What did you do last night, Hippolyta?

The subconscious is a funny thing...mystifying, in fact. Our subconscious is a part of us, but is so deeply hidden beneath layers and layers of clutter that we often forget about its existence. A subconscious, in essence, is like a hermit - a short man with a hunched back who either enjoys the solitude or is merely trapped within the confines of what he ironically calls "home". However, once the hermit emerges, if this ever happens, he usually has something enlightening to say - afterall, what is there to do besides reflect, when one is alone? I think my subconscious is a scaredy-cat. It waits until I am asleep to unleash all of its thoughts and ideas. I can only remember the creativity and the intense, unthinkable visual imagery of my subconscious if I wake up in the middle of my disturbing dream/nightmare. My subconscious is one of those kids at a frat party who needs alcohol to feel comfortable in his own skin. I am not. Let me clarify: I do not need any form of enhancement, I am sensitive enough as it is. But my subconscious needs a few shots before he truly lets loose. Here is an anecdote that describes what I mean:

When I studied at L'Academie de Paris, a school in Paris, France, the summer going into Junior year of high school, I took sleeping pills almost every night. It was my first time away from home and I was in foreign country. I needed some "pill-age". One morning I woke up. Barely. My eyelids felt like 20 pound weights and I stumbled into class. I was clearly in a subconscious state as I could have easily fallen back to sleep in a few seconds without any recollection of ever having woken up. Our Creative Writing teacher began an exercise in which she prompted us with phrases, questions, words, and music. One of the posed questions was "What did you do last night, Hippolyta?" in reference to a Greek goddess or mythical woman of sorts. We had a concise amount of allotted time and I wrote my most cherished poem to date. I haven't altered or edited it since that morning. I give the sleeping pills and my subconscious a majority of the credit. They came together and encouraged me to write something without censoring...and ultimately without thinking. I truly dug into the depths of my inner, imaginative being and produced something different from all of my other work. If only my subconscious would stop being such a wimp, have his mom call my mom, and set up a playdate, then we could create the unimaginable. Then I would be a happy camper. Sigh...Oh, well...Enjoy, lovers.
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What did you do last night, Hippolyta?

I stroked the dawn of day with my fingertips
Danced across the ocean's blue
Slashed the puffy clouds with a crackling whip
Ate the moldy dirt's amber hue

Sailed underneath the gathering of the stars
Licked the brewing barks of trees
Ran barefoot across broken shards
Rambled through a meadow of fallen leaves

Swam against the current of the gushing wind
Letting go of dreams long past
Pushed back by the forces of light, felt pinned
Through the journey of life, I dashed