The Dead Me


 I was in a basement of the mind, an emotionless player in a short scene that didn't upset me in the slightest despite morbid, seemingly inscrutable plot.
In a dull unfinished subterranean place not unlike the basement of my old house, I came across a corpse. My own.
Its wide blue eyes were already clouded and glazed by death, milky cataracts clung to the pupils like wisps of fog. The body was propped up in a wooden stool, back against the wall. Immediately next to it was a small white counter-less sink. The walls were concrete and littered with cobwebs. I wore a shirt and pants of a color that can't be remembered, and the corpse wore the same.
Its pale gaze was that of shock and confusion. A long moment was spent staring in disbelief until finally I approached and placed my hand on "my" cheek. Strangely icy cold. And damp, as though it had just emerged from a freezer and begun to thaw. The skin also had a slight bluish tint.

I put my arm around my own shoulder as though posing for a photograph. But it did not stir.
After a while of standing there motionless I leaned close until "we" were forehead-to-forehead. The damp coldness seemed to spread straight to me at this brief contact, so I gave up on trying to awaken the dead me, and left it alone.
Soon after, the waking world swam back.

The meaning of this is somewhat easy to understand. Seeing one's own corpse in a dream signifies the death of an aspect of your own personality. Parts of ourselves are dying even in small ways as life and change goes on, even as others are born. Sometimes we cling to emotions and notions even when they're are best left gone. Often its even the opposite and what is dead needs to be brought back in order to heal the pain of of its absence, to revive a dormant part of YOU.

It will take a bit of reflection to realize what exactly this dream was trying to tell me, but I thought I'd share it.

The End

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