So you look at the image and the quote above, and you probably think, “That’s nice.”
But I have an overactive imagination.
If doors can open into heaven, they can also open into hell.
And this seems to imply that we don’t have any control over those doors, or when they open, or what comes through. Whoever or whatever is on the other side is calling all the shots and invading our dreams at will.
The dreams I have? Not always comforting. Not always a casual wave and a chat with Dad or Grandma. No, I get shifting, hungry monsters, things with strangely glowing eyes, things that chase me because they want to sink their very sharp teeth into the back of my neck.
I would much rather believe that my dreams are where my overactive imagination and my subconscious duke it out, trying to figure out the stuff my conscious brain is too distracted to work on.
I don’t want to believe there’s a doorway somewhere, and these awful, shape-changing creatures are yukking it up on the other side, tossing 13-sided dice to see who gets to visit me that night. Or that there’s some kind of hell dimension competition going on, to see which bogeyman can scare me enough to wake me up, heart pounding, gasping for air, desperately blinking and squinting to bring reality back into focus.
This is the down side of being a vivid dreamer. Everything is high-def, Technicolor and in my face. Good or bad, it’s like a night spent watching the world’s most bizarre cable network, only I don’t get to choose the channels.
Last night? Not only were the dreams bad, but they daisy-chained themselves together. Waking and falling back asleep brought no respite, just a slightly altered version of the Big Bad, which writhed and twisted out of my control.
So yeah. Linking doors and dreams right now? Not a comfort. Not today.