- January 16th, 2010
I cried a lot yesterday; for several decent reasons, for several silly reasons, and, at least once, just for the hell of it.
I hate crying. I don't cry - can't cry, normally. It messes with that whole, strong female archetype I strive for.
But, let's face it, I'm only strong behind written words. I can't speak. My thoughts get jumbled, my words get mumbled, and and I'm left standing their looking like a moron and feeling frustrated.
In that respect, getting myself a therapist may have been a bad idea. Not to mention, a lot of my metaphysical areas of study (channeling, spirit communication, ect) all come off as very serious neurological conditions when explained to a medical professional.
"Why, yes, Mr. Therapist. I have a spirit guide I speak with on a semi-regular basis. She talks back. Sometimes, she makes things happen."
No, I think I'll gloss over these areas of my life.
So, after one very frustrating therapy session, I went home. I cried some while I drove. Got home, angsted over the medical leave paperwork my doctor filled out for that job of mine that I hate. There are so many issues there that I don't want to take the time out to list them here. Even though I should. I really need to sort my shit out in the money-making department. But working out all those kinks makes my head feel like it's going to explode.
I don't like that feeling.
I think I'll procrastinate... Except procrastinating makes me anxious... ARGH! It's a vicious cycle.
I dealt with this last night by starting real work on my rosary. I screwed up and am, of course, missing several tools I need to complete work on it. See? I did have a prophetic vision. I will be taking another trip to Hobby Lobby.
When rosary-making failed me, I yanked out some books and got to metaphysical studying. On a whim, I pulled out my Tarot decks and removed the Fool card. (Which, incidentally, is my very favorite of all the tarot cards. Don't tell them I said that.) I pulled out one of my journals and got to writing a short narrative personifying the card.
It went rather well, actually. I think I'll start doing one a night for each of the cards. I might even transfer the drabbles here since, as I've stated before, I am fated to lose this journal of mine.
And now onto the main event. The WTF bit. My dream last night.
I've been having some pretty messed up, pretty cinematic dreams lately. They started when I left work. (Perhaps the physical stress was knocking my out like a log for the night so I wasn't remembering my dreams?) I had forgotten just how fucked up and detailed my dreams can be.
I was visiting New Orleans with my father.
Go figure on that one. I haven't seen the guy since I was 14. I don't think I was even very happy to be paired with him in the dream.
At any rate, we were wandering through a tourist district. Everything seemed to revolve around food there. We wandered into several bars which I steered him right out of seeing as, during our life together, he was an alcoholic. We ended up in a confectionery store. I tasted several display items I wasn't supposed to, puttered around for a little while, then got bored. This was New Orleans. This was a tourist district. Surely, we could, at the very least, find some gimicky Voodoo shop to wander into.
My father seemed to know where to go. I suspect, and even in the dream suspected, this was because he went to New Orleans several times when I was a kid and would bring me back souvenir Voodoo dolls. They were kind of kitschy, but they had been from my father and I had loved them.
At any rate, this shop we found seemed to, at the very least, try and take itself a bit more seriously. It was a large building, with a sign on the door that read something to the effect of, "Crackers, don't touch things you don't intend to buy."
A rather impatient black lady in her mid to late thirties ran the store. Her merchandise was mostly cheap or overpriced; most of it marked with very specific instructions. I most vividly recall looking over her collection of ceremonial weapons and athames. I do, in fact, need a new athame.
I was looking for something traditional and simple. Small. Sturdy. Black handle. I found one such athame marked explicitly, "Only for neutral or dark magicks." I remember sort of scoffing at the label, but passed up the athame anyway and began perusing the overpriced deity statuettes. It was here that I overheard a very embarrassing conversation between my father and the shop owner.
My father had always been something of a bigot. I won't go into too much detail, suffice it to say that my first real crush was in elementary school, on a boy who was smart and sweet and, to my father's chagrin, black. I actually remember being lectured and punished for this crush - though, ironically, the same boy's sister was a coworker of mine many years later. It led to a brief, awkward, but very pleasant reunion with the boy, now all grown up. But, I digress...
My father was making some uneducated small talk with the woman. Talking about his opinions on feminism and religion and inducing much eye-rolling from the proprietress. I was embarrassed and when the woman went to help me on the sales floor, she immediately assumed I was much like my father. Despite my assurances, I'm not entirely sure I was able to convince her otherwise.
