Distempered dreams infrequently visit my periods of rest. But when they do none are populated with terror, save, occasionally, fraught with incompetence; or monsters. Yet they leave me feeling that I had not slept at all.
My sense of success at hospice was met with conflict and attempts at suppression to which I finally surrendered: retiring. Intervening time has shown that I was correct in my assessments.
In this dream I did return having been returned several times for one who remains there still, a patient.
This time it was for my own curiosity. Finding in one wing a museum displaying remarkable mythic figures of plastic corpses. The staff population punctuated with cartoon characters. Not humorous but fantastic embodiments of oddities.
130121 14:49 distemper
. . . 130129 13:28 During the intervening time, between the above and now, there have been several encounters: people in conversation and reading that lend a new definition regarding what I did at hospice and my net gain. Instead of thinking myself a volunteer, I now say that I was a hospice worker unpaid. The abiding gift received remains a sense of candor regarding that which I formerly feared. Not death itself but the dying.
This is I conclude true of all of us knowing death inevitable but shying away from those deaths that take years; death by attrition.
Many elements of life are worse than death. Slavery to corporate greed is amongst my persistent peeves. And governance by those who pretend to serve the commonwealth of life seem utterly without ethic or moral regarding we commoners. I am confident of life after death, but not life after birth anywhere on the globe given the plutocracy that rules.
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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