The Return To Innocence

Sleep last night was interesting and bizarre. A lot of acquaintances - and a few friends - have claimed that insomnia must involve only being unable to fall asleep or only being unable to stay asleep. I've got a form where I can do both perfectly well, but at the price of chronic pain physically, which also transcends my dreams which really should not be allowed to happen, and neurologically, which is not only a thing but which keeps parts of me both awake and asleep. Therefore, it takes too long to reach Stage 3 NREM, and Stage 4 NREM either is cut off or doesn't happen. REM itself usually happens at a time much later in sleep. Essentially, unless I set extreme alarm clocks, I will sleep for twelve hours easily and REM will happen in those last three hours.

This time, I had slept on and off throughout the afternoon in thirty minute bursts, which probably helped me get a more normal ten hours while still being woken by pain. But this time, my dreams were deep and amazing. Since I had finally just finished reading "The Winter Long" by Seanan McGuire - now my favorite Seanan book - the concept of Faerie in a Toby Daye meets Lost Girl style story exploded, and there was even a blog announcement by Seanan that the October Daye series would become a television series. For fuck's sake, there was a character embodying both Tybalt and Dyson. And then somehow I became the protagonist, as often happens, and my husband and I struggled to release a literally faceless mermaid into the ocean before she destroyed the land. There were tentacles and it was gross. But wow, lots of powers. Many, many powers. I always get powers in dreams, usually psionic, some form of psychokinesis, normally elemental. I still recall the dreams I had as a teenager where I was pyrokinetic enough to set a tree on fire just by waving my hand at it from the window of a room.

I am especially determined to wake up after nine or ten hours to dial back whatever toll the oversleeping is taking. Then, slowly, eight hours, just to see if I can handle that "average" 7 to 8 thing that normal people talk about.
Adam somehow gets by on less than 7 per night, sometimes 4 when he's out of state working 18-hour days as an IT/AV trade show technician and manager (he loves talking about his job, and it is fascinating work, since he gets to gain secret access to some of the most powerful places in the country and listen to some extraordinary science and medical research breakthroughs during conventions; even just setting up hotel rooms full of projectors, printers, computers, and video screens means being the on site technician when powerful things happen behind closed doors. There is also fixing stupid mistakes, frozen computers, and hours and hours of human error, but more hours means more pay, and he can carry entire printers up flights of stairs).

Also, I think making myself wake up earlier than what fibromyalgia wants will keep other things stable, aside from the obvious. Since going on Zanaflex, most of my systems affected by fibromyalgia have mildly stabilized, which is amusing, since Zanaflex is just a muscle relaxer. People in various support groups kept trying to insist that it shouldn't be happening and that Zanaflex is bad for me. They are so cute when they're trying to be the arbiters of other people's realities, especially regarding brain chemistry!

I'll see my awesome husband tomorrow night, or Thursday, when he returns from another work trip up and down the Northeast.

http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/inside-the-mind/human-brain/dream6.htm
I really must try dream incubation. With everything. Dream All The Things. I've used two phone apps so far to record my sleep, and one of them quit. No, really. The other one just became boring.

So, I had an absolutely bizarre dream last night and I absolutely need to write down what I remember:

I'm able to drive. I'm in a little white Dodge Neon, which is important because I'm taking it to a mechanic garage for various maintenance things. After I park the car and get out, the dream takes very wild turns:
There are multiple and frightening methods of getting down to the mechanic's office itself, which in a sub-basement. Someone comes up to fetch me and leads me through a series of mechanisms. A shaky elevator lift similar to the one used in the TV series "Archer" as well as a Faraday cage. Metal stairs with crumbling plaster on the walls. A metal ladder with slim rungs. Once down into the garage, I meet the family of mechanics, who explain that due to certain circumstances - which in the dream were explained but which I cannot recall - they will not charge me for anything. I spend some time there. They ask one of their daughters to guide me back upstairs to the basement and then the street, where my car will be waiting for me.
The woman is in her early twenties, with long red hair, green eyes, and a tall slender athletic body. She limps on both legs which doesn't seem to hinder her speed and agility. In fact, when I'm having trouble keeping up with her with my cane and my own physical issues, she snaps at me. When I tell her to cut me some slack because I have a disability and I'm crippled, she says this: "I was never cut any slack. My family pushed me beyond it. I had to keep going. I never told anyone I'm crippled, so nobody knows. You have to do better than that. Don't tell anyone. Don't let anyone know, don't let anyone see."
I said, "I was born like this; I've never known anything else. People always saw no matter what. I explained. I educated. And you sound bitter." She pauses and says, "I wasn't born like this. It happened a few years ago when I was working and a car jack slipped and part of the cat fell on my legs. I guess I never thought of it being something intrinsic."
I tell her, "Well, for you it's an acquired disability, and it sounds like you've been forcing yourself to ignore it, right?"
She nods. She says that when she was little, she would have dreams of wild animals turning into cars and she knew she would always be in the family business, and becoming disabled nearly destroyed her. The majority of her family refused to let her rest after she recovered and demanded that she continue working through her pain and difficulties. She tells me that the choice was made for her - that her disability would be seen as a weakness, a shame, something to be pitied and tossed aside. She begins crying and then slamming her fists against a wall. I put my arms around her. We sit on the floor while she cries.
After some time, we hold hands and walk outside, where my little white Dodge Neon is waiting, washed and cleaned. It's very bright and sunny outside. The girl hugs me and thanks me and walks back into the garage.
The rest of the dream involves me going back and forth between diners and fast food restaurants for some reason.
When I woke up, I thought, "Did I just dream myself being internally ableist or was that just my brain recycling activism and advocacy against criticism?"
I am still not sure.

