Something I can’t remember happened. I can’t truthfully call it an invasion or anything much more than a memory of something forgotten. Bits of images and sounds, nothing more. I thought I could find an answer, but in doing so, I found more of the same. I found obscurity and darkness.

To some degree, I think, one has to immerse him or herself into darkness to recognize the light. I dabbed my toe in, was pulled in, and found murk. The more I struggled, the deeper I went. The voices of loved ones seemed more and more distant and distorted until they faded to whimpers. Finally, with whispered prayers, I surrendered.

With capitulation, every fear from which I fought manifested in some fashion—humiliation, rejection, cruelty, depression, delusion, brutality… My stubborn struggle for control had attracted and sometimes created these monsters. I even sought out a few in the strain to get a foothold. I can’t blame a soul for having attracted these horrors to me. I sent each one away with a kiss and lifted myself with trust.

Somehow I knew this process was what I needed to go through to find wholeness. Discernment of what is good or bad, light or dark, kind or vicious and the many variances between is not the only blessing I’ve been given. Life, breath, gratitude and love.

"Time and space are modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live."
-Albert Einstein

I felt out of place among the Armani suits of the Harvards and Yales, so I snuck away to the museums where I melted into Cezannes and Monets (pastels...that bridge, that beautiful bridge!!), imagined the touches of the lucious Rodins. Perhaps I’m a coward to recede into the impressionisms and the horizon lines of Rothko and the lack of horizons in Pollack, yet I taste their colors and dream words and worlds to match. I wish to write as painters paint.

Current Mood: enthralled

I dreamt again of the porcelain doll, her broken arms and legs. Again, I cried over her broken form in a dark, wet abandoned street. My sobs fell over this inanimate object, a toy. I still don’t know what she is or what these dreams mean, though someday I may.

I stepped into an old house in the dream where a man with the body a snake watched me, guarded me. In another room, a woman was yelling into the air at me, calling out my name. However, I don’t think she could see me. I cried out, angry and livid, begging her to leave me alone. Stop calling me, I screamed, stop. Yet the calls kept coming and I was tied into this space, a restrictive space, near this man-snake being. I went to the broken doll, cradled her, and cried.

I want to analyze the lucid scenes of these dreams with some Jungian interpretation of archetypes. A broken body of a doll who looks like me. A snake of a man. A woman demanding my presence. I became very protective of my loved ones in that dream. The broken doll form could convey my fears of failure. The snake man could convey my suspicion of men. The woman could convey those aspects of life that pull me apart. Ironically, my interpretations don’t fit and the dreams continue. The repetitious nature of the dreams should convey an on-going latent anxiety, yet I haven’t found an interpretation yet. The doll is very familiar to me, yet I never owned one like that. I don’t associate snakes with maliciousness and, rather, see them as a feminine embodiment or a symbol of Hermes. The woman, I’ve no idea. These dreams are stifling and come at me like hands around my neck, stopping my breath and interrupting my thoughts. I’m not myself in the dreams and turn vicious, angry, and sob. They don’t make sense.

Because my heart was aching and old stories became older still, I began a journal to revive that part of myself which has beforehand been forbidden.

Current Mood: calm
Current Music: Breath