copyright: Bettina Borg Cardona

by Bettina Borg Cardona

Below is a sequence of dreams – perhaps ‘nightmares’ would be a more accurate term – of which I attempt to give here a detailed account, in an effort to describe them as they originally passed through the mind of the dreamer – in this case, my own.  One wonders whether it were possible to capture in words the fleeting images and impressions of which a dream is composed, and whether the conscious mind may truly ever give life to the multifaceted wonders of a dream’s rich contents. Yet, perhaps it is worth the enterprise, for, as a wise man once said “you need to write a dream down for the same reason you need to dream it”. I have no interest here in giving to the images a full narrative body, to shape them into any coherence. I am done for the moment with stories, and prefer instead to sink into the deep wells of my unconscious, to ponder its mysteries, and its horrors.

The dreams described have much in common, connected through recurrent symbols, and in particular the similarly fearful sensations that they evoked in the dreamer at the time of dreaming. These sensations can only be descibed as horror and dread: specifically, the fear that the world as we know it may too soon come to an abrupt and terrible end – a notion that is perhaps too terrible for any waking mind to entertain. I am quite fearless in laying bare the content of my unconscious mind, and what it might reveal to you. You may wish to psychoanalyse me; to tell me that I am mad, or to read into these dreams the dark omens of my – our – future. Make of them what you will. I know only that they presented themselves at the time with an unspeakably terrifying realism, and that these images have remained with me ever since, and may continue to do so until my dying day.

***

Dream one: The Moon

This dream is representative of a number of similar instances, in which the moon presents a particularly sinister aspect. In some of these dreams, the moon is crimson red, while in others it is accompanied by another moon, smaller than itself. Yet always, its presence fills me with horror, and the belief beyond any uncertainty that it wishes us – that is, the whole of humanity – only harm, and to smash us all into irretrievably miniscule pieces, simply by a slight shifting of her axis. In the particular dream I wish to describe, I am by the water (ally of the moon), which I may identify to be the Maltese sea – rocky, shallow, dotted here and there with traditional fishing boats. I am aware suddenly that the moon is growing ever-larger in size, until I am certain that it is only moments away from colliding with the Earth, at which moment it shall kill us all in one almighty crash . From this certain doom, I am able to perceive no escape. But it comes to me suddenly that the water will keep me safe. As the moon smashes the water’s surface, I take shelter beneath the waves, and discover to my surprise that it is warm and comforting, like a bath.

 ***

Dream two: Sky Lights

This second dream is similar to the first in its dread of the imminently threatening sky. In this dream, I stand in a high place that is familiar, and that looks much like the roof of my family home. In the waking world, this is located behind the Libyan embassy, which holds anually (or rather, used to hold, since its occupants have recently fallen on rather hard times), a great festival in celebration of its setting up, a day of riot and colour. The events in my dream are similar to such festivities. I watch from afar as splashes of light shoot into the night sky. Only, I soon realise that these are no ordinary fireworks, but rather an inscription in lights, burnt into the sky by the hand of some malevolent deity. In the dream, the precise message of the fireworks cannot be deciphered, or I am under the impression that the words they spell out are deceptive. Either way, I understand that written in the sky is our judgement, and it says that inevitably, the end has come.

***

Dream three: The Tower

This is the most recent of the three dreams, and is remarkable in its cataclysmic proportion, bringing to mind the striking image of the sixteenth card in the Crowley tarot series – the tower. In this dream, there is some sort of natural disaster, which upon reflection, I believe to be an earthquake, though this is merely an impression – in the dream I do not experience this event. I am once again by the sea, though this time it is a small bay, such as the one in Xlendi, its rim lined with restaurants. Some elements of the bay’s geography are however altered. The top of a cliff –one of two which hug either side of the little bay – is dominated by a large church. I am suddenly gripped by terror at the sight of a gigantic wall of water, a tidal wave that stretches up over the semi-circular inlet, at which point I know quite certainly that the church shall be toppled upon us. Indeed, such is the outcome, and the steeple begins its descent towards the shore in a rush of water, which I attempt desperately to escape. I am indeed able to. I have survived the worst, yet the landscape of the bay has changed. It is now drab, a series of poor rocks jutting into the sea. I feel there is something primitive about the place, and I realise suddenly that there are others, and, curiously, that they have found all sorts of food. The end has happened. But, curiously it has returned us again to the beginning. A poor beginning perhaps, but not one without hope.

***

Bettina Borg Cardona has found that appearing to be absorbed in one’s writing serves as a deterrent to people who ask intrusive questions; and so, her writing career progresses. She has also taken to long midnight walks in the rain.

December 5th, 2011
Categories: Apocalypse . Author: schlockmagazine

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