Night Mare: An Extemporaneous Reflection on a Windy Day

The night mare came to me, dark with flying mane and nostrils flared. A feeling of terror not my own, yet part of me. Confused and trapped, excited and joyous, fearful and implosive. She galloped around my dreamscape, flaxen tail and white of eye, “NOTICE ME NOTICE ME NOTICE ME!!” I thought I saw.

She knew I didn’t see. She knew my transitory existence as a being with opposable thumbs had erased my night awareness. Her fear was so deep that she insisted on pounding the long-forgotten pathways with her competent hooves, beating clear the obscured trails, vines of verbs, shards of convention, fallen leaves of dogma, gravelly bits of belief.

How odd this love that came from her fear. I wanted to ride the fear, to pat her neck, tense and corded like a cadence unwilling to resolve, and lead her to that resolution with logic, knowledge, my superior intellect. Singularly convinced was I that my upright duty was to lead her from this place into my own, where I knew things were settled and comprehensible. While I saw the horizon, my own feet had lost the path. Unearth the history, undo the past, erase the dissonance, bring her to my love.

She brought me to her fear. Tension demands resolution, but each trembling movement in its own time. The inevitability captured us and we gently fell together into our dream.

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