the remnants from lucidity

" The Remnants from Lucidity "
( Essentially, Part Three of
'A Regret for Your Plethora' )

Recently,
I find myself having Dreams more.
And I find myself understanding them less.
And I find my Subconscious
and my conscious minds colliding.
And I can't tell what is real, and what is not.

I see a face.
A face from a Dream.
I can see it clearly,
yet I have no idea what it looks like.

It is as if my Subconscious knows,
and is just teasing my conscious,
flashing bits and pieces of a memory
- if you can call it that -
and leaving him to rack his brain,
desperate for the whole story.

The Answers are all right there, just out of reach
- and every time I reach for Them,
They just slip further away.
My Subconscious can see Her,
but all I can do is wonder - who is She?

It is now, as I lie in bed, just pondering,
that I can't help but feel as if I have some Powers
- these emotions I can't explain.

I had a lucid Dream randomly,
I was lucky to have the experience of a lifetime
- one that most can only dream of,
no pun intended.

But with great power comes great responsibility.
And the remnants from that lucidity,
some of them are still left over,
I guess you could say haunting me.

It is now, as I sit on the bench in this vacant parking lot,
waiting for a certain someone who left me two hours ago,
I realize that I am glad she did.

I see the big, scary World around me,
and I think of what it would be like
if I were all alone out here to fend for myself.

And I feel good about it.
About the world.
About myself.
About being alone.
I feel free.
I feel content, even happy.
The crickets are chirping, the sun is setting,
the cold, cold wind is blowing
through my clothes, against my skin.
And I feel good inside.

But it is growing darker,
and it is becoming harder to see through the Shadows,
more difficult to track my pencil's path
through the once-empty lines
of a certain trusty, pocket-sized notebook.

And this reminds me of another time once,
when I had sitten on a bench in a vacant parking lot,
waiting for a certain someone who had left me two hours ago,
and I had realized that I was glad she did.
And now I look around again at the big, scary world around me,
but this time it is different.

Suddenly I feel Scared - of both times.
I am Scared of then,
when all I really had to worry about was one grrl,
but the fact that I was only eleven,
and the bitter truths of the world were
just beginning to descend upon me,
made everything just that little bit bigger and scarier.

And now the memory of that night
is just another regret for my plethora.

And I am Scared of now,
when every little thing is a threat
to the violation of my Freedom.
Not security, but Freedom.

Freedom of individuality.
Freedom to go wheresoever I want,
and do whatsoever I please,
with whomsoever I wish.
The Freedom of Good, in a World of Evil.

But I never did really have that right.
The Constitution claims to grant you freedom,
but any freedom that needs a legal document
to bind it in place is not truly Free.
Freedom is underestimated,
as with just about everything else.

Now more than ever, the World needs a Hero.
Not someone to be at the top of the World.
Just someone to get to the bottom of things.
Someone like Bobo.