And I Was Made Whole Again...I am weak, I am fighting, losing, I am alone and surrounded by enemies. They mock me, laugh, jeer, point. I am fighting one, his face is crystal clear, he is twice my size. I am unarmed, I swing with all my strength, but it is in slow motion, the air too thick to move, like a thousand rubber bands are pulling my arm back...I connect, right in the jaw, his face moves, blurring his features, all in slow motion. All my strength was poured into that blow, but he just grins. There is no mark, and my knuckles do not hurt, nor do they register impact. It is just as if I put my fist on his cheek and rubbed. I know it is lost, I am not fast or strong enough. I am dying on my feet, alone and surrounded by enemies.
It is a golden light, the sun of the spring, near summer, the temperature is warm but not hot or muggy. I hear drums, primitive, pulsing in a beat that seems to generate life. Yes, the music makes all things live...I push forward through the trees, closer to the drums. I see her there, in the clearing, her skin palest white, her eyes the color of the leaves of the Elder trees, a beautiful living emerald green, bright, and full of live. She is dancing, naked, alone, to the beat of the Life Drums. I see her in acute detail, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid these wretched weak eyes upon, more beautiful than my Rose of Oller. She dances the sacred Spiral, and all things are drawn to her. She sees me, and I feel shame for I am not worthy to gaze upon this likeness of Goddess. She beckons me to her, never stopping, always twirling, twirling to the beat of the drums of life. And I go. She says to me:
"I am the green of the leaves, the light of the sun. I am the warmth of your skin, the beating of your heart. I am the essence of life, the spark in every creature's heart."
The drums continue throughout the day as I dance with the Divine, and night falls.
I barely notice as the sun dies, and is replaced by the moon, full, heavy, dominating the sky. And she says unto me thus:
"I am the wheel of life, I am the bones in wormy earth, I am the terror of the unknown, I am the darkness of the night, I am the end of all things, I am the doom of all that was, all that is, and all that shall come to pass."
Still I continue this dance, now macabre, and she says to me, speaks for the last time:
"Fear not, for in your shame know that you are worthy, or you would never have seen me, nor found me here, nor felt the life in me. In you is a part of me, in me, you. All things are of me, and I am all things. Doubt not yourself, nor others, and live in the light and embrace the darkness."
I am flying. It is night, it is cold, but soothing. I am not so high above the trees. I am not seen, because I choose not to be. No one notices me passing. I come upon myself, I am fighting, I am losing, dying on my feet. I see my enemies, I am alone and surrounded. I see myself swing, and connect. I see my innefectual blow, then I see the cause. Some darkness is weighing me down: Hate, hate of myself, hate of my enemy. Hate of my weakness, my cowardice, my unworthiness.
I am alone, surrounded by enemies, laughing, mocking, jeering. I see his face, acutely clear. I am unarmed, I swing. Laughs turn to shouts, the jeering turns to cries of dismay, I still feel like I am weightless, flying. I connect, his jaw slams to the other side of his face as he collapses. My enemies run, hide, something is wrong.
I am no longer weak, I can endure hardships unnumbered and pain unbearable. Though I have lost most of the light I once had when I still had my Beautiful Rose, I have embraced the darkness, and thus I am remade.
And I am made whole. I wake to the setting sun, and recall this dream I now relate to you, and I still live, because once you see the divine, and hear the sacred drums, you know that life is the enemy when I was weak, and once you embrace all aspects of life, only then you will be whole. It matters not by which name you call god, for she is All and None, Many and One.
To this day, I am still without my Nataschia, and have lost her forevermore. But dreams allow us to live on, in spite of all the little deaths we will have.
Funny things, dreams...
Lucavi 26-30, M 3 Responses 8 Dec 30, 2006