There was a time when I would write down my dreams, very regularly, in my amatuer writing days. With an aim of becoming a published writer and making my living out of words, I would soak up any writing advice, from anyone. One book said, write down your dreams and visit them later, you'll find story ideas in them, so I began scribbling. Extremely funny dreams would get written down which would otherwise be quickly forgotten. One dream had me hanging upside down from a ceiling while a fully grown hungry Lion approaches me. In another dream I was flying from one building to another, like a bird. Many dreams would fill me with acute embarrassment and dread, where I would be sitting in the open answering Nature's call, with familiar people walking around with a disgusted look. Inner fears, unresolved issues, anxieties and hopes maybe, finding expression through dreams.

 Last night's dream was interesting. We're about to be attacked by a gang of dacoits but there are two rifles in the cupboard, and I'm supposed to load them and be ready. But the gang arrives before time, and the leader, a ferocious looking hulk is at the door. As he orders people around I pick up the rifle and load them with two heavy cartridges, the ones used to kill elephants. A lot of fumbling around, trying to hide it from him, picking up the wrong rifle, his outbursts..all that drama, but I'm cool as fuck. His work done he begins to dance and I take aim, with his head moving in and out of the cross hairs. Finger on the trigger, everyone's expecting me to pull it and blow away his head to hell, and as I'm about to pull it....absolutely calm, no nerves, no tension...and I woke up, with a heavy pounding heart threatening to spill out of my mouth.

What to make of this dream?