DON'T GO ON THAT PLANE

 

Dreams always have in common something that fits in some way into one or more presuppositions of reality. Being alive and the parallel world is also alive. And so much so that we call nightmares bad, bizarre, inadequate dreams, as if we were talking about their improbability or their condition of becoming impossible, or as if we were saying that this should not be allowed to happen, because dreams carry the fears of the unconscious, hidden, who possess a body of energy that repels or attracts us, either consciously or unconsciously, and somehow we sense that on some level it unveils a little bit of the veil, touching a point that makes us go within, to understand the material, sometimes déjà vu, that we find in it, of incoherence.

- Don't go on that plane, and so many times, we find, to some degree, some contaminated fidelity to the reality we are living. We must watch our thoughts. And then we have dreams that are the opposite of nightmares and more unreal, because they happen with your eyes open, in a state of fantasy and fairy tales. They do not spread terrors, only desires that are unlikely to succeed, at least in the way we dream of them. God has peculiar ways of entering into our daily lives and denouncing himself. And this happens at all levels. Also in this dream world. 

-Don't go on that plane, I wasn't sleeping, because I had the exact notion of the time, of the body in bed, prone position, the crocheted blanket untidy on the thin cotton sheet, the weight of the anguish was real and the tingling in my fingers, the throbbing headache of sinusitis and again the voice.

-Don't go on that plane, and not even ten minutes later, still in the same position, five and fifteen on the seventh, which today will be Sunday in the world again, and as a background, my hand holding the pillow, and with the other groping for the cell phone in the darkness, and it denounced my inability to fall asleep again,  The same voice that had told me not to go on that plane, was once again making itself heard, in a familiar accent,

-Don't go on that plane, and it was the same voice that repeated to me in a tunnel echo, that this bitch will witness your future, that bitch will be in your future, she is with you up ahead, and I try once again, in the dark of the room, closing my eyes, and visualizing peace, to reconcile a sleep that I bring,  but that one does not want to fulfill. I get out of bed, look for my notebook and pen in the dark, and write

"Don't go on that plane, and before I put my feet on the floor, groping for my flip-flops, I force myself to write next, in the bottom lines not visible, but deduced,

-That dog will be in your future!

And I didn't hesitate anymore, I peeked at the dawn, almost morning, cool, in a shower of oxygen and dew, cool, almost cold, and I close the door again, while I listen to the birds in the old cherry tree say good morning to me. Wearing the fine bathrobe, the chicken skin, satisfied, settles into the fabric. 

In the next room, my son and his girlfriend, Jade's not a sound. Opposite, the door to my mother's room leans against it. In the kitchen, instead of cold milk, I opt for hot milk with coffee and a slice of cereal bread  with butter.  Che takes a slice of ham and I grind the water from the orchid. I go back to my room and go back to my notebook, now with an open door. 

"Don't go on that plane, and downstairs, that bitch is in your future, and I try to understand the material that took me to my conciliatory and unconscious sleep. And a clearing has been born in my mind, as far as the bitch is concerned, and I assume that I need to control the animal in me, or, on the other hand, be wild enough to defend a point of view. And I go back to the phrase repeated in that familiar voice,

- Don't go on that plane, and the clearing is replaced by a short circuit, which actually happens, in the electrical panel of my house and that no electrician has been able to identify, which causes the sockets in the bedrooms and the bathroom that serves the bedrooms to no longer have functional sockets. Back to page

- Don't go on that plane, there were two backpacks. A bag of raincoats, black and huge, my feet rest dry on a structure, but the bag is full of sea, between the sleeping bag, then I see orange reflective vests, several, accidental spoils. Next to me, the two backpacks and the black bag that I dump and the sea grows back inside it. I recognise one of the backpacks, I bought it at Aldershot or at Storrington or at Horsham, at one of the many charity shops of cancer research, and the blue mattress Well-conditioned, it was also mine. Waltzes in the water, on a shore of a coast. I was left with doubts. Could it be the Portuguese coast? Plastic bottles floated on the surface, along with other debris. 

- Don't go on that plane, while listening to voices and their echoes in underground corridors, I would turn the black bag over in order to remove the excess water, giving up right away, because the items inside the bag would drain the liquid back into the bag. On my side, another person was next to me and so was a ship. That was a wharf in chaos. And there was a constant distress over the loss of the way. And I remembered Gijón and Valladolid. Also at that time, there was a need to leave one means of transport to enter another. And another. And the affliction of urgent longing, in the glottis, trapped in the longing to lose that medium and not find you. 

My feet dry, my soul troubled. It wasn't my life that was at risk. My anguish was with others, who would be others, who was at risk, who saw life upside down, in that accident and my eyes were looking for people, but who were these people, who were me, who produced anguish and emptiness. I went back to the warning.

- Don't go on that plane, and I understand that I would have made an appointment to go, to do it, to be on that flight where things took a turn of events, and, more than that, what I saw was the accident, as something futuristic, something that comes and will bring more death than life, more suffering than achievement, because I hear the calm sea and its language,  revealing objects and concealing losses, 

- Don't go on that plane and that dog will be in your future, someone warns me that I shouldn't fly, I invoke Freud, for the flight and for the dog, and I see Kirie's face while I drink my coffee in the kitchen, and I don't know if it was a warning or if, more than a warning, than the warning not to travel,  Rather, it's a way of telling me that the dreams I carry have a deadline to end and not to become real, because dreams can be real or surreal. That the dog can be perfectly a warning that my dog is going to attack me, or that I must control my animal instincts, avoid becoming irascible with different injustices, or, on the other hand, defend myself from injustices, showing my less affable, less welcoming, less of myself side and more of what I need to adopt. To defend my territory, since I have imposed limits, borders, since I have been able to say enough is enough, perhaps it is necessary for me to confront with attitude and not only with 

-Don't go on that plane, the electrical panel turns off the third button on the board and I'm sure the short started to happen, since I changed the shower hose. I no longer have access to the normal shower, the one with the telephone, and it became the largest, from above the capsule that serves the day-to-day, except when one of us forgets and goes back to the hand shower and then the board can be hours and days without any of the sockets in the rooms and the toilet being able to be turned on. 

- Don't go on that plane, and I'm afraid they'll tell me that they've booked a ticket to go here or there, inviting me to go, or to have to suffer their going, as if the premonitions I carry were more than dreams of self-warning, and I don't want to go on that plane, and perhaps it would be good for someone to warn me that this plane shouldn't take off."  Leave the hangar, stay in the workshop, neither pilots nor hosts, nothing or anyone should follow on this flight. That this flight must be canceled, terminated, modified. That someone should cancel in me the flight for which I had prepared, with backpacks and props, from an excess of longing, which should short-circuit my tendency to dream.

- Don't go, I won't, I won't go out, I'm not, I don't fight. I accept and exchange the dream for the flights of the agencies that are being publicized in author's pages, of books, of many books where the flights do not fall and are limited to scratching the sky, in these air corridors, which I see when I raise my eyes to the sky, in this piece of the world where trips are made in bed, with eyes open and closed  I don't have any anxieties, because the nows have become gifts in me and I'm not going on that plane. My plane is not going to take off, it is going to stay on the floor of this hangar that I call a celibate prison. And the savage who lives in me sees struggles in my equals and does not want to antagonize herself or others at all, she just wants to unwrap the present, without time bombs that detonate or pause today, that today rains and tomorrow I don't know, that today matters and tomorrow has been dispensed with,  as much as the past, on this new Tuesday.