Roland on Repression

Social Media vs. Civilization

This time it was the moon that woke me, I believe. At least, when I opened my eyes, I found myself awash in its light, pouring in through the uncurtained window above the day-bed where I had fallen asleep; and, on turning my gaze slightly to my right and upward, I found myself staring at it directly, low in the dark blue sky, dazzling in its mensal fullness. Even so, somehow—whether on account of some subtle evidence available to my senses but not to my conscious mind or on account of something of a more psychical nature—I knew that I was not alone. Turning my eyes to the left, I saw my dog Roland seated on the floor very nearby and staring intently at me. In the lunar light, there was something slightly preternatural about his appearance; the white portions of his coat glistened icily, while its darker shades (mahogany and charcoal and gray) seemed richer and warmer than usual; and his glossy coal-black nose and limpid brown eyes shone now with a mysterious beauty. He neither moved nor made any sound.

Breathing deeply, I raised my head from the pillows, swung my legs about, sat up, and placed my feet on the floor. Now my eyes met his. After a moment, I said, “What am I doing here?”—expecting no answer.

But Roland did answer, in that familiar voice of his (so much like Laurence Harvey’s): “You were reading and fell asleep”—with a slight tilt of his snout he indicated a book lying on the floor beside the bed (Where Three Roads Meet by Salley Vickers)—“and the night fell while you were sleeping, and then the chaste goddess, the moon, crept up furtively from the horizon and came upon you here, supine and at her mercy.”