Friday, June 4, 2010

I had another dream about falling last night.

This one was a little bit different, though.

I was falling through nothing, surrounded by an infinite white abyss on all sides.

I was wearing an open jacket, a simple T-shirt, and fairly loose pants, all of which were flapping around all over the place.

From this, I was able to gather that there was at least some sort of atmosphere in this strange place.

But that was all I knew. I was falling through some sort of gas. Hooray.

The feeling of clothing rippling violently against my skin is one of my favorite sensations, though, and I welcomed it, despite the "wind" resistance cutting at my mouth and eyes.

As I accepted my fate and fell through this blindingly bright void, I realized that I was periodically changing directions.

I'm tempted here to say that every so often, I would start falling left. Or right. Or up. Or anywhere in between. But that's not really the case. One cannot scientifically "fall" left. It was more like "down" was changing directions. Sometimes it would be a gradual change, as though I was swooping through the air on some sort of vaguely radial path. Other times, it would switch suddenly, as though the new direction of free fall was the only one there had ever been, and my body would lurch violently from the change. Sometimes it would go for minutes without changing, and other times it would change several times in rapid succession, leaving me spinning wildly out of control when it finally decided on a direction.

During the times when "gravity" stuck to one direction for an extended period, I was able to exert some control over my plight. I was able to flip and tumble of my own accord, and took great pleasure in stabilizing myself into various chest-first and back-first free-fall positions.

The wind ripped through my hair. My mysteriously bare feet tingled in the cold of the crisp atmospheric friction. The wind stung my eyes and dried them out, but I dared not close them in fear of missing the point of this experience that I was comfortably aware was a dream.

Then I suddenly stopped, suspended in weightlessness for a moment. The muscles in the back of my neck tensed, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by the ominous feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

An instant later, I was thrown forward with such force that I felt my back break in several places from the impact. Several of my joints dislocated, as well, and as I opened my mouth to cry out, my lungs were suddenly filled with a choking, putrid gas. As I rocketed helplessly through the air, eyes watering and chest collapsing, the room began to slowly fade in pulses to black, with splotches of yellow, red, violet, and hundreds of other colors pulsing randomly around me.

I felt myself briefly speed up, and then suddenly stop, this time without the bone-shattering abruptness of the previous change in velocity. As I blinked the tears out of my blurry eyes, the mind-numbing agony of my broken body vanished as I realized that I was floating in space, gazing upon a young universe of several thousand years or so.

My mind hesitated for a moment, and then I promptly suffocated, waking up feeling reaffirmed in an ideal that I have held for some time now: There is no "grand reason" in this world. No divine plan. Our existence is magnificently meaningless.

There is no purpose in life except for that which we give to it.

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