To Google for dream analysis!

Well, hello, 2014. It's not your fault that I have been feeling like fresh hell since, oh, December 31st. It's just how it is.
We have snow, ice, and cold. I got legitimately and honestly mocked by someone from Minnesota who called me a *ahem* "pussy whiner* for mentioning that any temperature below 20 F damaged me severely physically. I wrote a scathing note back which shut her the hell up, and I invited her to come down during the height of summer, upon which she exclaimed "but I'll burn up!" and to which I replied, "Oh, sweetie... it's not even that hot!" aand the conversation was over. I posted my feelings on Facebook, to which I got several agreements.

*Dear people used to cold climates who are seriously, non-jokingly, honestly, deliberately laughing at, judging, and mocking people used to warm climates:

Okay, look. I know, we're whining and complaining because our freezing is your Tuesday. Okay, maybe we should just suck it up and wear more layers. But you know what? After living in this sort of climate for a very long time, something happens to our bodies and our blood. Just like you. That is why a hideous drop in temperature makes us rise up and scream, or, what you call whining, while for you it's just another snowy happy day across the killer ice. Because your biology has grown so accustomed to your climate and your weather, you may be literally unable to now understand how difficult and painful it can get when one minute it is just under forty degrees Fahrenheit and a few hours later it is just under ten. It is an actual, physiological, biological shock to our systems. And for those of us living with chronic illness, disabilities, and disorders that get worse when the cold comes, it can be viciously, horrifyingly painful in ways you may be unable to realize. I don't blame you for calling us whiners and pussies. In fact, I'm gonna pat you on the heads and smile and say, "Okay, sweetie..." in a soft voice. Because that is all I can do right now to keep my frozen fingers from smacking you. I'm sure you would do the same for me if you came over during a light heat wave, which we call Thursday, and start complaining that you were burning up possibly to death, and I laughed at you and said "Oh sweetie, it's not even that hot!". And then I would just smile and hand you a cup of ice water.
So. When I say my joints are exploding with fiery pain drawn from the most intense magma, that my muscles are locked in howling agony as a sensation of pure horrific icy cold runs through them, that my nerves and blood vessels actually begin to scream if I step foot outside in less than twenty degrees F no matter what I am wearing, then I really fucking mean it with no hyperbole. And so I will ask you in a quiet, raspy voice to not ever tease me again about how cold I think it is here in central Maryland. Because pain is pain is pain. And I can still stab you with an ice pick and that will still be pain.
Smiley face!*

I am still in that pain, sooo... mmhmm. I've put on plenty of sweaters, too. I mean, joking is fine. But seriously making fun of my pain issues in cold weather is never a good idea.

Also, I wonder how I can still have allergy issues when it is this cold. Wait. No, I don't. *bites lip, facepalms* Carry on.

Life is well enough. Adam made dough, and then made cinnamon rolls, and then made icing out of powdered sugar and labneh, which is a form of liquid kefir strained yogurt from the Middle East. Probiotics and whatnot. Adds a fantastic tart tang. H-Mart is a wonderful multi-country grocery store.

