Life is but a Dream

I dream of shapeless horrors...

Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...

There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.

In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease.  Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life.  All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them.  A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.

I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept.  They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.

In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass.  I had one such moment of recall today.  I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.

Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it?  I do not know, I do not CARE to know.  Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream.  Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.

Please let it be just a dream...