If I were a fairy tale creature, I’d be an abstract, like how shit happens in a dream, just a surreal blur of inconspicuous emotions manifested through random images and icons.
I’d be all the Wonderland characters.
I’d be the Pow sign in a Batman comic.
I’d be the reason the Fairy Godmother knew Cinderella needed her.
I’d be the eye of Ra, bringing souls to his feet.
I’d be the rose in Beauty and the Beast.
I think it’s because I see myself the way I am in my dreams. That’s how I roll in my dreams.
I categorize my dreams as two major types: Psychological Dreams and Psychic Dreams. The psychological ones make no sense whatsoever. They are dreams where I find a refrigerator in the middle of the forest, and I open it, and there’s a frozen bear hibernating and then I blink and I’m in the middle of the ocean in a row boat without an oar. They are dreams where I’m being attacked by a clock surrounded by black birds. They are dreams where I’m killing vampires in a lake of melted cheese surrounded by tornadoes. But the psychic dreams make sense. They have a chronological order of things and feel very similar to real life. I wake up with a feeling I can’t shake. It’s as if I astral project into a plane where our spirit lessons are taught as a class instead of an individual basis, and here I cohort with living beings who do the same thing, dead people, spirit guides, angels and demons, and sometimes, God.
Some things I’ve noticed about myself… about my spirit.
My spirit sometimes manifests as a Lioness/Tigress.
I once dreamt I was a woman surrounded by white lionesses, and I was at war against a black-haired woman with a bob, dressed in black, shiny, sexy clothes who was surrounded by dark wolves.
I later dreamt I was in a dark, steamy alley with rainwater dripping from rusted fire escapes, and I was cold. And deep in the alley in front of a crumbling brick building sat a bunch of cardboard boxes and a dumpster. From the rummage, golden eyes glowed in the shadows intruding my comfort and inquiring my worth. I froze in fear. And the eyes jumped out on the body of a tiger as it ran ferociously toward me. Atreyu’s words from Never Ending Story danced around my brain, “If we’re about to die anyway, I’d rather die fighting,” and I caught the tiger mid-pounce and twisted my body over his as we landed on the abrasive pavement, and I held him down with my hands pushing against his shoulders like the Lion King’s girlfriend, and I stared him in the eyes just to stare down my fear and see it for what it really was. The tiger relaxed his muscles, and I knew he was no longer a threat, so I let him go. We sat in the alley in silence before I woke up.
Then a series of dreams followed for years where the tiger saved me every time I was afraid. In one dream, I was in a convenient store being robbed, and the assailant shot me in my right butt cheek. My right cheek. I took off running, and he chased me. I turned a series of corners around the streets of this town, trying to get away, and once I reached the last street before hitting a river, I turned right, running, out of breath, turning my head to see the bad guy was still there keeping up, inching closer, and I had a little panic attack. Then a tiger breezes up to me on a motorcycle, and with a loud roar from the motorcycle, we escaped.
One time I walked into a bedroom, and behind the headboard was some kind of animal, and I could feel it plotting to attack. Who? I wasn’t quite sure, but it felt like someone I loved and wanted to protect. So it jumped out, and I caught it mid air, threw it to the ground, and it was like I accidentally roared, like I don’t know, but a face jumped out of my face, and it roared, and I could feel it in my heart: the strong desire to overpower this creature, and it died. Right there. I roared it to death. Metaphorically, I suppose people feel I do that to them, like my incessant talking is destroying their spirit.
I do that a lot in my dreams: accidentally roar. It’s like a fart. It feels like one. Like where it slips out, and you look around to see if anyone noticed it was you. It’s not like some silly bitch roaring ferociously trying to be sexy or appear stronger than what she is. It’s like a full on roar that echoes across at least 3 different planes of existence, in full stereo. When I do it, I can feel all this anger being released like I’m trying to give 10 different wrongs some kind of justice in that sound.
A friend once sent me to a psychic for a past life reading, and I roamed the store of incense and crystals thinking I might of been a cat in a past life. Yeah. A fat housecat. Whose claws kept getting stuck in the Berber carpet when I walked. I expected to hear things that felt foreign because I don’t think all psychics are that psychic. At best, maybe she’d hit one of my dreams. But secretly, I was hoping she’d explain why I keep dreaming about this one guy I went to high school with. At this time, I was unaware at how psychic those dreams were, but I knew they were important for reasons beyond my understanding. But no. The psychic said, of all things abnormal and irrational, I was a tiger guardian in ancient Egypt (because there were tigers in all the stories of Egypt). I was one of many guardians, and a handful were abusing their power. I didn’t know how to handle them, so I remained indifferent. God didn’t like my indifference, so I was punished, but not as harshly as those who abused their power. I had things to do on earth, and that’s why I’m here. Every life is a form of penance.
I don’t believe that though. I think if I were a cat, based on my wake life, I was definitely a fat house cat. But based on my dreams, I think I’d kill a tiger by accident, so I don’t think we have a breed to explain it. Maybe my spirit animal is one of those animal heads out of a freak tale in Revelation.
My spirit can turn darkness into light.
When I shine a light on the shadows of the monsters in my room, I can see them for what they really are. That demon in my closet is a just pile of dirty clothes that need to be cleaned. The beast under my bed is the same stuffed animal I found comfort in the night before. The ghost glowing along the wall is just a reflection of the hallway’s light from a mirror, a passageway to the next room reflecting from another world just like ours.
But some dark places don’t have a light to turn on.
