The Sickness of Dream Geography

Art by Rae Klein

I’m sick. You know the laid up in bed, rotting type of sick. Tissue paper strewn all over the place type of sick. Breathing isn’t the same type of sick. Time doesn’t move the same type of sick. Hacking up fistfuls of mucus type of sick. The toilet is my best friend type of sick. The hyper-awareness of your own mortality type of sick.

I’m usually pretty good about these types of things, but this is something deeper. A healing crisis of sorts. You know when you’re healing something deep, it affects you on a physical level? That’s where I’m at.

I’m not at liberty to say what I’m healing, but it’s good and right on time. You see today marks the Winter Solstice and the beginning of Capricorn season—the shortest day of the year. A time of change, a time of rebirth, a time when we transition from the fall into the winter. A time when the witches and warlocks frolic through the snow-tipped firs and conduct rituals in the cold darkness.

That’s my cryptic hint that maybe one reader will understand. I’ve been rotting in bed and binge-watching Ballers. I forgot how good of a performance Dwayne Johnson gives in this show. Probably up there with Southland Tales. I was stationed in Rota, Spain when the first season aired. It was a big deal. I would convene with a couple of friends at my friend Jess’ haunted house (that’s a story for another day) and we’d make food, sip sangria, and watch a new episode every week. It was an important yet grounding ritual.