I once was asked if a blind person could dream in color and if a deaf person could hear in a dream. It was an unexpected question and one I was unprepared to answer. Why was I so perplexed with such a simple question, taking into consideration that I myself was legally blind and a dreamer. Tonight, after hearing...Well, tonight I uncovered that color is relative to how the dream theory and the reality of life evaluate the theory of collective unconsciousness. No, not the Freudian or Jungian dream theory, but the one generated by the intricacies bestowed upon us by life itself.
This, that I am about to write, is my dream in color crowned upon me by those elements. The realms of life have inflicted their disturbance upon my brain, and thus color has become relative.
The Death of Light
By
Reverend
Syndia-Gregoria
Being visually and
physically impaired is in itself a challenge of all my mental and corporal
capacities. Least to mention, that it is
a constant reminder of the events, including one distinct episode that led to
such a state of multiple disabilities.
The series of actions that placed me in a world of blindness; created
the anterior cruciate ligament tears in both my knees; and the various torn
tendons throughout the rest of my bodily parts, has so affected my entire being
that even as I write this essay, my body trembles with the essence of fear and
anguish. The very thought of seeing myself crawling to the corner of the
bathroom hallway as the hands of hatred and anger hammered themselves into my
head and body over and over with little intent of ending, brings about a sense
of uncontrollable panic. Although there
were approximately fifteen years worth of intense physical torment, the one
that seems to have imprinted itself the most was one particular sunny day in August
of 1993.
It was barely seven in the morning, when I was brutally awakened by an apprehensive sensation within me. As my eyes focused on the immediate surroundings, I felt a hand grab hold of me and with incredible strength pull and dragged me from my bed; her military boots thumping into my back as she procured my left arm and commenced twisting it as if it were a flexible straw; the continuous landing of the two-by-four wooden device left my brain feeling as if a grenade had exploded deep within the occipital lobe. The words coming from her mouth were not comprehensible yet, the emotion of repugnance was clearly understood. As I frantically attempted to protect myself from the relentless brutality, she increased the severity of the attack by doubling the impact to the head. Now, it was not just the two-by-four, but her steel-toe boots and hands as well. This physical hostility protracted for what appeared an eternity. Still in a state of semi-consciousness, I could feel the sole of her boot wedge itself into my breast numerous times. Shortly thereafter, I could no longer feel, hear, or see.
Upon regaining that level of consciousness, my eyes gazed about rapidly in search of what was once my soulmate, and now my unforgiving oppressor. Unsure, I remained on the floor, for a considerable length of time, while the blood from the devastating injuries flowed throughout. Demoralized, intimidated, and overwhelmed in throbbing pain, I attempted to lift myself from the wooden floor. As I crawled, my vision searched every aspect of the abode, but found not a soul within. The rush to care for my mutilated body was of utmost importance, as it had to be realized prior to the return of my abuser. The image of myself in the mirror left me unknowing as to where to begin, and the available first aid was rather limited. Slowly and agonizingly, I proceeded to tend to the physical wounds sustained. As for the emotional abrasions, that I knew would never heal. The hours passed and there was still no indication that she was near.
It was barely seven in the morning, when I was brutally awakened by an apprehensive sensation within me. As my eyes focused on the immediate surroundings, I felt a hand grab hold of me and with incredible strength pull and dragged me from my bed; her military boots thumping into my back as she procured my left arm and commenced twisting it as if it were a flexible straw; the continuous landing of the two-by-four wooden device left my brain feeling as if a grenade had exploded deep within the occipital lobe. The words coming from her mouth were not comprehensible yet, the emotion of repugnance was clearly understood. As I frantically attempted to protect myself from the relentless brutality, she increased the severity of the attack by doubling the impact to the head. Now, it was not just the two-by-four, but her steel-toe boots and hands as well. This physical hostility protracted for what appeared an eternity. Still in a state of semi-consciousness, I could feel the sole of her boot wedge itself into my breast numerous times. Shortly thereafter, I could no longer feel, hear, or see.
Upon regaining that level of consciousness, my eyes gazed about rapidly in search of what was once my soulmate, and now my unforgiving oppressor. Unsure, I remained on the floor, for a considerable length of time, while the blood from the devastating injuries flowed throughout. Demoralized, intimidated, and overwhelmed in throbbing pain, I attempted to lift myself from the wooden floor. As I crawled, my vision searched every aspect of the abode, but found not a soul within. The rush to care for my mutilated body was of utmost importance, as it had to be realized prior to the return of my abuser. The image of myself in the mirror left me unknowing as to where to begin, and the available first aid was rather limited. Slowly and agonizingly, I proceeded to tend to the physical wounds sustained. As for the emotional abrasions, that I knew would never heal. The hours passed and there was still no indication that she was near.
Abruptly, there were
sounds emanating from the stairway in the hall.
They were sounds that were telling of military steel-toe boots. The blood within my veins curled at the
thought of further aggression; my legs quibbled from the familiar reverberation
approaching; and my mind’s atmosphere degraded into quicksand, unable to
recover or respond. The apartment door
opened and my nightmare entered. She
paced towards the kitchen and prepared her own ceremonial dinner as an ancient
warrior would after defeating its prey. Unable to survive another commencement
of hostilities, I crumbled into a state of dejection closing all the reality
surrounding my sadistic environment.
Several months passed
without any further occurrences of abuse.
But then came Christmas Day of 1993.
That morning, as a result of that one day in August, my world took on a
different route. The transformer within
my brain was no longer working. It was
as if I had failed to pay for the electrical energy and the current was
turned-off. The lights were no longer
there and my life was forever altered. Now,
I was without sight, physically challenged, and in the realm of enmity.
PERSONAL NOTE: This particular post is dedicated to a very extraordinary person who lost her hearing as a child due to the abusive acts of her parents.
