Featured

Dreamwalker 1

It begins, as most dreams do, in the middle of it. Meaning, you’re not really sure how you got there. It just.. IS.

gothic house interior living room
Looks… cozy?

The place starts to feel familiar as the walls and rooms start to solidify. You’re in a hotel; no, a bed-and-breakfast. A mansion that’s run like a bed-and-breakfast. The feeling of familiarity is fleeting and vague, yet you know it’s there. Like a word on the tip of your tongue that just won’t quite come out. 

You’re a ghost-like presence, a translucent being wandering the vaguely defined rooms and halls. This room has a secret passageway, which leads to… the pool! Oh what a glorious pool, with ornate marble statues and granite trim. Yet it is not for you. No, you slide back through the room and wonder how to keep yourself busy. You read notes in the guestbook, written to the innkeeper, with words of praise or suggestions. None of it is memorable. You find some dishes out of place and bring them to the kitchen to wash. Apparently you can hold objects, despite your less-than-corporeal state of being. 

But perhaps you aren’t so ghostly. You feel that you’re meant to tell somebody something. To pass on a message. Your gut tells you that you will be able to touch and be seen and heard by those you’re meant to see. A voice – is it your own internal monologue, or something else – waxes philosophic: “We are sometimes asked to put into words what no human should have to; and so, in the end, we decide it’s best not to.” Still, you must get a message to someone. 

You begin to talk with a man sitting by the pool – he must be the one you’re meant to speak with! He sees you and hears you. Your touch is cold but your voice is warm. The man is having lunch with his family near the pool. He attempts to introduce you to others, but not all of them can see. Not all are meant to see. One woman does feel your presence and hear your voice, albeit quite softly, if you rest your hand on her shoulder. But you are not here to tell her anything of importance. It was merely nice to be heard by more than one person.

Before you have a chance to convey your message to the first gentleman – nay, before you even understand what said message is supposed to be – you become aware of another dreamwalker. His presence feels unnatural. He resembles Joshua Jackson, the actor, for some strange reason. Your instincts tell you that his name is Danny. 

Suddenly.. “Danny’s bad. Danny’s BAD!” A young boy’s voice cries out. 

man running down a dark alley

Danny’s eyes darken to pure cold black spheres, and he lays chase to the boy. You now feel it is your duty to save the boy from whatever fate this Danny has in store for him. He only has one arm, you realize, in an abrupt and macabre revelation. 

You toss and turn through material and immaterial barriers as you try to catch up. You phase-shift through doors but have trouble keeping pace.

Alas, you awake too soon. You hope and pray that the young boy is safe, and Danny is merely a figment of someone’s imagination.

Please note: I have no qualms with anyone named Danny. Dream-interpreters would likely have you believe that there’s some trauma in my past related to a person with this name, but I can assure you there’s not. It is funny that, in most of my dreams, names are rarely, if ever, a thing that gets remembered. But I don’t usually write down notes immediately after waking up, either — in this case I did, by which I constructed this story. So take it how you will. Even if your name is Danny — I still like you, and I don’t think you’re a child-mutilating psychopath. =P

N.
Advertisements
Featured

Another Dream

My subconscious must be in denial. I saw you come back to me. As though you had simply gone missing for months, but returned alive and well. I told you of many things that happened while you were away. Including, of all the strangely random things, the results of your .. not colonoscopy, but that similar thing where they make you swallow a camera and then take a bunch of pictures of your digestive tract and stuff. Which you really did have done not that long ago.

We embraced, but it was fleeting. We spoke with words of silence and in quickly forgotten whispers. Then we settled back into some oddly normal routine. You asked me to make you a fruit smoothie. Also with a tiny camera in it. Apparently you weren’t satisfied with the results the first time?

And then, as most dreams do, it got strange..er. We were in bed; a night had passed. I was trying to get up. I did, and you had rolled over into my spot and lay there sleeping so peacefully, comfortably. I stroked your arm and whispered a word of comfort as it looked like you had a bad dream for a second. Scene re-set. I’m trying to get up from the same position again, barely able to move. You’re no longer there. I stumble and turn back to see myself still sleeping on the bed. Not you. No more you.

Scene re-set. I’m stuck in a position but trying to get up again; the dog is next to the bed, but when I finally wrest myself from the pillow and stand, the dog is on the bed too — a replica? Scene re-set. This time I’m truly struggling to get up and awake. One more time. Some kind of strange background noise, almost like elevator music, seems to have been playing on repeat this whole time; I get a flash of an announcer-style voice saying “thank you for trying such-and-such wake-up tunes; this has been a free trial, but if you’d like more, please call and subscribe.” The hell? I literally drag myself out of the bed one last time, barely moving, almost purposefully trying to fall over to cause some kind of jolting motion in hopes that, like Inception, it will trigger a “real” wake-up.

It does. And I’m alone. Well, except for the dog. And she’s not replicating, thank God.

six husky puppies
THEY’RE SOOO FLUFFY I COULD DIIIEE!!
Featured

A Prologue to Faeries

This is something that K began to write after she had started discovering her inner talents and her spiritual connections. Sadly, it remains incomplete — a prologue to a story that will never exist, at least not in this world. Perhaps some day when I see her again, I will be able to sit beside her feet, and listen to the wondrous story that her beautiful mind had only just begun dreaming up, before she was abruptly taken from us. I know that she has long since finished this tale, and looks forward to telling it in full, to those who have ears willing to truly listen.