I have been sleeping too intensely, or rather dreaming too intensely. It's caused me to sleep too hard. But those dreams, oh, they are creative and inventive as hell. My brain really needs to stop playing fanfic with the TV series 'Lost Girl'. I've been reading detailed recaps of season four, via Canadian blogs, since that season only begins here this month, whereas Canada is around eight episodes in. I guess I do prefer spoilers, sweetie.

Last night... I dreamed that we went to the shelter and adopted a young cat - a kitten, really, a domestic shorthair tabby - and the gender didn't matter, but the name meant "Life" or "World" or anything magical...
Emma. Zoe. Zoya. Gaia. Vita. Asha. Mira. Zena. Yuki. Saturn. Nova. Chronos. Rhea. Deus. Dragon. Elfin.

Why did it have to be so soon? My heart/mind already is desperate to fill that abyss. Rose was that kind of cat, after all. Everyone says their cat is incredibly unique. Rose was incredibly unique. I don't even know.

I know well enough that I need a cat whose personality and behavior involves pure love: holding, hugging, cuddling, nuzzling, trilling, adoration.

My heart needs time to heal. I know. But soon enough, that cat will be waiting for me.

I don't know what I will do. Emotionally dead one moment, sobbing wildly the next minute. I know this is normal.

Luna snuggles me and purrs louder than ever.

Yes. I want a third cat.

I don't know how I will feel or think tomorrow.

I am not used to thinking in the moment.

I stretched the hell out of my back and legs and arms. It was lovely. I did it my way. I am very pleased and very satisfied. I won't discuss the various burning barbed wire pains that are distracting me even through the codeine, but I will talk about the beautiful meditative exercises I've been working with. Peaceful, serene, tranquil, calm, relaxing, refreshing, fantastic in multiple ways. The scene always changes, but always appears Zen in some way.
I had mentioned that my human coping mechanisms, my spirit guardians, had begun communicating with each other deep in my brain without my conscious knowledge, which leads me to believe that parts of my brain are starting to come together as part of the story, as my unlimited imagination and writerbrain is starting working on a whole new, amazingly unique, private story all on its own. No wonder I have been working on Amber's story beyond these bits of my brain. Amber has also given me free reign to write her as a fully developed character and not just a created coping mechanism.
In general, I am just... very happy.
And the funny thing is that I am in a depressive episode. I have all the symptoms, and I am quite conscious and aware. But I have things that are helping distract me: Talking about my imagination and my creativity, talking about the triggers for my panic attacks and my simple seizures, talking about comedy TV shows and powerful fiction books. Somehow it all is able to keep the major depression away, although it is a very intense fight. Sometimes I find myself weak and struggling, even physically, as thoughts of worthlessness and hopelessness, frustration and terror, pessimism and guilt all slam into me and my wall and my shell.
I suppose I could say I am happy. I feel happy.
But... what is happiness?
"Happiness is a mental or emotional state of well-being characterized by positive or pleasant emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy." Sure, I feel those things. However, there is a strong undercurrent of the exact opposite.
Brains, man. Brains are wild. Brains are weird. Brains are so complex. One day, I want to have an MRI and see exactly what my brain is doing. I want to sit with multiple brain specialists for hours on end, and just... talk. I want to talk about my brain.
Brains, man.

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.)

