Ram Dass & Sanguivoriphobia
Agent Scully from X-Files.
I dreamt last night that I was Scully (you know, from the ancient show X-Files) and had to exhume the remains of a vampire that was buried in an abandoned mine in Nevada. Skinner, the bastard, informed me that I somehow failed my mission, turned into a bat, and then fucked off, leaving me alone in the mine. Eating raw red onions in the evening—they were in my pork belly pho from Auction House Market—provides nothing but nightmares and xerostomia (a word I clearly looked up and I know you will too).
So what do I make of it? A previous analyst told me, and I suppose this is probably common knowledge, that dreams are either desires or fears. There has been a persistent fear in my life, one that I didn’t realize until this blog post. But first, fish.
If I were a fish, I’d have to be the sea lamprey. You might know it from its more familiar name: Petromyzon marinus. “Sea lampreys are considered a delicacy in some parts of Europe, and are seasonally available in France, Spain, and Portugal. They are served pickled in Finland.” I too could be served pickled in Finland. That’s not the similarity. Sea lamprey’s are referred to as the “vampire fish” as it parasitizes other fish with its circular rows of teeth. I’m no vampire per se, but there are parallels: we’re both pale and lonely creatures.
The sea lamprey is an anadromous jawless fish, which is to say that they return to their place of origin (among other things). There is another comparison here, other than that we’re both pickled and vampiric. It seems that I’m slowly making my way back east and if I’m not careful, I may just end up right back in the middle of New Jersey.
When I was probably seven or so, I went to a birthday sleepover in Stanhope, New Jersey. It was the kind of sleepover with a dozen or so stinking, farting, swearing, boys in sleeping bags splayed across a carpeted living room with artificial ferns, vertical blinds, and a robust harvest gold television set with dials. We inhaled orange soda and watched the requisite films all kids did in the 80’s: scary shit.
This was an unfortunate turning point in my early life. I don’t know if you’ve seen this one, in fact, it’s actually a 1979 miniseries starring David Soul (I don’t know who that is either) adapted from the Stephen King book Salem’s Lot. It’s called Salem’s Lot. Apparently, it’s also known as Salem’s Lot: The Movie. Even though it’s a miniseries. It was a sleepless night and set the stage for adult life: more sleeplessness and sanguivoriphobia, the fear of vampires.
A scene from Salem’s Lot that I have no interest in watching.
I revisited the series recently and of course, as most horror movies in the 80’s, it was nothing but ridiculous. And yet, it did very little to diminish my phobia. I failed to mention this life event throughout years of therapy. I had talked plenty about my fear of being alone, something that this remote and peripatetic (another word I clearly looked up) lifestyle has plenty of. I’ve just moved into an Airbnb for the week from the Ace Hotel (and wishing I was still in the Ace Hotel) and have been terrified of the empty apartment.
I’m reminded of the Ram Dass quote: "From a Hindu perspective, you are born as what you need to deal with, and if you just try and push it away, whatever it is, it's got you." Not that sanguivoriphobia is innate but there was clearly a traumatizing event that I hadn’t considered.
Ram Dass.
Earlier in the day yesterday, despite my concern over the empty apartment, I felt an atypical sense of calm and contentment. Sure, I was sitting on the toilet and the caffeine from my Americano was pumping through my system but there was a moment and loneliness was somewhere off in the distance…until that evening, when I watched the series What We Do in the Shadows. Yes, the comedy series about vampires. The fear returned and I spent another thirty minutes searching for something to watch on Hulu (I don’t have Netflix).
This evening, I have the choice to go out and walk the streets or to remain in the empty apartment. What would Ram Dass do? Perhaps he might suggest a daily dose of B-complex vitamins, valerian root, and a potential return trip to the “real Dirty Jerz.”
