When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them…

Love, Eat, Pray.

Shout out to my sister Elizabeth Gilbert who wrote the original book. Forget the freaking movie! Just because something is popular and a best seller doesn’t mean it’s a commercial bunch of crap. Movies of books tend to cheapen and trivialise. It’s just the nature of the beast.

So yeah, well spotted, I’ve messed with the order of the words.

For me I guess praying has to come last. Maybe I haven’t even got there yet.

But I’m inspired to write this because of a dream I had last night.

Last night was ‘passing strange’. I woke up around 1am. I didn’t seem to really go back to sleep. I was in a state of wakeful dreaming. I wasn’t fully conscious or unconscious. Yet I was dreaming away.

So in the dream. I was attending some kind of support group for people who were imminently suicidal, had purchased the drugs they needed and were meeting to discuss the finer points of their method, etc. They weren’t meeting for support with their emotional issues. They weren’t meeting to form pacts. They were purely meeting to exchange information.And maybe to nerve themselves up for the final act.

All I can really remember about it was talking to a particular woman. I had the feeling she wanted to talk to me and was ready to engage, but as so often in social situations, my eye was on the escape hatch. I think she had the death potion in front of her.

It no longer seemed appropriate to be there. I felt suffocated by the atmosphere and by this woman’s need for me. She was essentially in a tug of war between death and life. If I in any way represented life, the onerous responsibility had me wanting to hotfoot it out of there sharpish.

And what was on my mind on escaping into the cold clear air? Food, lol. My reliable, lifelong and very undemanding friend.

As has happened SO MANY TIMES in my real life, I got it into my head to visit a particular restaurant, in this case an Indian vegetarian restaurant I had found particularly congenial. So off I went to somewhere like Muswell Hill. But I was confused, the landscape seemed to have changed and I was lost so I asked a passer by for directions. He was a middle aged man, didn’t seem too creepy so I accepted a lift in his car.

Well he may not have been creepy but he turned out to be drunk so I asked him to let me out of the car which he did. I walked along the row of shops but the Indian restaurant I had in my mind was nowhere, as often happens I reasoned it had probably sold up to another business and moved on.

So I kept walking and ended up in an Indian temple. There were women in traditional Indian dress. I remember looking around to see if I should have taken my shoes off – but no, they were wearing shoes too.

And that is kinda ‘it’ for that dream. And it’s not all that remarkable in itself. It’s more of a dream to think about and contemplate to try and draw some meaning from it. Which I may do, in the next or other future post.

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