A Life I Never Had

Today when I looked into the mirror

I saw a face that I’d never seen.

She beckoned me to relive a past I had never had

Or re-write a future that had never been.

Her radiant eyes matched the glow on her skin;

Her long tresses spoke of stories untold.

I inhaled deeply to drink the sight in

Before reality showed a face tired and old.

She laughed silently, (it was a mirror after all)

As I questioned my sanity

In standing there at all!

The curve of her chin seemed familiar

Like the gnawing pain in my knees.

Sweet pink lips, dimpling cheeks…oh dear!

In another life that could have been me!

Someone called my name and broke the spell

The moment was gone, and so was she.

The only question that seemed impossible to tell

Was it I who had dreamt her alive, or she had me.


5 thoughts on “A Life I Never Had

  1. Hi, this is Roy in reply. When I was eight years old, I fell asleep and never woke up – until three weeks ago. The sixty-year-long nightmare between sleeping and waking was just that. Were it not for Sara Jane and Ceannt, I would have died in a never-ending dream of terror.

    Liked by 1 person

      • First things first – we hope that your son recovers quickly.
        Perhaps a little background is in order here. We decided to call our WordPress “We come from dreams” because we believe just that. Most people believe that they have dreams when they are asleep; we turned that on its head, in essence, we are people (?self?) created in our dreams – the world as well. We have some intellectual pedigree for this idea; it was first stated by the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard (1884 – 1962), and was lter enlarged upon by Jungian theorist James Hillman, especially in his dense but fascinating book, “The Dream and the Underworld.”

        Now then ~ up until I was eight years old, my life was tolerable; my parents were dysfunctional, although they and the world back then (1950s) wouldn’t have thought that they were amiss in their ways. One night, I went to sleep. I never fully woke up. I had a dream and in this dream, I went down to where the kitchen was and wandered a bit. My mother asked me what I was doing and I said I was trying to wake up. When she asked me to explain, I told her that she wasn’t really there and that she was just part of my dream. She beat me senseless, screaming at me.

        Over the many years since then, I’ve recalled this peculiar episode, but I let it be. Oftentimes I dismissed it as a kid’s weird dream. About a month ago I discussed it with Sara Jane and Ceannt and they suggested that I try waking up. I was afraid that if I did, they’d be gone; so they kissed me, and held me, and told me to go ahead.

        I woke up. They’re still here. But now – we’re autonomous. No more slavery.


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