The dream has returned once more,
Now imprinted on my psyche, by simple repetition.
It unfolds in the sharpest of details,
In shades of grey, it conveys not vague visual impressions,
But an experience so visceral,
It can still be seen, can still be felt, even weeks later.
Perplexed and uneasy, struggling to find meaning
In a life presented as an ongoing mystery,
Ripe with candidates for enigmatic messages,
The setting, always the same, so familiar, yet so foreign.
A composite of my experiences perhaps?
A manifestation of deep seated fears, more likely.
Lost and alone in an old factory, dismal and intimidating,
Its ceilings stretching away into darkness.
Its massive steel relics exude an oppressive foreboding.
Wrapped in fear that I will be discovered,
Exposed that I do not belong.
That the face I present is simply the mask of an imposter.
I wander aimlessly, searching for release from uncertainty,
From those I meet, I seek direction back to the familiar
Pointed this way and that, their guesses no better than mine.
Through doorways, around corners, passages to unknown rooms,
Or a return to places I have been before, none holding the answer I seek.
I’m rereading the same novel, always with the final chapter missing.
Locked doors, and so many dead ends, my life perhaps?
So many high brick walls, blocking my path, their feel, prison like.
Perched atop of one, below I see the exit, yet there is no way down.
Forced to retrace my steps to seek another path,
All the while, my persistent ruminations, and constant deliberations
Provide no insight into the whys and wherefores of this dream
And always before I can escape
The dream dissolves into disquieted wakefulness.
I wonder, when the dream returns again, will I finally understand?