N.

“Once upon a time”, they say… As if there was only that one time.  As if it has long passed into the fields of long-ago.  But what if that Once Upon a Time is now, eternal; and what if your time to be in that Faerytale place has returned… because in that once-upon-a-time world, that place of enchantment, you and I could move between the worlds with ease and trust.  And when we grow tired and older, and we are heavy of heart, we would take ourselves to a tree and lie down upon our mother the earth. 

All trees are sacred, but this one was older and wiser than even the oaks.  A sacred thorn tree under whose branches we would go to sleep, and dream of bright realms.  A place where faeries dwelled, and healed, and charmed us back to health and wholeness; where the heavy weights that were bound about our hearts were unlocked, one by one, with faery keys.  And how we laughed and feasted, and loved, while in this realm. 

And when we were whole, and wild, and healed again, we awoke under that same tree, and knew that we were returned from a realm where time has a different meaning.  Where life has enchantment.  Where flowers speak and animals teach, and where our faery kin had rewoven the energies of the world into shining, beautiful shapes. 

For the truth is that our faery kin have, for aeons, cleansed and brightened the skies, have whispered “grow” to the crops that feed us, and shielded the old forests from the gaze of those who would hunt them for their wood.  And when we had been given the key to the faery realm, we too were strong in body, mind and soul, and we danced under the moonlight and were bathed in the bliss of life.  We weaved the energy between the stones; we knew how to shape time. 

We allowed ourselves to go into the faery realm to be reborn, made whole and clean again.  For there we could rest, and be revived again to our whole self.  And when we were strong in our relationship with our faery-kin, oh how we shone!  For we were bright, and we glowed with our connection to the source of all goodness and light. 

And then, well… and then.  It is time.  It is that Once Upon a Time again.  Time to return to our relationship with the wild places, the bright ones, the faeries, and our wildish scenes.  For as we do, miracles of healing will occur.  Just as faeries cleanse and purify the water, the air, the earth, the fire, and the spirit, when we reweave our sacred alliance with the faery realms, we too begin to heal.  From our sadness, our loneliness.  From our hearts that cry out for the poetry that is the soul of the world.

If you yearn to shine once again, if you wish to reclaim the heart of you, who knows how to be well, to be happy, to be whole… If you wish to clear illness, guilt, and untruths from your life, and truly, deeply heal and transform, then this story is your set of keys to that faery realm.  And there you will be reborn. 

This story is the key to those wildish places where not only can you be restored, but you will find sacred union, connection, true health and wholeness.  Be blessed, enter this enchanted place and be prepared for your heart to fill, your souls to sing, and your body to fill with the energy of the wild green world.  Take the key, and keep it safe.  And know that you are welcome to return to these realms, and come home to us again, beloved, as often and as long as your spirit desires.

forest fairy in white, sleeping

Featured

A Dream Of You

Last night I dreamt you had come back to me. It was as though the last several months were just a ruse, a strange fiction whose purpose and origin were like gossamer on the wind.

You were sitting in bed with me by your side. We talked about your medications as you put them into your organizers. You spilled some on the blanket and I helped you pick them up. We argued briefly about one of them. Why is that the main thing I remember from this dream? That’s not nice.

Couldn’t I have just seen your face, your beautiful smile and loving eyes? Could we not have simply held each other again, your head upon my chest and our hands interlocked? This is how I need to remember you, in my arms, your golden hair caressing my cheek and neck, your soft lips against mine, your warm loving arms wrapped around me as mine around you. To say “I love you” again, not to the air or the portraits or the keyboard and screen, but to YOU, the real you, the you that is my heart, my soul, my mate. What I wouldn’t give for this.

The dream ends and the reality of another day must be faced. Alone, yet unalone. Sometimes it’s much easier to say that than to feel it. Please remember to remind me when you are near. I love you. I loved you.

two lovers embrace in a stormy yet calm sleeping position
To have and to hold…

Dreams – The Portal

Featuredswirling portal of red and blue

They came through the portal; that’s what we called it. Someone did something they shouldn’t have. The portal came into being during a science experiment; it was a hole into who knows where. They were short, squat and wore some sort of suit; they couldn’t breath in our atmosphere.

There was a war at first. We didn’t win. There were few of us remaining, wandering through demolished cities, scrounging to survive and hiding. They were hunting us. Nowadays they didn’t kill us outright. In fact, we didn’t really know what they did with those they captured — no one ever came back. All we know is they had a weapon that rendered the target docile, even happy to be captured.

I had a companion. Until now we had successfully avoided being discovered. But right now they are tracking me. We had separated to draw them in two directions, hopefully losing them. My friend got caught; once zapped, he gave in. Right now I’m hiding in the rubble of an apartment building, huddled behind a wall. One of them is on my trail and closing; slowly, but deliberately, blocking off any escape route, like a game of chess. I am trapped. Looking around for anything I could use as a weapon, I see a table knife in the dirt. I pick it up, and as it comes through the door, I swing the knife across the tubes running into the face plate…

Thank you to Mr. D4v3 for the guest-post! Very entertaining. Hope you readers enjoy it. ❤

-N.