Tag Archive: Dreams


The Quiet in My Head

My dreams have been uncharacteristically silent for the last few days.

I just… haven’t had any.

It’s been strange; I’ve had so many nights of traumatic, horrible nightmares. And now, there’s nothing.
I would have expected to have even more, terrible dreams since the accident, but it’s been radio silence since.

Despite how awful they can be, I rely on my dreams pretty heavily. Within the wicked madness, I can usually find some bit of insight that I am supposed to take with me.
I sort of feel like I’m in a void right now.

Not that I want the terror back soon, but I’d really like more than darkness.
I want a good dream.
A happy dream.

::sigh::

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Taken from
http://www.mysticfamiliar.com/library/moon/yule_moon.html
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This is a time of rest. As the night is long and the days are short it becomes a time of self healing and rejuvenation. As mother Earth has tucked herself in, so should you. It is perfectly fine to allow yourself the time to heal and relax that is necessary.

This is also known as the Yule Moon, as it usually falls right before the Yule celebrations begin. Take time for reflection on the past year. Honour all that you have learned and mentally clear out what you no longer need. Enjoy the long night as it is a time of peace on Earth and a great time of personal healing.

Whether you celebrate Yule, Christmas, Chanukah or Kwanza, it is a time of peace and love, to all mankind and to the creatures of the earth. Do not forget to put out food for our animal friends as food is getting scarce and all life is sacred, this becomes a good time to honour all life.

This is also the time of fellowship, when friends come together and new friends are made. When the prosperous help support those who struggle, there is no greater joy than the sharing of what you have with those who have not.

In the native belief, the time of the moon covered from one month to the next, so it was not just one day, it was the cycle of the moon. So there was always plenty of time to do what needed to be done in that time. So do not think that you only have one day to honour, celebrate, meditate and rest. Spend the whole month doing so. Allow yourself the time to rest and repair. But also allow yourself time to celebrate and share.

There are no set rules to honour this time of year, there are many customs and beliefs, but you should do what your heart feels is right. Your guides can help you or you can follow the tradition of your choice. In my home we honour all, I will set up for Yule, we will have a tree, I will light the candles of the menorah, I believe all holidays have a valid point or they would not exist. Besides it is fun to study others beliefs, helps me to be more understanding, then any judgment or fear of someone else’s beliefs fade away and I continue to grow. So on that note, I shall bid you adieu, from this moon ’til the next, many blessings to you and yours.


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And this is from:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wicca-Teachings/127815357367419

Tonight is a Full Moon it is called the Cold Moon or the Before Yule Moon.
This is an especially special Full Moon because it is the last one of this year. It is a time to use the Moonlight to charge our energies ready for coming Yule and the New Year.
This particular Full Moon will not be boring and will have an unpredictable vibe along with it. What was stuck may suddenly begin to move or shift. If emotions are clogged, they may surface and flow.
Allow this.
Be with it as loving as possible with your self and others.
The potential of the Full Moon in Gemini is to become aware of where you are engaging in dualistic thought, emotions and behaviors on auto-pilot. This may be generating a lot of mental stress and tension plus sending out mixed signals to others and the Universe. Some people may be irritable and cranky.
Emotions can be raw and urgent.
Breathe deeply.
Ground yourself.
Keep a sense of humor.
Be of good cheer.
Be the calm in the storm.
Get in the driver seat and empower yourself.
Be honest with yourself.
Stop arguing for your limitations.
Take responsibility for your life. In this way, you can change what is not working. You are the master of your destiny.
Take your power back from society and/or other people.
Learn from your mistakes.
Vow to do better next year.
Make a commitment to your success.
Be adaptable.
Make friends with change. It is not the enemy. Change is your friend. Change sheds the old and gives birth to the new.
With Yule and New year approaching look deep into yourself and ask what you want to happen in the coming year, ask yourself how you will bring it about. Make this the year that you make all your dreams come true. The energy from this Full Moon wants you to succeed. Tell the Moon your hopes and dreams write them down on paper and burn them by a white candle. As the smoke drifts to the heavens the universe will receive your message. Have a blessed Full Moon.
May the Goddess watch over you.

Shutupshutupshutupshutup

Something that happened while I got ready for work this morning brought a flash of a memory of a dream.
It was something that I had apparently shuffled to the back of my brain, hoping to forget it.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

It struck me so hard that I have found myself on the verge of a panic attack since. And I can’t seem to shake it.

What could affect me so deeply?
Fearing that the people I love most will leave me.
In the dream, someone communicated with my loved ones that I was “toxic”, and should be left to my own misery instead of bringing it to them.

And they did.
Everyone left; including my cats.
Every. Single. One.
Gone.

I had nothing and no one.

I worry that my negativity brings down the people around me.I do my very best not to let it spill out into the open, because that last thing I want is to infect others with my bad vibes.

WHY IS MY BRAIN SO MEAN?!

