Shook from my nightmare, the echo still lingering in my ear, I didn’t dare to move for several minutes. Secretly waiting for my flatmate to wake up, to arrive with worry on her face and questions dropping hot in panic.
I listened for footsteps and doors flying open. – Nothing happened. (Not very reassuring.) I flicked on the lamp on my nightstand and picked up my phone. If reality did not appear through the person I am living with, it had to materialise otherwise.