***
You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
***
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
***
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
***
It is the way she looks at you, with that quirky smile and those gleaming dark green eyes.
You hold out your cupped hands, trying not to tremble, trying not to disturb the velvety white lotus nestled against your fingers.
"Is this your gift to me?" she asks.
"Yes," you say. "You have helped me so much... and I know you always have these, but I found this one right where I live, and, I mean, I know they're so rare, but..."
She holds up a hand, smiling so widely. "It's okay, sweetheart. I understand." She very carefully takes the lotus from you, holds it to her lips, and kisses the petals. "Thank you. It's perfect."
"Maybe... maybe tomorrow," you say shakily, "we can go to the swamp and... you know... talk to the other flowers?"
She tilts her head and her eyes fill with compassion. "Oh, darling," she murmurs. "Don't be so nervous. There's no need to be shy. This is your world. We will do anything you wish."
You nod, your throat thick with tears. You have no idea what to say next. You realize you don't need to say a word. You watch as she holds your white lotus gift to her breast, and you watch as the lotus turns into golden light, and you watch as the lotus melts into her bronze skin, and you watch as she draws a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. Suddenly, you feel a massive weight lifted, spiraling away from the top of your head. Energy fills you starting at your feet and moving in a rush until it reaches the same top of your head. You feel absolute and complete ecstasy, euphoria, tranquility, and serenity. You draw a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. You want to laugh, so you laugh. And she laughs with you.
You feel how deeply the universe lives inside you. You laugh, and you embrace everything you can reach, until you feel yourself glowing. You dance and dance, and she takes your hands and joins you, and the universe dances with you.
***
This time, you are standing ankle-deep in a swamp at midnight. Everything is glowing blue - the sky, the water, the lotus flowers, your skin.
The Lotus Woman is sitting in front of you, cross-legged, surrounded by blue and white lotus blossoms all in full bloom. Her bronze skin, her black hair, her green eyes... everything about her is shining with pale blue light.
You feel comforted and serene in a way you have never known at such a deep level. You carefully sit down in the same position, letting the mud flow against you. You and she are both dressed in shorts and sleeveless tops, no shoes, your hair both unbound. The mud sinks effortlessly into your skin.
Neither of you speak. After a few minutes, one lotus blossom floats into your lap, white and blue and covered in dew drops. You very gently pick it up and it dissolves into your skin with an intense burst of blue and white light.
She grins and laughs, clapping her hands. "Oh, yay! I was hoping you would get that one. It's been waiting for you."
You smile and shrug. "I guess I've been waiting too."
The dozens of flowers float and spin around you both, several touching your skin and her skin, merging with you in tiny light bursts that feel like soft winds. She holds out her hands and you reach out and you grasp them tightly.
You don't know how long you sit and meditate, but it doesn't matter. Forever can fit inside a single moment, after all.
The white and blue lotus blossoms swirl around you, lifting your soul, until the entire world is filled with light, and you feel completely at peace, bursting with serenity.
***

Started on Facebook. Copied to Livejournal because Facebook is not a blog.
Inspired by a painting. Actual recurring dreams. Stream of consciousness, free form.
Will be updated as the dreams continue.



****

You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
*
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
*
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
*

I need to write this down before I completely forget.
Last night, I had a dream in which I was hanging out with a bunch of Sumerian deities, most of whom I could barely name.
We were setting a mansion on fire, hosing it down, and repeating the process.
Everyone kept calling me "Inanna" instead of Joanna. And I felt so flattered that for some reason I kept floating off the ground. Every time I lifted off the ground, a storm would gather and everyone started acting as though they were in love with everything everywhere, laughing and giggling and acting almost drugged.
Someone told me, "You are the evening star." And I said, "Funny that, I was born right before a midnight when Venus was very blindingly bright. Evening Star used to be one of my nicknames. Now sometimes my dreams call me Moonlight Witch."
And someone else said "Exactly. Do you understand now?" I said, "What? Wait, understand what?"
But everyone just smiled, and as I was pulled back down to earth, the soil became soft enough to drag me down, and I began to sink. It felt soothing and tranquil. I called out, "Don't forget to refurbish that mansion when I get back!" And then I woke up.
Try and interpret that, various dream dictionaries!

I see color everywhere. I taste color everywhere. I hear, sense, feel, and connect with color. I cannot imagine a world, any world, without color, even in my dreams, even without my eyes. I speak in color. Everything I touch makes me explode in color.

People ask me why I can't use my mild psychic skills to 'heal' myself. I still have trouble explaining exactly why that is not possible. I can only pull, manifest, and manipulate elemental colors and cosmic colors so much.
I do not expect people to know what I mean. My perceptions are my own. However, I know many people who understand what I mean.

"It's something about the color..."
It's always something about the color.

Often, I dream in octarine, the color of magic. Everything is magic, and everything is color, and color shows me the depths of the universe that I cannot fully reach, not until I join that cosmic wave, full of indescribable colors that define what it means to exist.

This is why religion will never work for me. Not enough color. Not enough expansion. Too much external force. I need more color. I need more inside. I need my whole brain, which cannot happen unless the dead white matter and the damaged neurons somehow move again.

I am my own connection to whatever forces move existence. I am responsible for my own existence. My Higher Brain, my Subconscious, my Quantum Psychic Brain, and my Self are working together to create the most intense positive energy I have ever realized.

My transformation will come only from within myself. I am waiting. I am moving in directions that feel so right to me, no matter what external forces claim. I am opening myself to every past hurt, every negative feeling, and shifting them into the light. It it is a constant cycle, and it hurts so much that sometimes I cannot handle it. Meditative techniques are like lifelines.

The important thing is that I keep going. I keep growing. That is what matters. I am following the colors. I am the colors. I am made of light.