Alone

I’ve had a very, very go of it lately.
This is one of my little venting sessions.

The Muse & Her Demons

I’m not used to being alone.

I have my troupe mates, my co-workers, my friends.
I fill my life with events and activities so that I am rarely ever alone with my thoughts.

I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

When I’m alone, my mind starts wandering.
It’s generally pleasant, at first, as one might expect. Thoughts of the things I enjoy most – dancing, traveling, spending time with friends.
But then…

I begin to wander into dark places.
Places from which I have a hard time coming back.

The woods, hallways, and oceans of black that sit in my mind are terrifying.
Monsters and demons and hell-spawn claw at me until I am nothing more than a bloody pool of snack-size pieces of flesh smeared upon the rug.
My eyes burn from tears than won’t fall.

Because they aren’t real.
None of it is.
Or maybe I’m…

View original post 264 more words

Black Ribbon

The stars were out and the night was warm.
I was standing alone in the backyard.

I held a small piece of black ribbon in my hand and fireflies danced through the grass. I could hear the crickets and frogs singing their night songs.

Then, suddenly, it all stopped.
There was nothing.

A colony of bats erupted from behind me and flew overhead. I watched them until they disappeared, their wings beating erratically.

The ground began to vibrate.
And then shake.

I could barely stand, it was so violent, but I couldn’t run to the house.

CRACK!

The ground in front of me shifted and a hole opened up, threatening to swallow me.
I did not move.

Looking down into the abyss, it was a swirl of colors – red, orange, blue and black.
It spiraled down like a whirlpool.

I could feel an updraft on my face, hot and wet.

The ribbon began to slip from my hand and I tried to hold it tighter.
It felt like it was being pulled from me.

The ground opened up further, pulling me in.

I didn’t even struggle. I just didn’t want to let go of the ribbon.
It was dark and quiet as I fell.

I felt nothing but the sensation of falling and the warm, damp air around me.

It felt like an eternity of nothingness.

And then I woke up.

I can hear my heart beating.
I feel it throbbing at the side of my neck.

There are days that I just want to be able to sleep through the night without worrying about the monsters that hide in the corner of my brain.
The little sounds that usually comfort me to sleep have suddenty become deafening.

I miss the sound of Peanut snoring her cute little snores at the foot of the bed.
And her little nose against mine in the morning. And all the tiny, obnoxious things she insisted on doing to wake me up.

I miss the confidence I used to have.
Some of it has come back. I have some really amazing people in my life that kick me out of my self-pity funks. But there’s a part of me that left a long time ago, and I’m not sure if it’ll come back.

I miss barbeque sauce.
And wheat beer. Bell’s Oberon was freakin’ fantastic.

I miss long trips to the lake. And fishing with Grandpa.Weekends just never feel long enough.

I miss Grandma’s rose garden.
She had so many pretty colors growing, and she almost always let me take one home.

I want new ink.
I told myself that I wouldn’t want more, but I do. I find things that remind me of the person I want to be.
Things that tell the story of me (not that anyone would necessarily want to read it, but I often write for my own sake anyway).

I miss that period between high school and college, when the groupd of us partied like rock stars.
Waking up in the morning to find someone passed out on the bathroom floors.

I really, really miss D&D.
Miranda was a badass. Do NOT mess with Battle Banshee.
No, you cannot shoot lighting out of your butt.
What the hell are ice arrows?
Never get into a drinking competition with a dwarf.
Tiles was the greatest game EVER.

Reminiscing is easy; isn’t it?

Under the Big Tree

A little dream, one that wasn’t quite so violent as the others that I’ve had lately.

The Muse & Her Demons

I danced under the big Willow while you watched.

I felt safe, and loved, and admired.
I felt all the things a dancer, a woman, should feel in a moment such as this.

Your eyes followed my lines.
I was fire and water and wind. I was poised chaos.

You watched me, like someone who had just regained their sight, with such passion, that I felt naked and powerful.

I was stripped of all my doubt.
All my fears and worries melted into the dirt with every turn and glide.

The Willow was my theater. Her branches swayed with my music, caressing and kissing me as I spun around.

I danced under the big Willow while you watched.

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A few changes.

I’ve been writing a lot lately, which was (sort of) the whole point of starting a blog.

I needed a place to vent, to find myself and my purpose. I don’ know that I have found either, yet, but I feel like I’m on a pretty good track.

My writing technique has suffered from neglect. I’m not quite happy with what comes out, because it isn’t coming out how it sounds in my head. But I can feel the rusty joints moving and am confident that some things will come back to me.
At this moment, though, I still feel like what I have been writing is coming out as a bit contrived, juvenile, and predictable. I think that’s probably normal, and I have to push through it.

