Our Fleeting Existence
I haven't done this in a while, but considering how vivid my dream was last night, I feel like resurrecting this ol' bugger and typing up those haunting images still lingering from the first good night's sleep I've had since I developed my current illness.
I was vacationing in Italy though I must have just gotten there because I hadn't really done or seen anything of import yet. There was something about a border dispute or some such with a neighboring nation (I don't believe it was a real country but one my mind invented), but it was relatively minor and I crossed between the two lands without much incident. I had dinner in the neighboring country before traversing the mountains back into Italy. I had a distinct prickle at the back of my neck like something was wrong, that I should be headed back to Italy, but I assumed it was just the political strain between the two nations.
In my dream, most of all Italy's major cities were built directly into the the coastline, sort of like the Amalfi coast, but with Rome and Florence perched high on cliffs above the sea. It was very dramatic and picturesque, looking out into the sunset from narrow city roads at the edge of a cliff. The sea was calm and dark at the time.
As I walked into town with the intent of some evening sight-seeing, again I felt deeply wrong for having returned to Italy. On impulse, I took off as fast as my feet would carry me, running from Rome, where I was, into Florence (not that they were right next door to one another, but looking up the coastline a ways, you could see Florence). Just as my feet were about to cross into the outskirts of Florence, a massive earthquake ripped through the earth, and I stumbled from side to side, grabbing anything that was available to support me. I watched in complete horror as chunks of the cliff shucked away, peeling back like layers of an onion. I glanced behind me at Rome as whole pieces of it crashed into the sea, familiar landmarks and ancient history disappearing in one swoop. It was like something out of a disaster film, but it felt so real. People were screaming and cars were crashing and everything was still shaking.
Luckily, both Florence and the outskirt where I was standing was just far enough back from the coastline that it avoided the same fate as Rome, but still parts started to crumble and citizens ran screaming. Someone came up beside me as the earthquake was subsiding and commented on how Florence had mostly survived, but when we both looked back at Rome, it was a completely different scene.
The city had been plunged into blackness despite the sinking sun, and half of it had disappeared into the sea below. The domes of many churches had collapsed in on themselves, towers had toppled onto neighboring buildings, and some buildings were literally ripped wide open when their other half dissolved into the ocean.
Many of us from Florence walked down into what was left of Rome to help those who had survived. I remember crying when I walked into what had been the center of the city, and I was upset about not having the chance to see some of the landmarks that had stood for a thousand years. "I never had a chance to visit, and now I never will. Those who come after us won't believe it was real," I said to my companion from Florence. (This strikes me as oddly "me" because this is how I felt after the Twin Towers came down. I had been fortunate enough a year earlier to visit them firsthand, and in retrospect, it's hard to believe no one will ever be able to visit them again. How fleeting our existence actually is.)
Last comes the most vivid and memorable part of the dream.
I offered to go down the cliff to help those working at the shoreline below, gathering relics and wreckage. It was night time now in the dream, and the water was inky black and gentle, but reflected silver petals of moon. There was a little girl in a dress at the water's edge, crouched down on pebbles and chunks of stone. She was actually balancing on her toes, clad in sandals, the waves lapping over their plastic edges. She had thin blonde hair and a very small build. I would guess she was about six or so. She had one arm folded across her knees, and the other was extended, her finger pointing at the water. I followed her point and saw many bodies, mostly face down, splayed out in eerie snow angel movements across the waves. Their skin, I recall, was vivid white against the black water, almost as if they were glowing. Those still living had resigned themselves to the task of dragging corpses up from the depths. I, too, joined in the grim task, grasped the wrist of a slender female corpse with both of my hands, and hauled her in with all my strength. Even for bodies that had not been in the water long, they were heavy with the weight of the sea. We would drag the bodies on shore and stacked them in a pile until we could do something more with them.
