blog two - buried alive dream

My three uncles were standing on a street corner together, shoulder to shoulder, solemn faced. Grouping themselves together for identification. There was an air of guilt about them.

But one was missing, one was late. One was refusing to arrive. It was my father. He was late and they were all waiting for him. 

Then I was being buried alive in a sand hole.

The sand came down over me and I could feel how heavy it was. I wanted to be buried, I encouraged it and yet I knew the weight and darkness of the sand might overwhelm me. It did. It was like being in water, not knowing which end was up and I lost air so quickly, unbelievably quickly, I could not breathe. My arm was shooting upward like a tendril from a seed sprouting, but who was too weak to reach the surface of the ground and survive to blossom into a plant. 

It was like being in a dry utero, the sand caving in from all sides, filling my nose and mouth, the darkness, the dryness.