No Clear Winner

So I hope those of you delighted to finally see a new post here don't regret such glee a few paragraphs from now. This is about a dark, weird dream I had last night and feel oddly compelled to share. Not in a "subconsciously constructing Devils Tower out of mashed potatoes" way (yet), but compelled to share nonetheless. Unlike most of my nightmares, there was no chase, shooting or endless fall involved. This was a nuke dream, but even those perilous stakes were sorta meaningless compared to what actually stuck with me afterwards so ... y'know ... fair warning.

The cast included Dawn and Steve, two friends from grade school who I've hardly thought about since (both appeared as adult versions of my teenage memories of them). Somehow Steve was in charge of launching missiles against Iran and I was afraid he'd incite retaliation. I tried to convince Dawn to distract him so I could disable the controls, but she was a tough sell and, anyway, Steve was soon hip to our scheme.

I don't know if Steve launched first or what ... but at some point I saw the quick flash of what, in the dream, I knew was a nuclear warhead detonating. We all just stared up waiting for a blinding mushroom cloud, which soon lit up the sky like we've all seen in movies.

My parents would, I think, be proud of my next move: I tried my damndest to recall the Act of Contrition, a Catholic prayer I haven't said aloud since having to memorize it in 2nd grade CCD. All I could remember was the beginning "O my God I am heartily sorry ..." and then started slipping into the recitation from Mass "... in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do ...". I wasn't panicking about the afterlife, but figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

The next few seconds (which lasted minutes) are what prevented me from getting back to sleep.

In the dream I was standing across from some ornate Gothic type building. Not a church, but an old opera hall or something with considerable exterior decoration. Looking at it, I thought, "So this is how I'll die. In a couple seconds that building is gonna blow up and take me out. All that wondering about how it would happen and now I know." It wasn't any major peaceful epiphany, really. Just sort of a "Huh ... interesting" vibe as if someone gave me the answer to a Jeopardy question I never would have guessed anyway. Still, I took some comfort knowing it would be quick and (I hoped) painless.

On that note of minor relief, the building blew apart as expected and a particular huge brick caught me right on the side of the head. I was still standing, but woozy with the blunt pain of a concussion. "Oh, so this is it," I thought. "Internal bleeding in the brain. Pretty soon I'll pass out and that'll be that. Hey, at least I'll have a nice little buzz until then, right?"

Just as that bit of comfort balanced my panic, I fell down and was blown across the ground by the force of the blast until I was pinned against a chain link fence looking through it. The pleasant high of head trauma was fading and I could feel the pressure of debris piling up behind me. Dust was getting all in my nostrils and mouth too. "For real," I thought, "this is it. Crushed under the pressure of this rubble behind me. Or - f*ck - what if it stops coming and I slowly suffocate? Or even just lay here starving to death? No use in fighting my way out since I'll just get radiation poisoning anyway, right?".

No joke, I remember laying there deliberating all this with a surprisingly clear mind.

Right then, this paralyzing depression took over. I suddenly couldn't care less about how I was going to expire, where I'd go afterwards or who (if anyone) might find my remains. I was just overwhelmed with the lonely sadness of it all. For a moment I convinced myself such a helpless feeling was humanity's emotional interpretation of the body shutting down for good. Like, at the end, we're all forced to accept that level of feeble vulnerability before we're truly ready to cross over ... it's a (capital T) Truth no one ever has the chance to share because they're dead upon realization. But then after stewing a few seconds with that theory, I finally thought "Aw, bullsh*t, man ... there's no deep meaning behind this sadness. It's just lonely, helpless sadness at the end."

That's when I woke up.

I was relieved to not actually be dying in a nuclear attack, of course, but still practically numb from that last sentiment. And instead of my heart pounding as it usually is after nightmares, I felt like it was hardly beating at all. It actually took me a few seconds to feel a pulse.

At present, I am not abusing any particular booze, prescription medications or illicit narcotics ... but after that dream I wonder if perhaps now is a good time to start.

Not really. Probably. I mean it depends on what I dream about tonight.

In any case, I promise (promise!) to return soon with a more uplifting post.