That's when my alarm went off. It was a very strange dream for its clarity at points. The distinctive look of the little girl is what I remember best other than the black water and white bodies. It's stuck with me all day. How odd and yet strangely life-affirming.
I was vacationing in Italy though I must have just gotten there because I hadn't really done or seen anything of import yet. There was something about a border dispute or some such with a neighboring nation (I don't believe it was a real country but one my mind invented), but it was relatively minor and I crossed between the two lands without much incident. I had dinner in the neighboring country before traversing the mountains back into Italy. I had a distinct prickle at the back of my neck like something was wrong, that I should be headed back to Italy, but I assumed it was just the political strain between the two nations.
In my dream, most of all Italy's major cities were built directly into the the coastline, sort of like the Amalfi coast, but with Rome and Florence perched high on cliffs above the sea. It was very dramatic and picturesque, looking out into the sunset from narrow city roads at the edge of a cliff. The sea was calm and dark at the time.
As I walked into town with the intent of some evening sight-seeing, again I felt deeply wrong for having returned to Italy. On impulse, I took off as fast as my feet would carry me, running from Rome, where I was, into Florence (not that they were right next door to one another, but looking up the coastline a ways, you could see Florence). Just as my feet were about to cross into the outskirts of Florence, a massive earthquake ripped through the earth, and I stumbled from side to side, grabbing anything that was available to support me. I watched in complete horror as chunks of the cliff shucked away, peeling back like layers of an onion. I glanced behind me at Rome as whole pieces of it crashed into the sea, familiar landmarks and ancient history disappearing in one swoop. It was like something out of a disaster film, but it felt so real. People were screaming and cars were crashing and everything was still shaking.
Luckily, both Florence and the outskirt where I was standing was just far enough back from the coastline that it avoided the same fate as Rome, but still parts started to crumble and citizens ran screaming. Someone came up beside me as the earthquake was subsiding and commented on how Florence had mostly survived, but when we both looked back at Rome, it was a completely different scene.
The city had been plunged into blackness despite the sinking sun, and half of it had disappeared into the sea below. The domes of many churches had collapsed in on themselves, towers had toppled onto neighboring buildings, and some buildings were literally ripped wide open when their other half dissolved into the ocean.
Many of us from Florence walked down into what was left of Rome to help those who had survived. I remember crying when I walked into what had been the center of the city, and I was upset about not having the chance to see some of the landmarks that had stood for a thousand years. "I never had a chance to visit, and now I never will. Those who come after us won't believe it was real," I said to my companion from Florence. (This strikes me as oddly "me" because this is how I felt after the Twin Towers came down. I had been fortunate enough a year earlier to visit them firsthand, and in retrospect, it's hard to believe no one will ever be able to visit them again. How fleeting our existence actually is.)
Last comes the most vivid and memorable part of the dream.
I offered to go down the cliff to help those working at the shoreline below, gathering relics and wreckage. It was night time now in the dream, and the water was inky black and gentle, but reflected silver petals of moon. There was a little girl in a dress at the water's edge, crouched down on pebbles and chunks of stone. She was actually balancing on her toes, clad in sandals, the waves lapping over their plastic edges. She had thin blonde hair and a very small build. I would guess she was about six or so. She had one arm folded across her knees, and the other was extended, her finger pointing at the water. I followed her point and saw many bodies, mostly face down, splayed out in eerie snow angel movements across the waves. Their skin, I recall, was vivid white against the black water, almost as if they were glowing. Those still living had resigned themselves to the task of dragging corpses up from the depths. I, too, joined in the grim task, grasped the wrist of a slender female corpse with both of my hands, and hauled her in with all my strength. Even for bodies that had not been in the water long, they were heavy with the weight of the sea. We would drag the bodies on shore and stacked them in a pile until we could do something more with them.
That's when my alarm went off. It was a very strange dream for its clarity at points. The distinctive look of the little girl is what I remember best other than the black water and white bodies. It's stuck with me all day. How odd and yet strangely life-affirming.