Nightmares

Language always conceals more than it reveals – not for some deep philosophical reason, but simply because we can only hear each others’ words in terms of the things we feel and know ourselves. It tends to obscure difference.

How does difference come about? Not through words – but through the various paths our lives take.

So let me tell you about my nightmare:

An evil, murderous sky as far as the eye can see, more night than day. Beneath it an endless expanse of dark, oily mud. A desert of tar and across it - stretching to the horizon - a narrow path. I do not know why I am on the path.

Sometimes I walk, sometimes I run, sometimes I stand still. On either side of me there are people trapped in the filth. Some, their expressions blank, simply sink beneath the surface, gulping it down. Others are screaming for help.

Occasionally, when someone is close enough to the path I drag them out of the mud, only to discover that they have no legs.

I have never met anyone else on the path. Each day is unrelentingly bleak; sometimes I hum a tune to keep my spirits up. I fear that one day – in my sleep, or through sheer exhaustion – I will fall off the path and sink, screaming, beneath the surface.

That is all. Perhaps you have nightmares of your own.