No clowns. No rings of fire. No popcorn. A different kind of circus.

I had the worst dream I can ever remember having last night. I don't remember details of what was happening, or why I was so terrified, but I woke up at 4am in a cold sweat, crying, and honestly feeling like I was going to die.

I remember distinctly in the dream thinking "Either this is a dream - in which case, I have to figure out how to wake up - or it's real - in which case, I'm dying, and almost certainly going to hell."

I've seen Cirque De Soleil three times, and I've been fascinated and comfortable there. It feels like the most magical and surreal place to watch these seemingly impossible things happen. And though the movement and colors of my dream reminded me (only in memory, not while it was happening) of Cirque, there was a clear sense of impending danger and a sort of mockery of my value as a human to everyone else in the dream. There were acrobats and trapezes. There was a lot of light blue and orange. I remember each member of my family at some point or another, but they each looked the way they've looked in the height of our worst argument or disagreement through my life.

My father was screaming and angry at me. My mother was weeping in disappointment. My brothers were taunting and teasing me. My sisters ignored me in shame. I could feel myself trying to wake up, but I couldn't.

"I'm not going to hell. I'm already there." I thought.

I don't remember objects or even any particular occurrences, but only the feelings and thoughts that I had throughout the dream. It couldn't have lasted for long, 'cause I can't imagine that my body wouldn't have begun thrashing violently very quickly in reflex to such torture.

At some point (the earliest moment of the dream that I can recall with any clarity), I felt 'light'. As if gravity were dying too. In the midst of the absolute chaos and war waging in front of me, all systems of order failing and all of it in direct spite of my well-being, gravity itself began slipping away. But not from anyone / thing else. Just me. I began slowly floating. My body drifted to a horizontal position. It wasn't peaceful or pleasant, the way you'd expect. I started to lose oxygen too. I was hyperventilating. I knew instantly what was happening.

"I'm either asleep, and this is the feeling of me waking up, or this is real, and I'm about to die."

I began trying to scream for help. Not from someone 'real', but from the people conducting the catastrophic orchestra of hate in front of me. I forced the sound from my mouth, but nothing came. Only small puffs of air. I had no voice. They all seemed to laugh. Not audibly, but they individually sort-of shook, as if chuckling to themselves at the thought of their helping me survive. I couldn't breathe.

I was wearing (as far as I can remember) these long blue pajamas. I don't own pajamas. I've never worn them. But these were 'mine'. The way that this war, this circus of destruction, this masterpiece of evil... were mine. The pajamas were comfortable. Which scared me, for some reason. It made me feel numb. Like I didn't know what I liked and didn't like anymore. Like maybe I was losing my mind.

As I floated slowly upward, the world began to yawn. Everything was muddled and blurry. I could taste my tears, and could feel them dripping into my ears as I my body was now perfectly horizontal, facing the sky. For some reason my eyes would not look away from the murderous madness around me, though.

I woke up suddenly. It took about 3 seconds to evaluate that I was not in the room where I went to sleep. Something was wrong. I threw back sheets and covers that I didn't recognize, and instinctively looked down at my clothes. I was wearing blue pajamas. The room was all white. It was like a child's room. Toys thrown around. I knew immediately. It was starting over. I wasn't awake. I was still dreaming. Or, I really was dead now, and this was hell. My eternity would be spent in an endless cycle of nightmares and terrified waking, only to realize that I was still in the nightmare again.

I scrambled onto my feet, and ran to the door. Before I could touch the knob, my body jolted. I sat upright in my bed. I was naked except for boxer shorts. I was sweating head-to-toe. I was crying. My chest hurt, and I could hear my breath. I had a headache. I realized that in the midst of the dream, I had stopped breathing. My body woke up as a way to keep from dying. It was a Code-Red alert to my brain. "Hello? Are you paying attention? The lungs haven't moved in a solid minute. It's time to sound the alarms."

The most distinct feeling that could identify in the midst of the terror and confusion of this morning, was guilt. I can't say what I feel / felt guilty for. I don't really know. But that's what I felt. I felt like everything that I saw in my dream, was entirely my fault. I have worked all day. I've played video games. I've done busy work. I've spent time on the phone. I tried to watch TV. I can't get my mind off of this dream. And I can't understand why I feel guilty. Condemned.

Most of all, at 2:37 AM, I can't figure out how to get my mind off of last night, in order to get back to sleep again.

Thanks for reading this.
Meshach