I dreamt I was in hell, and a big, strong red devil threw me into a thick, black river whose depth is unknown. And a whale like beast with razor, sharp, stalactite teeth and 2 rows of spider-like, black, shiny eyes swam up to sniff his food. In fear, in the dark, muddy waters hiding all that lurks within it, I desperately searched for any light. I closed my eyes and prayed, and then I started glowing. The beast swam off in fear because he had never known light.
For a while there, in my dreams, I was learning to be my own light within the darkness.
I later dreamt I was in the same hell, and a man I grew to care for sliced me across the stomach and then kicked me into that same river. The same beast swam up to me, sniffing my blood as it poured into the substance, and before I could get a chance to pray, he left me be. For a minute, we swam together as if I were swimming with dolphins in the Caribbean. I still think back to that dream and find peace within that moment.
In my wake, I am learning what it means to be the light within the darkness. I am learning what it means to shine.
When I can’t find any good in this world, I try to be the good so that I can find some.
When confronted with hate, I love so that I am not without love.
When people judge others, whether in court or a Facebook wall, I stand up for what I believe is right, just so there can be some justice.
But that’s not enough for me. It’s lonely when you’re the only light you know. So I proceeded to go deeper into this occult. I realized in order to be the light, I had to overcome my own darkness, in the previous dreams: Fear.
Maybe that’s how God did it. Maybe that whole Bible verse about how the world was dark and void, and God was all, “Let there be Light” and there was light, maybe God had to overcome His own fears and insecurities. Maybe He had to decide hate sucks so He is going to love instead. Like if there was a spiritual connotation to that whatsoever, it would be that.
So in one dream, I was falling down a dark hole with Satan in my arms. He was dead. And I felt bad for him, like whoever killed him, it was not right. It’s one thing for God or Michael to smite him out of heaven, like that is self defense. But whatever killed him here, it wasn’t like that at all. It was a woman who was seeking power and when she couldn’t deceive the devil, she killed him. So here I am falling with him in my arms thinking, “That fucking bitch!” Does she not know who that was? He’s kind of too famous to kill off at this point. Anyway, he seemed so helpless and lifeless, it was just sad. So I held him closer, said the word, “Heal,” and prayed. He fucking glowed and came back to life. Well it was a bright flash that kind of relayed before toning down to a nice glow for a couple seconds. But his darkness turned into light for just a second.
However you want to take that dream, it’s kind of symbolic. Some Christians love to remind each other (on account of an overabundance of ego-driven judgment) to hate the sin, but love the sinner. But if you go a step further, and forgive people for their sins enough to think they are still worthy of freedom, justice, healing, and all the good things in life, knowing full well they will never repent, without requiring anything from them, without arguing whether what they did was a sin or not, just care about them Care Bears Style, I think you’ll find that you can help them shine without being dependent on you for light.
It’s about shifting and remolding what’s there, and you can’t do that without accepting it for what it is. If you won’t touch the clay because it’s mud, then you’ll never have a clean dish to eat from. Like you can’t make anything if you deny it’s worth.
Through doubt, I find faith.
Through insecurity, I find confidence.
Through endings, I find new beginnings.
Through foolishness, I find wisdom.
In my weaknesses, I find strength.
In my fear, I find courage.
It is only within sin can I find grace.
My Spirit Loves to Give
I frequently dream that someone is in need, and I provide. Most of the time, someone needs money, so I make money show up out of nowhere. One time, it was a chest of gold coins because I was somewhere that didn’t have paper currency.
One time I dreamt that I was in hell, so I fashioned an air conditioner.
Another time I was in a theater, and a play was going on, and I somehow ended up back stage going into the “Do Not Enter” door that was for maintenance crews, and something was off like it was broken on this vast array of wires. So I fixed it. Then later, I find out some guy was trying to bomb that place through a mechanical malfunction, and well oops. I fixed that.
Another dream, I was outside looking onto a crowd of people watching a concert. Then a huge tidal wave came up and swallowed them. The moment I saw an image of what appeared to be a 10 year old child laying dead in the sand, I freaked out. The dream rewinded like a VHS tape, and as the wave came by to wipe out the concert, I held up my hand and willed the wave back to sea.
This is definitely a spirit thing because I do this without thought. I do this for people I hate. I do this uncontrollably like a very deep-seated Freudian codependency. And I do this shit in my wake. I’m constantly being told people are using me, and I’m constantly explaining to people I already knew that. I assume people ask me for help because the last 5 people they asked denied them help. The next 5 people they ask will probably deny them help. Because they are always so needy and always looking for a free pass in life, they have most likely exhausted every form of help they can possibly get, and if they are calling me for help, they are pretty desperate at that point. Because they need help, because they will struggle finding it elsewhere, I help because it’s just the right thing to do. Because when Christ was on earth and hungry, God needed someone to feed Him dinner, and I want to be that guy for God. You never know the impact your help can be on levels that are beyond the physical fleshy realm. Way I look at it, I’m helping God answer some prayers. I may not be feeding His Son, but I’m still feeding His children.
No matter what my spirit is, in my dreams, I’m strong, fierce, and determined. And the thing is I can be that in my wake. I wish I could get myself to understand that better.
All of us are trying to find who we are. All of us are trying to heal from who we were. All of us are trying to find the courage and strength, and freedom, to be ourselves. In your journey, remember…
“You are who you say you are.” Random entity, most likely a demon or an alien. His name might be Phil.
That is true. We choose who we are.
This is part of Finish the Sentence Friday.