Tuesday, October 6, 2015

A dream - too filthy

A nightmare. I only just remembered it... from sometime last week.

I awoke wrapped up in blankets, shivering and sick, and lying on the cold uncomfortable floor of the old house on Sena street. The walls of that house are like the inside of a cave... hard and rough and cracked, and cold to the touch. Like stone. I was nestled up against one of those walls. It was cold in the house as per the norm, since there was no gas or electricity or water, and there were candles burning in every room.

As I lay there, miserable and feverish, the feeble gray light of a cold and overcast morning began to seep inside through the windows, and I saw that the house was filled with people. Matt's friends. Some kind of party that I had nothing to do with, and that I didn't feel like caring about at all.

I rolled onto my other side and saw that Fr. Justin was there. Here, at the party, at my house. Of all people, I muttered to myself as he knelt beside me on the floor. I was embarrassed to have been discovered in such an undignified repose... unwashed and apathetic, wrapped in soiled blankets infused with the smell of days old sick, with a thin layer of accumulated grime coating my skin with an oily sheen.

Fr. Justin didn't say anything. He just got up and looked down at me lying there, then he kind of jerked his head in the other direction, indicating that I should get up and follow him. Then he walked into Matt"s room.

So, still wrapped up in those dirty blankets, I managed to stand somehow and I shuffled and stumbled my way toward my brothers room. From the kitchen I could see Fr. Justin sitting in there on the edge of the bed, quietly surveying the squalor as he waited for me.

The room was filthy. It stank. There were discarded plates containing the remnants of rotting food, and in every corner piles of mouldering laundry were heaped alongside open bags of stinking garbage. Beer bottles filled with swampy cigarette butts littered every available surface, and the carpet was infused with cigarette burns. Several ashtrays had spilled over onto the floor.

Then I came out of the sick and to myself, and I was suddenly aware that the entire house was in a similar condition, and so was I. It was me too, I realized. Filthy and despicable and repugnant and foul to the senses. The moisture of my body and of my self and of my will had become standing water... poisonous and stagnant. I felt embarrassed and humiliated and ashamed.

I tripped on the threshold of the doorway to my brothers room and landed on my knees. Fr. Justin was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at me with a vague expression of distaste. I cupped my hands to receive a blessing, but Fr. Justin stood abruptly and said, "No, there's too much filth. It's unclean."

He strode out of the room and I hurried to follow him, knockering about and bestumbling forward on my hands and knees. Out of the room and into the kitchen, still wrapped up in those dirty blankets, and back into the living room where I saw the hem of Fr. Justin's robe flutter as it disappeared through the doorway into my own bedroom.

It took me a little while to crawl the distance through the kitchen and into the living room, through the mingling crowd, and to my room. I saw Fr. Justin in there. In that place that used to be my bedroom, in the old house on Sena street where I used to live. The one with the cold walls, rough and hard, like the walls of a cave. He was sitting on an old wooden stool that I used to know something about... just inside the doorway, hunched over and smoking a cigarette.

My eyes widened in alarm and I tried to reach for the cigarette to take it away from him, and at the same time I tried to cup my palms for a blessing. Then I fell, and as I fell, I wailed in dismay. And then, somewhere inside the utter clusterfuck of chaos that was unraveling the goodness of myself and of my sanity, right then and there, in the mean time of a night mare, I caught a glimpse of Fr. Justin flicking a cigarette ash onto the floor and muttering, "It's just too filthy, too filthy. Forget it. You're just too filthy..."

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