If I were a fairy tale creature, I’d be who I think I am underneath it all.
My soul is a beautiful woman with a scar on her right cheek.
My scar is not like any scar. It is far deeper and more etched as if a flaming sword made it. A scar that looks like the scar you will find on both cheeks of all the fallen angels in hell.
It is my cross I bear. I can fall from grace like the others despite my love for God. I too can be tempted into unspeakable blasphemy that can’t be forgiven as easy as the sins on a slate wiped clean by the blood of a human sacrifice upon a cross. A painful gash that He couldn’t take for me. That a part of all of humanity is divine enough to slip pass grace.
A vague relic that finds something I tried to lose in this life and reminds me of what I want to forget. The painful truth slaying my delusions and denial.
It is a blemish that humbles my beauty.
A birthmark I gave myself once upon some time.
If you trace it with your fingertip, it feels like a tear is falling from my eye, a salted droplet falling from grace, an impassioned hope falling to her knees to bow to the power of mercy.
Tis the mark of zee whore who sold a piece of her beauty for some sort of sin.
I don’t know if it’s a scar from disgracing God, or disgracing the devil, but it is the mark of some beast I fought. A crevice where I once stood. A rebellious opposition to someone I most likely love deeply and profoundly, most likely in the name of someone I also love deeply and profoundly.
It is a ribbon pinned to my uniform from the greatest battle I ever fought, within myself. A torn piece of my face symbolizing the tear within me of two opposing forces I deeply cared for.
It is most likely a souvenir of love.
My soul faces fear with an eye of a tiger.
I once dreamt I was a woman surrounded by white tigers with no stripes, 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.
I told these dreams to a witch, and she thinks the tiger is me. I started off white, and as I found myself in life, I gave myself color, and then I faced myself and all the horrible nightmares within me so that I may save myself when I was in need.
The witch then 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. 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. Maybe the one where I was a white daughter of a plantation owner who fell in love with a slave, and my father was executing him for the abomination our love was. I’ve had many dreams where I was a vampire slayer, one where I was fighting a vampire in a lake of cheese surrounded by approaching tornadoes. I’ve had many more dreams where some guy from high school was my true love, some of which were psychic about his life far away. Maybe he and I were lovers in a past life where death and birth and remarriage couldn’t break our spiritual connection. 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.
Recently I had a dream where I was being attacked by a very strong demon, one who looked beautiful dressed in armor standing strong with bulging biceps. He jammed his sword down my throat as a means to control me. He then let his wife have her way with me, and due to my PTSD with rape, I freaked. I attacked them. As I was fighting them, I heard a loud roar come from within me. A tiger’s roar, not to be confused with a Lion who has roared before in my dreams to send back demons who tried to cross some sort of boundaries.
I started out pure white, but then I found scars of color people refer to as stripes, and then courage. I may not be as pure as I once was, but I’m now strong enough to save what purity I have left.
My soul deflects darkness with light.
When I was a child, I swore demons were all around me, and I’d surround myself with an army of stuffed animals, hide under my blanket, and sing a praise song from the church, “‘Be bold. Be strong. For I am with you,’ says the Lord.”
When I shine the 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.
And God (pronounced like a cross between good and gold) said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And since that day, God shone His light upon the world sending a message of love with a choir of peace, hope, faith, and truth singing in the background. The witches will even tell you that the light is of these things.
Within the darkness, I am learning to be the light.
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.
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. The beasts of hell instinctively will not bother anyone who is good. 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.
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.
But only if I seek these things… When in dark places, I seek light.
I’m a Beautiful Woman who is Turning the Other Cheek.
When you bend light, you will find a rainbow.
I am bent, not broken.
My scar is not a symbol of my wound, but a symbol of healing.
My scar is not a consequence of unfaithfulness, but a chance at being faithful.
This scar is not a symbol of what was done to me, but a symbol of what I can do for them.
As the world tries to hurt me, this scar lets me know I can turn the other cheek and take another blow.
No matter which cheek you may see, I’m turning the other cheek so that you may see all of me.
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.