Last Night I Dreamt that Somebody Loved Me

I dreamt last night that I died.

I was waiting for the CTA red line, and a man approached me from behind with a gun. He called out a name that was not my own. I attempted to explain that it was a case of mistaken identity, but the terror I felt, as the gun pressed against the back of my head, only allowed for one word. “Wait!” I cried, but it was too late. I heard the gun shot, and within the next moment I was blind.

The world had become like television static. I could hear only the sound of my own voice, and this was terribly frightening. I thought, is this all there is? I will never see again, and be trapped inside my own mind forever? The idea of being lost in my own thoughts for eternity was crippling. I began to cry. I cursed. I howled. To myself. Alone. I felt more hollow than any moment ever in my living life.

I kept anxiously throttling between fear and anger, wondering how or why this could have happened. I was lost in my own desperation and worry. I let it consume me, until I finally fell silent. The echos of my own voice were all I could hear as I shouted and fought with myself. When I became silent, I heard a quite voice coming from outside of the nothingness.

It said, “Open your eyes.”

Throughout my anxious fury, I had not realised that I was holding my eyes shut. As I opened my eyes, I realised that I was surrounded by others. People. All around me in this space. The wider my eyes became, the more I could hear the voices greeting me, encouraging me.

I was not alone.

I stood in the dream, relieved that I was surrounded by people who seemed happy to see me. I sighed heavily, as I caught the smiling faces of those around me. The memory of terror in the static space where I was trapped in loneliness, compounded my elation. My last thought before I awoke: How many people stay in the static, in that terror, panicked and afraid, never realising that all they have to do is open their eyes?

Many indigenous people believe that dreams are messages from a higher plane, whether it be ancestors, spirit guides, or just your own higher consciousness reaching out to provide guidance. I don’t know what I believe, but last night I dreamt that someone, maybe me, wanted to tell me something.

Published by Naomi

M. Naomi Fuqua is an Art Educator and Multidisciplinary Artist from Houston, Texas.

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