One segment of the dream of last night had me traveling with some difficulty across the city landscape by bus to my apartment which had been lost for some time in the thickness of my mind. On arrival I found it occupied by a crowd of post-adolescents who milled about as if I was not even present. It seemed impossible to properly recall but I fogged out and then came groggily to a semblance of being awake only to find myself upon a divan in the former dining room now lounge. My clothes were scattered on the floor besides my splayed legs and I the obvious buffoon. It was a weighty task to gather my garments and reapply them to my unsteady self. The children ran to and fro from front to rear and back again lost in their Dionysian quest for cool. The young women giving themselves freely to exotic excess with no concern for consequence or reputation. I dare not approach them as it was clear by their distant proximity that I was to be avoided and ignored at all costs. Feeling like an interloper and still puzzled by the transition of my former space into no old man’s land, I staggered unsteadily forth to the front room to find my pants and make my exit. The only droplet of compassion in a young man who seemed not overly helpful so much as compassionate of my plight to struggle one leg and a time to hold my balance as I legged my way one at a time into my discarded pants.
The wisdom of the affair coming in the sense of embarrassment at the hands of a heartless edition of youth whose drives and motives, I could not comprehend. And who equally had no use for me as if by a bond of a pejorative pact being an addendum to their rites of passage. That taint of shame coming home from its hiding place way up in the settling dust of dreams. That heavy veil that promptly descends when consciousness once more takes custody of that wandering existence that we know as life. A passage or two then visually recollected its mislaid alphabet masquerading as near ancient wisdom flung from a papery grave on behalf of another long deceased author taken lifetime hostage in the quackery of the printed word. The experience of them taking one back to roost with these previously noted events of increasingly insubstantial steam. Realizations lost on me in former years when my parents were exactly my own age and I was too lost in my own ego bound dilemma to see the difficulty of their own maze. How humbling it was now to realize the true nature of my family legacy being not in those treasured nonsensical qualities of wisdom and appreciable success but in the continuation of the impossible quest to make some useful sense of one’s self.
The guilt shared in both worlds of night and day linked by a common bond of an awareness of hubris like a heavy iron shackled fixed to my every step into the darkness of life’s unknowable chaos. And like any other penitent from the time of Homer more likely to supplicate the phantom notion of the Gods in their cloudy Olympus way on high to vindicate the mental fiction of rightful order on a lower plane where there seems to be none. This wisdom as offered so superstitious and nonsensical as the clown suit that I must have been found ensconced in within my dream. That the larger we supplicate the fictions of what we are told to believe in from childhood and call them universal law. Yet drag them forth endlessly like a heavy cart of useless discarded objects bereft of the broken down horse that has died off forgotten on the path behind us long ago.