Creatures aren’t happy when they have to leave
a dream.
They’re rarely asked to come back even when
they play
its vividly embodied theme, or are the presence
that the dreamer has the dream to undergo –
which may have kept them purposefully in the
center
of its flow. It’s far from guaranteed new
dreams will bring
them that again – that they’ll mean enough to
be recalled,
or will in any form again be seen. Their
substancelessness
may be sprinkled into minor
roles: crumbling mortar in a wall,
cold spray off a waterfall, or a grayish fog
that terrifies –
derives its ripe dank wet from some faint
anguished
memory of gym class sweat. But
memorable roles are rare.
Dreams here and there may care or dare to call
them up
again if they were the afflicting sharp specifics
of horrific
rape, or the abusive horrors in a childhood trauma.
Mostly, though, when dreams are done with them,
the odds against a future starring role are
great.
Mostly they are shown the
gate to their oblivion.
.
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