The Return To Innocence

Why is it that, in most dreams where I am in physical danger, I am unable to scream or move quickly?
My last dream involved a bad fall and crash at the top of the stairs, while a large group of people were downstairs having a small quiet party. Something supernatural was with me, something insidious. I grabbed the stair ledge and pulled myself up to a kneeling position. I yelled my husband's name, but it was only a whisper. I couldn't call for help, not with the shadowy creature surrounding me. I was moving so slowly. It felt as though nobody was in the house but me, me and the cats.
And abruptly, I realized that nobody was in the house. Adam was at work. There was no party. The cats were all downstairs. It was only me and the shadow entity. I struggled to call on my internal resources, my spirit guardians, but even my psychic voice was muffled. I was not afraid. I was determined. I was badly injured, and I only had myself, and my powers to create weapons and defenses were drained. I stopped trying to stand. I knelt there and mouthed words, calling on the water in the bathroom, the air circulating around the house, the earth under the house, the fire downstairs used to light the gas stove. I pulled in all into me, and with a desperate burst, I unleashed it. The shadow creature shrieked and vanished.
Without any warning at all, the house filled with presence again. There was that quiet downstairs party. I whispered my husband's name again, struggling to turn it into a cry. Someone must have heard. Adam came up the stairs and found me, sagging against the door of the bathroom, my nose bleeding. He spoke to me. He half-carried me to the bedroom and helped me lie down. He brought damp towels and tissues and water with electrolytes. I managed, somehow, to tell him that a negative spirit had entered the house and stole my strength, and I pulled all the elemental power I could to drive it away. He was very proud but also puzzled, since the house was supposed to be powerfully shielded and guarded. I was crying but I didn't mean to cry. It was just a reaction without intention. He stroked my hair and curled up with me, and me took my hand and fed me energy and power and strength, and he said, "Go to sleep, my darling. I'll be monitoring you through our psychic bond and everything will be okay. I will strengthen the wards." He needed to check on our friends. He would back be up soon.
The dream ended there.

It has been something of a recurring thing: My slowness in dreams. My exquisite agony in dreams. My whispering words in dreams. Sometimes I can barely walk for the pain in my hips and knees. Sometimes I can only speak with thoughts instead of physical words. Sometimes my body is wrapped in a floating translucent shell and it is the only way I can move. In my dreams, the pain is so much worse than in reality. But I have access to weapons of all kind and I feel safe, even if something horrible grabs me.

When I was a child, I had flying dreams every night. Even astral projection. Like my father and cousins in their younger years. And if a harmful person appeared, I just waved my right hand fiercely, shouting "Shoo! Shoo!" to make then disappear.

When I was a child, I dreamed of dragons, of ancient tortoises, of unicorns mixed with white tigers, of phoenix birds with feathers of every color. Dragons have never been dangerous to me. Even if some were, there were always other dragons who were benevolent.

It is why I always bristle when I read an article comparing chronic pain to dragons. The only way I can see such battles happening is dragon against dragon. And I am a human amalgam of dragon, phoenix, tortoise, unicorn, white tiger, and fae, wrapped in the skin of a moonlight witch.

Then, why do my dreams cripple me? The only reason I can think of is to teach me to use the insides, the powers coming from my spirit and not my body. My body is very important and vital to me. But perhaps not so much in my dreams.

And I think this piece of art, beyond anything, is one of the greatest ways I can understand myself. Every time I look at it, I weep. I even have that same cane. I know Shinga and I barely know each other, but she knows chronic pain. She knows what being a warrior means. She was in the US Army and was badly injured and treated so poorly during therapy that she has severe PTSD. She is disabled badly. She knows battles. And I want to hold her and hold her and tell her what this means to me.

http://shinga.deviantart.com/art/Awaken-Warrior-and-Rise-378439320

(Note: Please please refer to Shinga before borrowing or using this image. Please use the Deviant Art link. This is her work. Copyright Shinga. The only reason I displayed the actual image was in case someone can't click on the link.)

The thing about brains is... brains are so complicated. Brains are so complex. Brains need outlets, too. Words are good enough for my brain. I just want to feel safe when I say words out loud. All I've wanted to do was help people. To say, in public, loudly, "You have someone who will listen. You have someone who understands. You have someone who knows what it means. You have someone who will hold you through the worst of the darkness. You have someone who will always shine brighter than any light." Ever since I was a teenager, I was told that I radiated a pure sort of light that drew other minds close. And every time someone who has never seen that light tells me that I'm causing upset or wrongness, that light falters, because how could someone slap me across the face just because I want to speak out through the darkness? I will never stop speaking out through the darkness. I don't care what it costs anymore. I will talk about my brain and its ultimate complications and complexities and sicknesses and handicaps, and somewhere, someone will always be listening. And they will talk about their brains, and we will share our stories, because that is how stories begin.
"Once upon a time, there was a warrior princess born with invisible armor to battle all the damage inside her that would follow her for the rest of her life. For a long long time, there was nobody she could talk to who truly understood. And then, suddenly, there were dozens of people who could understand. And the warrior made it a mission to talk to them all and keep talking. She kept talking even as others misunderstood her, scorned her, and scolded her, since they didn't realize that what she was doing was baring her life wide open, so anyone drawn to her light could share their lives too. She was told, 'Stop putting yourself out there. Stop talking so much about what's wrong with you. Stop focusing on the negative.' And she looked at them, finally, and said, 'No.' Because there was nothing negative. There was no wrongness. There was only her life. And her life was only positive and right. There was laughter, and amusement, and silly things, because even as the pain overwhelmed her, she would keep going, keep laughing. She told stories to those who wanted to listen. She helped many people learn about themselves. She became a teacher, an advocate, a true light in the darkness. She became strong and brave because she had to. And she will have stories to tell for the rest of her life."







