Dreamed I died

I woke this morning, crawling out of dreams I died.  I can’t even remember what I died from, but I was dead and my family laid my body out in the little bedroom of my childhood.  I hadn’t left my body yet, but I wanted to.  The coroner was called, and they took blood samples for the lab.  I knew it was only a few seconds now until I really died; until I left my body, lost consciousness, went into the light. 

As it approached a peaceful and radiant feeling came over me.  I was floating upward, and everything was bright white.  And then… nothing happened.  I was still in my body.  And worst of all, I thought I heard a very weak pulse. 

I started thinking about the pictures I’d left on my camera, the brooding thoughts I’d left scribbled in notes to myself, without explanation to anyone who would find them.  I had this little thought that maybe I could get up, just for a moment, and tidy those up.  Delete things, file things away, put them into their proper context.  While no-one’s in the room, then I can lie down again and let this annoyingly slow and delayed death come upon me before the coroner arrives to take my body away.  Desperately I tried to ignore the realisation that the pulse was growing stronger. 

So I woke into the usual questions.  Why did i dream that?  I’m not suicidal; how embarrassing!  Did my subconscious really just try to die then?  Do I have the sleep apnoea that runs in my family, and does my heart stop when I’m asleep?  I guess I really do need to do something about all those scrawled thoughts drifting about on scraps of paper.  The horror!  To think that one item on my ‘to do’ list could stop me going into the light! 

And also… just quietly… Damn!