A lot of the things I write are a bit depressing – death, losing love, depression – because those are the things that push me to write. They are things I know, or think I know, and the words fall fairly easily onto the keyboard. Not everything I write is from experience, though, but I can create scenarios in my head that make sense, if only in that over-romanticized Hollywood manner.

I enjoy writing (or, typing, in most cases), because it gets a lot of images out of my brain that I can’t stand to have stuck in there anymore. Some things are traumatic, gruesome, and just plain sad, and I don’t want them filling up the space anymore. Most ideas get started, but never finished. Or I start them, leave them, and come back later when I feel like I can clean it up.
Some things will NEVER be published to the internet, because they aren’t for you, but need to get thrown out of my skull before I stab someone in the throat with a rusty spoon.

I dream.
A lot.

Most nights, I don’t remember more than little snippets. And those are usually pretty basic, weird, dreamy things that mean nothing to me.
Other nights, I feel like I am being told a story. It’s not really a precognition thing (though, I do experience deja vu often), but it’s more like… I don’t even know what it is; it’s not always clear.

And some nights, like the one I had two days ago, are awful.
I sleep, but it isn’t a good sleep.
I dream, but the dreams are terrible.

That night, it was like the horror-version of Groundhog Day.
I died, many times, only to wake up and do it again.

I was stabbed, beaten, shot, drowned, suffocated, attacked by a shark (which actually ended in drowning, since the shark didn’t kill me quick enough). I was buried alive, hit by a train, blown up by a vest-bomb, and poisoned. There were probably more in there, but I lost some of them in the ether of my memory. It’s for the best, really.

The whole next day, I felt uneasy and sick.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was going to happen.
As of right now, nothing is going on, and I am okay with that.

Anyway… the writing.
I know the shorts I write aren’t that good.
Honestly, I don’t really care.

I take that back.
I care a little. There are a select few people in my life whose opinions mean so much to me, that I would be mortified if they read my b.s.
I’m not going to tell them that they can’t read it; and if they wanted to comment on it, I would take the criticism. But I would also be really, really disappointed in myself. But I am aware that I am not that good at this.

It isn’t about content.
it’s about getting the monsters out of my head.

Another dream-inspired short story for you all.

The Muse & Her Demons

It was just the two of them, if only for a short while, and they sat under the willow tree by the lake watching the sun rise over the water.

They would have this whole day together, alone.

There was a chill in the air, and dew hung on the grass and the leaves. Whenever the wind blew, the cool droplets rained down in a mist.
She shivered, and he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.
He was so warm and strong. She felt safe in his arms, protected from all the evils in the world.

But evil would come, and she had to be ready.
Just…. not yet.

She wanted to take this last day to be with him, her love.
She never thought she could feel so strongly about anyone, and yet, there he was, resting his chin on her shoulder and…

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Muse

There she sat, ever watchful over the gardens. The birds came to her, almost weightless on her shoulders, and sang to her. Squirrels and rabbits and the occasional tabby played at her feet. Children stared at her, wondering if she might move.

Muse.

That’s what they called her, though she didn’t know why. She wasn’t even sure what it meant.

Her dress did not sway in the breeze. Her hair stayed neat and tidy. Never was she cold nor was she ever hungry. But she always seemed so sad.

Her arm outstretched, reaching for something in the distance; she couldn’t quite remember what is was, though, it had been so long.

Muse.

She felt a longing; and melancholy wave crashed over her like the many thunderstorms that ravaged the gardens. Her roses had suffered terribly this year.

This year.
What year was it?
How long had she been frozen in time and hidden away from the world?

She looked out over the garden, her garden. Were the others like her? Did they wince at winter’s sting or yearn for shelter from summer’s heat? Were they stuck, just as she was?

Oh, yes, spring and fall were lovely. There were so many beautiful flowers and animals scurrying about.
And visitors! Yes, so many wonderful people to tell her how beautiful she is and how lovely the gardens are.

She missed the warmth of a caress on her cheek and the sweetness of a kiss. She missed the taste of berries and wine. There were so many things that she missed.

Muse.

On the lips of a stranger that she could not see, she heard the words, “She is Erato. She is a muse.”
She felt it. Something – a spark, a warmth; something,
She focused on the word, straining to remember something that seemed just out of reach.

~~~~~~

“Mommy, why is that lady crying?”
“Honey, that’s not a lady; that’s a statue.”
“But Mommy, look!”
“Sweetie, it’s time to go.”

~~~~~~

“My Muse.” He whispered to her. “MY Muse.”
And he touched her face, as if wiping a tear from her cheek. His hand felt warm and soft.

They could feel the stone fall away. He recoiled, amazed at what he saw before him: Porcelain skin where his fingers had been. He reached again and brushed the side of her neck. Again, the stone wiped away, as dirt in the rain. He held her hand to find that she could hold his in return.

“You there! Don’t touch the statues!”

When he turned back to meet her gaze, he found only the statue, streaks running down her face, and rain gently falling down around them.

 

Statue