I admit, I got a little choked up while writing this. Maybe I do feel much more defensive and upset and naked to criticism than I thought. I'm really, really trying to work on letting all that go. It certainly doesn't help my mental health.

How it all began:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151013741440684&l=48f6e7bcb2
Click on the '1 Share' button to see comments that inspired the title of Peaceful Dragon.

Copied from Facebook.

***
Now I am too exhausted to... what was I saying?
I'm going to bed now.

Also, someone just called me a "Mediterranean Warrior Fae with coffee cognac amber eyes." That makes me feel happy, and also strengthened.
***
Today is a day of pain too extreme for mere words.

But that's why my favorite eyeshadow is called Psychedelic Sister.

My mind has special places in which I can safely lose myself during transcendental meditation, in which my imagination and sensory perceptions can be shaped, molded, and altered bit by bit to work alongside damaged neural pathways, to become fully psychoactive on my own, through my own private power.

This will take years beyond years, but I have eternity in the spirit world. Sometimes my senses are surrounded by and colored in various shades of purple, with color shifts, duochrome shimmers, and iridescent glimmers of every color I can think of.

I know Psychedelic Sister is just the name of a shimmery deep amethyst cosmetic pigment, but it has a special meaning. Just like various other eyeshadows.

Urban Decay
Loaded: Deep metallic emerald
Evidence: Shimmery deep navy blue
Hijack: Deep metallic teal
Lost: Medium metallic brown
Snakebite: Shimmery dark bronze
Shattered: Shimmery gold turquoise
YDK: Shimmery cool bronze
S&M: Shimmery steel gray taupe
Midnight Rodeo: Glittery silver taupe
Maui Wowie: Metallic golden beige
Last Call: Metallic sugar plum
Darkhorse: Shimmery deep mocha
Half Baked: Shimmery golden bronze

Too Faced
Midnight Mist: Midnight Sapphire Violet Duotone
Poison Orchid: Midnight Amethyst Gray Duotone
Firefly: Shimmery Antique Gold
Petals To The Metal: Metallic Brown Blue Duotone
Violet Femme: Shimmery Lavender Gold Duotone
Enchanted Garden: Golden Espresso Duotone

Maybelline Color Pearls Marbleized
Downtown Denim
Persuasive Plum
Lawless Lavender
Navy Narcissist

It really is amazing and powerful to me, how color can help alter the way I see myself. The instant I apply concealer or foundation, it begins.
Urban Decay Naked Skin Foundation in Shade 2.0
It Cosmetics Bye Bye Concealer in Light
Lauren Brooke Creme Concealer in Warm Light
Lauren Brooke Creme Foundation in Warm 2
CoverGirl Olay Tone Rehab Foundation in Classic Ivory
Raesin Images Creme Foundation in Linen 2
Korres Quercetin Oak Concealer in Fair

Obviously this is a lot, but my memory is quietly being gently destroyed bit by tiny bit. I always write everything down. All it matters is that I can alter my palette constantly and see myself in new colors, in new ways, every day. I am art.
***
In the lair of the Peaceful Dragon.
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151018197555684.415074.640545683&type=1&l=74078a637b
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151018374415684&l=99512fe686
Filled with strong colors and shiny things.
***
Thing I have most recently learned about myself: When I am having a pleasant conversation on Facebook about something enjoyable regarding a status or a photo, I should feel absolutely no remorse in deleting critical, snide, or rude comments that have nothing to do with the conversation. I have learned that if I really want a critical opinion, I would be happy to privately message the critic and figure out why they decided to be critical in the first place. I like learning new things about myself!
***
Stupid news: Having a temperature over 99.1 and being ragey over ridiculous whims of ridiculous body and ridiculous brain.
Fuck It news: Planning the weekend no matter what. Peaceful Mediterranean Fae Dragon Warrior is fucking peaceful, damn it.
Really Fucked Up news: Actually literally being too weak to finish editing these fiction stories or do anything but limp and stumble.

Time to crawl into bed and rage against the dying of the light so hard that in every dimension beyond this one I erupt into a wild flare and shine brighter than a fucking supernova - until every spirit, alien, and interdimensional entity all rush to gather around, break out the sunglasses, and share popcorn.

Peacefully, that is.
***

I will be a good Mediterranean Dragon Princess. With many shiny things. Including coffee and chocolate and honey, and chocolate honey coffee.