On the edge of sleep,
I heard voices behind the door
the known and the nameless,
familiar and faceless,
my angels and my demons at war.
Which one will lose - depends on what I choose
Or maybe which voice I ignore.
- double agent by peart
There are good days and there are bad days. Which direction a day will go does not reflect a choice on my part but is instead the result of an utterly capricious randomness. It's hard to make plans for the day ahead when life keeps throwing bombs at you. It's too easy to fall into apathy when I have no control. But I have learned that when I start to dream, my subconscious is telling me something and it would behoove me to listen. Some action on my part is still required. My dreams, though, are usually bizarre and require a lot of effort to unfold before their meaning is derived. But when I wake up from a dream where the dream is as simple as I'm crying for the loss of my brother, that doesn't exactly require a psychoanalyst to figure out. Clearly, there is something more down in there that needs to come out. I expected the memorial to satisfy whatever that is but it obviously did not. My gut is telling me that there are more stories about my brother, his process of dying and my reflections therein that need to be told. This ain't going to be easy. I can see why my dream was telling me to prepare for more tears.