A World Of My Own

I dreamt the other night where I was watching myself, only it wasn't myself - at least it didn't look like me. There were some features that were similar and I knew it was me because, in my dreams, I'm certain of so much and don't need explanation, regardless of how inconceivable or surreal the scenarios are.


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I watched myself as I sat on a pier and watched as the oceans rolled by me, with leaves swirling in the wind around me, throwing patterns through my hair and rippling the water at my feet. I walked to the edge of a wave, and let it engulf me. I walked through a door that formed just under its crest, and I disappeared, the white frothy horses stampeding over me. 


I ran down the pier, the wood squishing and forming to my feet like soft, water-logged moss. I fell as my foot slid into a place where a plank of wood once was, but had been washed away with the violent grey tide; I felt myself slowly sink through the pier as if it was made of sand instead of oak.


I pulled myself free and shook the shards of wood from my clothes and sprung forward. At the end of the pier, I climbed onto a wooden support pillar and held my hand to my eyes, squinting against the sea spray; I could only see, amongst the grey waves, a foot kicking out of the water.


I leapt of the pier, landing on my feet, and ran across the ocean. Only I found that I couldn't run on water. I sank. 


The water crushed me, invisible arms caressing me and pulling me down, until the light that filtered down was separated into different shafts of green.  Golden flakes hovered in and out of focus in the water, glinting and fading like fish. 


I closed my eyes; and in that moment I was peaceful, accepting that I was at the bottom of the ocean, the surface completely distorted and not worth looking at. I was in another world. My own world.


I felt hair lick across my pale shoulders, and I found that I was laying my head on my shoulder and I lent my cheek against my head in protection and comfort. As I lay there with myself, we started to float upwards; a panic mimicked the motion and began to rise and bubble within me. I feared what was above. I was in my own world here, safe where there was no sound, where the colours were fluid and moving and alive. 


I knew only one thing in that moment: that I couldn't face the turbulent world outside my womb-like ocean. Looking up into my face, I saw reassurance in my blue and yellow eyes and, together, we broke into the cold, grey world above.
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It's really a wonder to me how all of this stuff can be in our brains, made by our brains, yet we have no control or ideas about how a dreamwill turn out. I've always wondered about nightmares... They seem very curious to me. Why would your brain make something that scares you? Or, how could it? I mean, you can't surprise yourself, you can't tickle yourself... How can you make up something that would scare you? You'd invent it, so surely you'd be expecting it and know it wasn't real.

This is another idea that I had for a photo shoot that would require buttloads of editing. I love the whole surrealism aspect of them. What initially made me want to photograph something like this are my dreams; recently they've been incredibly vivid and colourful... and surreal. 


but in all honesty, boobies!