I used have a dream that recurred with ferocious regularity. In it I encountered a man who stood watching me, aloof and impassive, and very, very scary. In the dream I knew that this man threatened my existence, and at the beginning I would often think he was armed. He made no move toward me, yet I knew he would kill me if I didn't defend myself. I would attack him, viciously, with whatever was at hand – knives, guns, clubs, my fists. Whatever weapon I used, he absorbed my terrified violence without flinching, without backing up one inch nor raising one hand to deliver or ward off a blow. Bullets went through him, and did no damage; knives, fists, nothing harmed him in the least, nor even brought a change of expression. He stood still under the onslaught of my defense, watching me impassively, and I would realize his hands were empty. Desperate, I would continue to attack – even as the utter uselessness of my violence exploded into despair and hopelessness and wonder that any man could be so threatening while lifting not one finger to harm me.
It took years, and lots of therapy, to realize that the man was myself.
Last night I dreamed again. A woman sat nearby, aloof and impassive, yet warm, and very welcome. I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to like me. I went the stereo, which had BeBop Deluxe on it – a new CD, one I knew I loved, but not one of those I own. The haunting melody of "Adventures in a Yorkshire Landscape" played in my head. It is perhaps the most beautiful guitar riff I have ever heard. I went to play it for her; I was sure she would love it. I started searching through the songs with growing desperation, unable to find it yet sure it was on the CD. I wanted so badly for her to stay.
I was afraid she'd leave.