past lives — 2012

I free fall from the top of a building with countless canopies surrounded by a concrete jungle with an unsettling lack of human activity. In a state of utter despair during my longest flight, I try to hold on to something, anything. I continue to fall. I blink and time travel to when I was 7. My friend and I sit on a terrace, engrossed in an endless conversation, shifting between serious expressions and random giggles. I am listing intently to a mute conversation. I only hear the sudden bouts of laughter. I am trying to make sense of it. Someone calls my name and I am sitting in the last row, overwhelmed at mass hysteria at my first rock concert. I, along with twenty thousand screaming men and women sway hands and sing familiar songs in absolute uninterrupted unison. I am up with a jolt, look around sleepily and recuperate slowly to my zombie like morning rituals. I struggle as I recall the events that unfolded over the last six hours of my semi-consciousness. I dreamt a large dream. I was told that a dream lasts 8 seconds, whoever came up with the number was a seven year old.

Being in so many unique situations in 8 seconds, I wanted to understand, and eventually draw conclusions about what the short series of unrelated stories meant. Convinced they meant something, read and re-read Interpretation of dreams. Freud psychoanalysed dreams with his educated analyses as he quoted dreams are often most profound when they seem most crazy. I was sure about the crazy, still iffy about the profoundness. I decided to put what I had discovered to test.

With some self-applied psychoanalysis, I found out that my first dream highlights my deep seated insecurities about failures, constantly trying to hold on to things instead of letting things fall into place. The second would be my knack for clinging on to my past and my inability to react to . Third would be feelings of being completely consumed by the circumstances around me. Conclusion: Inconclusive.

All of the above were startling revelations about me, I give it a seconds thought and consider going to a therapist to discuss my new found issues. I told myself, I will turn a new leaf, turn into someone I could be content with. I realised a second later that these words would have been the single point of initiation for my therapist to feed on my bank balance for years to come. Then, everything caved in on me as I suddenly was made aware that I’ve had experience sleeping for nearly 30 years of my short life, and if every dream I dreamed of could be interpreted in infinite ways, I would need to consider options better than just seeing a dude with a notepad.

After I thanked Freud profusely for saving me what would have been my ginormous house, I cursed him for complicating something as petty as a dream. I refuse to believe that this would not be the end of Freud in my life, and I will go back to him on numerous occasions in wanting answers to unanswered questions. But in my current state, its a distant possibility.

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