A Kafkaesque Dream

Last night I dreamt that I was forced to stand in front of a firing squad. There were a number of men standing in a row aiming rifle-type guns at me - being the target was scary.

The worst part was that I had to stand there, waiting to be shot, if they were going to shoot me, for six unrelenting months.

Six months standing in front of a firing squad, not knowing if that second of your life was to be your last.

What hell. And yet, again, this is life as I know it. I am always in front of that firing squad and I never know what is next.

There was some indication that I would not be shot in the end, that it was a Kafkaesque exercise of raw existentialism, but my fate wasn't certain and was left as unknown. The scene was reminiscent of Goya's 'The Third of May 1808' (except it was daytime and I was a lone target, and there were no dead bodies).

The dream has been with me all day and I am taking the unusual step of writing it down in my blog.


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