I've been having bad dreams near-nightly of late. Death abounds, many grim portents and omens. There's no real reason that I can see for this; aside from that stint on the overnights, my subconscious hasn't had much reason to complain. But they've still kept coming, ominous and unpleasant.
It's not the first time this has happened. Last summer, I went through a stretch where every night, I dreamt of death. Again, no outward cause could be seen, and once the phase passed, I put it (happily) behind me. Now they've been coming back, and it's disturbing. Several have been grim enough to wake me from a deep sleep, and I could do without those moments of uncertainty, wondering if the various evils depicted in the dreams are actually the reality.
The most vivid, most unsettling (and least realistic) took me to an abandoned mental hospital, now populated only by spirits. Images from that one have stayed with me well into the waking hours. In a misguided attempt at self-therapy, I went back to an old, now-forgotten fascination of mine -- urban exploration (or whatever the preferred term is now).
Mind you, I don't actually go out rummaging through abandoned buildings -- that's for those more agile than me, and with less of a fear of crashing through rotted floorboards. I'll happily and passively live vicariously through sites like this one. But they play into a love of mine, that of the abandoned. Things that have outlived their function, remnants that aren't supposed to be there, whether it's ghost signs or abandoned buildings. I could look at the photos on Dark Passage and similar sites all day (and on some slow shifts, I have). More grist for the nightmare mill!
Above sculpture: "Notre Denver" by criminally-underappreciated musician Terry Allen, on display in Denver International Airport. That's right -- I'm back in the homeland!