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Headless Unknown

In the jet black hours of night, when the hypethral of dreams seep into the mindless realms of nothing and nowhere, abstergent visions of fear and derelict realities haunt the noctilucent scenes of slumber.  For unknown reasons.

The time of year births short agitated nights, when insomnia will be most affluent, and even restful sleepers will find a cunctation in immediate rest, bringing about the natural response of vividness in dreams, which linger in half-remembered accounts throughout the day.  Pertaining to this account, the date has been forgotten, but the imponderable has not.

A certain M. Hill tells of a nightmarish horror that he has experienced on the preceiding night.  The daunting similarities and parallelisms that the dream had with the comparative impressions of realism cause Hills mind to believe that this experience that he had was in fact a true event; thusly, I must first present the unadulterated recount of the madness that was seen:

“The worst thing happened,” starts Hill, “last night.  I was on the verge of going to sleep, and then I was stricken with paralysis;  the type that lulls your body into slumber but leaves your mind awake; so I lie in my bed, completely aware, completely immobile. But there was this woman next to me in bed; a woman without a head.  Thinking that I was simply dreaming, I try shutting my eyes – attempting to wake up; for surely when one is aware that he/she is asleep, the dream is nearly over – but it didn’t work and she was still there, just looking at me.  Looking at me, without a head.”

Though the presence of the bizarre cannot be ignored in certain cases, I fear that “fear” has diluted reason in my associate, for the signs of hypnagorgia are affluent in this more than sufficient description.  Hypnagorgic sleep begins in the manner described, with paralysis of the sleeper, while the mind is still conscious, or mildly so.  With the undisturbed ascent into threshold dreaming, one would find themselves literally experiencing their dream in a near conscious state; properly termed “lucid dreaming.”  Many hold false notions of being able to control a dream such as this, for if they are aware – and thus capable of controlling their imagination – complete steerage of the dream should be at their disposal.  But one is aware of their heart beat but by the simple fact of their vitality, but to quicken or slow the pulse by thought alone is a still hard-learned technique.  The rest, I submit, are self-revleations that often linger into the content of dreams.

To dream of your bed represents your intimate self and discovery of your sexuality.  If you are sleeping in your own bed, then it indicates security and restoration of your mind.  You are looking for domestic bliss and peace.

Seeing a woman in your dream represents nurturance, passivity, caring nature, and love.  It refers to your own female aspects and may also represent your mother.  Alternatively, it may indicate temptation and guilt.

Dreaming that ‘you’ are decapitated indicates that you are not thinking clearly or are refusing to see the truth.  You need to confront the situation or the person despite the pain and discomfort you might feel in doing so.  The dream also suggests a tendency to act before thinking.  So in this case, instead of Mr. Hill, it is pertaining to some woman who has seeped into his dreams.

The assembly of this puzzle I will leave to the competence and imagination of the reader.

But concerning a curious correlation; I, myself, have had some experience in the threshold of dreams pertaining to this sort.

I used to have this re-occuring experience, as we will term it, where I would make sure my closet door in my personal quarters were fastened shut before I went to bed.  I would then proceed to drift into a mild slumber, on these summer nights, but end up stirring between the time of 3:40-3:45 a.m., every night, paralyzed as I stared into the closet doors.  As I would watch them intricately, I would observe as they slowly opened just enough to stare back at me, the dark in-between that is.  And call it madness, but as I stared into the slit of the unknown, I could feel the blackness pushing open the door so that it could watch me.  But that is not the real horror, for I’ve already explained my theory on such experiences.  The horror lies in the fact that when I would awaken, the door, which I went through extravagant measures to ensure it wouldn’t open, would be partially cracked; just enough to allow the darkness within to stare out.

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