IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE
By Dolores J. Nurss
Volume VI: The Rift
I had a vague dream of crossing the
countryside leading worn-out children, more than half of them kids that I didnít
recognize, feeling exhausted and half out of my mind, myself, and yet coldly
determined, too. I built the rest on
Layne Alisoís part I extrapolated from
a dream that will come up later.
I flash-dreamed of being Sanzio,
regarding a scourge in my hand, all alone, with no intention of using it for
interrogation. In my teens and twenties,
similar to a cutter of the same age, I flagellated. I used a string-saw, doubled over, on my bare
legs, and I wore pants all the time to conceal the aftermath. I used it whenever I disagreed with family
accusations against me, whipping myself until I could reach a point where I
believed them. At first I stopped at the
first drop of blood, but over time I needed more and more blood to convince
I thought the problem was me, because
of course my family would only tell me truth, I had to be delusional to
disagree, which fit in with their narrative that I was the crazy one. And their false reality-checks did indeed make me crazy. (I had never heard the term, ďgaslampingĒ in
those days, but oh, they were masters of it!)
I thought that flagellation suitably punished me for forbidden thoughts
and impossible memories, while curing me of them.
Then I met my future husband, and we
became engaged. When he found out what I
did, he insisted that he wouldnít marry me unless I got rid of that thing and
promised never to flagellate again. So I
threw my string-saw flail into the canyon.
There let nature break it down to rust, heal it of misuse, and take its
iron back into the soil!
So yes, if itís true that all
dream-characters, regardless of whether they originate from within or without,
reflect aspects of ourselves, then I am, among others, Sanzio, a torturer. I tortured myself unjustly, in obedience to a
governance that I should have questioned.
Like Sanzio, I called what I did a quest for the truth, but in fact I
only solidified the lies. The tortured
will say, will even believe, only what we demand of them.
Dreams are ruthless. They donít spare our illusions and they donít
pull punches. They donít care how awful
a truth is if we need to face it. So I
donít always get nice dreams because Iím not always a nice person. If Iím going to include these dream notes,
for the benefit of those studying dreams and their reflection of both
psychology and the creative process, I must be blunt, even if it rips the skin
off of my pretentions.