My Past Life Dream

 

This is a recurring dream I had everyday for an entire year. Every night the story would deepen with more and more details. At the end of the year I believe I learned everything I needed to, to put the puzzle together. It was a very deep profound and shocking truth in my past life, that I began to see in patterns of my present life. I was only 8 years old laying down to bed at night and this recurring vision would come to me. Night after night as if I were reaching out to myself from the other side, or from another time.

I start off laying in bed and my surroundings are luxurious. It appears I'm in a Venetian villa, no windows, just columns curtains and a cool breeze. I reach to my side table when I notice my arm, big, bulging, hairy, blonde. I was a man. I look over to my left to see my bed empty, and I'm covered with rage. Someone was supposed to be there and they weren't. My wife. In my mind she had done this before many times, escaping, disappearing, and just abandoning me. I call out to my driver. I then get up and scour the house looking for him and cannot locate him at all. I assumed at this point my wife was with him already, now I'm stuck at home. I get dressed ferociously. I see my watch, on my left wrist, again looking at a hairy blonde bulging arm. Still filled with rage I decide to walk, I had an idea where she would be, she had done this before; so I assumed she went to the same place.

I walk for a while, the expression on my face would have kept people far away from me. I walked forever, until I encountered a tiny street where a man of color was walking toward me, I was disgusted, afraid, and insecure of his vencity to me. In my head I prayed he would not touch me. That was my biggest worry. He was poor and I was not. He steered clear of me anyway, my face was horrid, full of anger still.

I found my wife standing near an edge of a park. she had been reading a book, but put it down to look at the sunrise or the horizon. With her back turned towards me, she had no idea I was there, and I continued to walk closer to her. Still enraged, I picked up the book and began to assault her with it. Over and over I hit her over her head, her back and legs. While taking these horrific blows I suddenly thought about all the money she was costing me, how much I was taking care of her, how I never ever wanted to have children with her, how she was covering for my true identity of being a gay man. How I hated her for leaving me alone in bed and leaving me without means of transportation.

Every hit as she cried, I cried. I blamed her for my secrets, I blamed her for my tiredness, my burdens, my financial responsibilities, and my insecurities. I later took her back to the car. The driver was just around the corner. I realized there were no people to witness this act of domestic violence. And if they had I didn't care, I was too angry. I was too wealthy to fear the consequences of incarceration, too narcissistic to not to be limited of a good lie and blame it on the colored man I saw a few moment ago. The car is black and resembled.......

It was then I realized I was in the distant past. When I finally spoke, I was speaking a language that I was not consciously familiar with. I am still unsure to this day which specific language it was. Possibly German, Russian, or Albanian. I did not speak english words to the driver or my wife. I did not look at her at all, as she cried I grew more and more angry. I was not a very good husband. She had embarrassed me, and my ego could not allow that to go unpunished. Every time she left me, people knew my marriage wasn't solid. That I had not done something right. It is unclear to who is at fault, the only obvious thing is I had discord, and was unhappy. If my social group found this out, it would be  ridiculing to my reputation and my career. I didn't care what they thought of my wife.

Next, I'm in another scene, Where there is a door which says, "Child Asylum". It was a back door. I could feel I did not belong there. I was spying on someone. I looked down I'm in different clothes, less formal. I suddenly realize that moment that I am a doctor and it's my day off and no one would suspect me to be in the hospital that day. A nurse opens the back door to this asylum, and there is a white coat, a clipboard, and a stethoscope hanging on the back of the door. When it closes, I quickly put it on, and have a look around. I certainly have been here before, nobody was alarmed.

The nurse was looking out to make sure no one knew I was there. The asylum is set up in awful conditions. A dirt like floor, and the children appear to be in tiny cages up against the wall. There are tables in the middle of the room for resting or writing. I grab my clipboard, and the nurse points to a little girl. She is about 10 years of age, dressed in boys clothes, and is rocking back and forth constantly. She is mumbling to herself as if we weren't even there. She could not look me in the eyes. I see her hair, jet black, in 2 long pigtails. She is olive skinned, and immediately know she is Native American. I was not concerned at all as to where the parents were or why they were eligible to be here, I just wanted to study them. As if they were rats for an experiment. But this one child caught me heart. I stared at her, waiting for her to snap out of it, to stop mumbling, and to finally look at me, To finally notice me, then it would mean she had made some progress. But she continued to mumble, rock, and look away. I was heartbroken. For her and for myself knowing I was no use to her improvement. Then I started to feel I didn't belong there. I needed more time to study what was wrong with her. What was wrong with all of them. I found this field of work so fascinating compared to what I had already mastered as a clinician. I guess I had grown bored of my work, my wife, and just my life in general. I was seeking thrills in beatings, affairs, and underhanded practices. I felt empty, alone, and guilty. Just, rotten on the inside.

The nurse summons me to look out to my right, where there had been another door, this door had a window. Through that window were more doors straight ahead seeing into each other. Through the window I saw my wife. In a gown, smiling, and waving at me. She had forgotten all about the assaults I had put her through. She smiled as if they had never happened at all. I was filled with so much guilt and disgust all at the same time, I was reluctant to wave back at her. Though I did, with a fake smile and a heavy heart. It was obvious she belonged there, but the world had no idea I belonged there as well. My own disgusting behavior, I was deserving of incarceration, which is another asylum.

She was unaware of where she was. An asylum. I had put her there, away from me, where I could be free and go home whenever I pleased, and she was here locked away like these children. I was going to keep her there for as long as I could. That way I could tell the world I would live out my life without her, it is so sad, while I had affairs with men. I had them anyway, but this cover up was too perfect to pass up. I continued to observe other children in the room, until the nurse urged me to leave, as she was aware of someone coming towards the door.

I knew who it was. A colleague of mine who I saw was far more advanced in his career and popularity. Someone who looked at me and my practice of medicine as a joke. He being a psychologist, and I being a medical doctor, we did not belong at the same end of the pool together. We did not fit together on a social level. I, was curious about his work, as to why I snuck in to study the children. I wanted to spy on him. I wanted to see what psychosis really was compared to my work as studying mundane sicknesses. Why did I even care? I was jealous of him. I knew we had been friends at some point, but knew we would never be friends again. He being so successful socially, and I successful financially, I still wanted to be apart of his world. To almost just be him. Instead I was angry, bitter, and afraid.

I quickly throw my jacket, stethoscope and clipboard onto the nurse which was not offended. She was used to me doing that and helped me out the door. As the door slammed behind me, I'd wake up, being an 8 years old again wearing my purple and red nightgown I remember putting on the night before. laying in bed next to the walls of my pink room. I look down at my arms and they are tan, and skinny again. I speak, and it is english. I sit up and look around at my home with its windows, and doors again. I breathe, and see a little girl in the mirror again.