The proprietress showed me some athames. None of which I wished to purchase. A mortar and pestle, which I already own. And the statures of deities, which were on sale, but still overpriced. She was closing soon and wanted to hurry me into a sale. There was nothing I wanted, so she ushered me out and locked up.
I detached from my dream body then. Went into third person, camera mode as the story with my father dropped off and I instead began to watch the proprietress. A small, circular piece of her floor rose up passing through a vague, spectral body several times. The body was having difficulty materializing, which seemed to disappoint but not surprise the proprietress.
I was confused by this, so I traveled back in time to see where this spectral body had come from.
A housewife had moved to the area recently. She was beautiful; long brown hair, dark brown eyes, a willowy build. She wore skirts and loose tops and had a young son with a husband who was slovenly and balding and, though he was a kind and very sweet man, the housewife was not attracted to him.
And this is where the dream gets fucked up. If you'll just stay with me here...
The housewife was an asari in human disguise. Yes, an asari. Yes, that blue-skinned, tentacle-haired race from Mass Effect.
At this point, you're either going, "Huh?" or "OMFG, you nerd." And, yes, I am a nerd. I'm looking forward to Mass Effect 2 like nobody's business. I'm not incredibly surprised that it's worked its way into my dreams.
Anyway, the asari housewife works her way into the occult shop one day. The shop is empty. She's leaning over a display and manages to cut her arm on the corner of a glass counter-top. The proprietress hurries over, masking her concern with somewhat rude remarks about clumsy white tourists.
But the cut on the housewife's arm has peeled back her human disguise somewhat. The proprietress pauses in her rush to mop up the blood and is, clearly taken aback. The housewife realizes that the proprietress has recognized her for something otherworldly and remarks, sardonically, that she's not a clumsy white tourist after-all.
The proprietress softens. She doesn't ask any questions. She tends to the housewife's arm. She's really too stunned to speak, but the housewife doesn't mind. This is the first human to ever discover her true identity. She had expected disaster should she ever be found out. This woman hasn't backed away into a corner with a barrage of questions, much less called the Feds.
The housewife is touched. Overwhelmed, she kisses the proprietress on the cheek.
The proprietress misreads this. She's pretty overwhelmed herself. She's run an occult shop for years, and this is her first contact with something so unique. For the proprietress, it's love at first sight. She's in love with the idea of the asari. The idea that something so unusual should happen to her. She kisses the housewife full on the mouth.
Time out for you non-nerds, so you can have some asari-mythos. Asari are androgynous yet compatible with any other species, regardless of gender. I.E. They can have a kid with anything organic.... There was some talk in the dream about why the housewife's son didn't look like an asari. Even the housewife didn't know. I'm a little impressed with my dream being such a stickler for continuity... Also, they do this freaky Vulcan mind-meld trick, which is what, in the heat of the moment, the housewife ends up doing with the proprietress.
So the housewife and the proprietress begin something of an affair. The housewife's husband is surprisingly fine with this. He's rather optimistic about meeting someone through internet dating. (Going so far as to put up a rather amusing video of himself on a match-up site.) There's no talk of divorce yet, just a mutual understanding to allow each spouse a free fling.
The housewife meets the proprietress at her house several times. It's large and surprisingly luxurious for a single shop owner. There's even hired help. The housewife has often spoken fondly of wishing to go swimming. She adored swimming on her home planet, but has been afraid to here seeing as there's always the off-chance her disguise could come off.
Just so happens, the proprietress has a rather large underground swimming pool in her backyard. She sends the hired help to the other end of the house and changes into her swimsuit. Poolside, the asari has stripped down to her own swimsuit. It's almost embarrassingly old-fashioned; red and covered with frills and covering most of her body.
This was really the only part of the dream that felt symbolic for me... though it certainly sounds a little erotic.
The proprietress laughed at the housewife. She was still hiding who she really was. The proprietress wanted to see all of the housewife, literally all of her.
The housewife laughed while the proprietress peeled off the bathing suit, no long embarrassed. And then, via sudden dream POV change, I was the asari housewife.
I watched the proprietress dive into the deep end off the pool. I watched her and wished I could do the same, but I was nervous. The water looked murky. I tested the water with one foot, screwed up my courage and let myself freefall in as well.
It was beautiful. The water was clear beneath the surface. My human disguise peeled off as I just let myself drift. I opened my eyes and saw the proprietress swimming above me. We swam together and laughed together and loved each other and then I woke up and I was pretty pissed about it, seeing as the dream never did go full circle, back to the point where I'd traveled back in time.
There's always tonight.