Sometimes. I feel like...and I'm aware of the relative ridiculousness of this statement, but it's fitting and it makes sense of things I can't make sense of otherwise...
I think part of my soul is bound to a different place.
I've been getting flashbacks again, flashbacks of my dreams.
From long ago.
My eyes glaze over and it's like I'm there. I had the weirdest experience yesterday, trying to write down my dream from the night before, and a part of the dream reminded me of a very odd one from high school.
A dream I wrote down but avoided since. I even folded the page in, so that if I was scrolling through the journal, I wouldn't get sucked into it.
As I was writing about my dream yesterday, I remembered it.
My eyes were fluttering, nothing else on my body moved. I was frozen, my hands still in position on the keyboard (I now keep dream journals on my computer) and I was fighting it. I had tears in my eyes. I didn't want to go there...anywhere but there...but that fucking beach. I tried so hard to snap back into reality, but I just couldn't. After a few futile attempts at bringing my mind back to the present I was there.
The sound of the waves, the smell and taste of salt in the air. The gray sand, and the even grayer skies. The purring of the clouds...like constant thunder. The water in the ocean is gray, too. A slate/gray/black color, and the foam, cream colored.
I stand, facing the water and the infinite skyline.
Behind me, there stands a two-story light gray wall made from over-sized concrete blocks. There are stairs leading up to the wall, and you make a short journey across the top to the stairs leading down to the other side, where a grocery store resides.
I walk, slowly to the water. I simply want to feel the waves cover my feet. I relish the first wave, my eyes closed. I open my eyes to watch the second one. I spot something small and black in the water. The waves brought it near my feet, only a few steps farther forward...
I see a dead child. An infant, bloated, green and gray and red and rotting. It's mouth is horrifyingly twisted, into an adult expression of extreme agony.
I scream, but per usual in my dream world, nothing comes out. I weep as I move the baby with a stick out of the wave's arms.
I have to go all the way to the grocery store to get a black trash bag. I anticipate it won't be, but when I get back to the beach, the dead baby is still there.
I turn the bag inside out and grab the baby, then flip it back right side out, so I avoid touching its peeling skin. It's rashy, splotchy, flapping-in-the-breeze chunks of flesh.
I run to the grocery store, and for some reason I have to put the bag through the checkout, maybe to see what I have to do with it. As it's going on the conveyor belt, it starts moving. The bag is rustling, and people start looking at me funny. Suddenly the most horrifying, loud, piercing, tormented, miserable, formidable, spine-tingling, hair-raising scream I've ever witnessed, came creeping out of the bag. It slapped me in the face. My ears fucking hurt, they start bleeding, I can feel it running down my neck. The scream stops. I stare at the bag, and no one else is left in the store. The bag moves again, and out steps the decaying child. It looks at me, one eyeball flopping about. It slowly raises it's hand and points at me. I scream, and a bag boy suddenly appears and tackles it.
I remember, suddenly, that this is my child. I was pregnant, I was with child, but didn't want it anymore. I took it from my womb and threw it into the ocean. I forgot about it, blocked it out of my mind.
I am furious at this...thing. I remember, and all the hate and resentment come rushing back in a flood of emotions. I grab something hard...perhaps a broom. I start beating the sack on the floor. The bag boy joins in, kicking and punching the bag. The squishing sounds are sickening. I finish by grabbing the bag and slamming it over and over again into the linoleum floor. The boy grabs my arms and leads me to the dumpster outside with the bag. I toss it in. I feel better.
But I'll never forget the way that infant looked at me, and the way it accused me of an unmentionable crime I'd forgotten.
And so...this is why I think I'm torn between two...maybe more...places. These dreams are like nothing I've read about. They have nothing to do with my real life. Oh, sure I have dreams that I can easily identify, like Heath Ledger walking by in a towl...classic. But a rotting infant and the ocean? The scream?
I've had dreams in which I get some kind of wound, someone touches me, once I got my wrist pierced...and I can feel it. Completely and totally. I feel the pain as if it's completely real and happening.
What's so boggling to me, is why it's crossing over. Is it possible for your dreams to pull your mind into them? I'm awake, I'm doing real-world stuff, like walking, or painting, or typing...and suddenly I'm there, I'm not asleep. I don't understand.
But what's so scary about the whole thing is that I don't want it to stop. I feel like I'm a part of something bigger than me. Infinite and eternal. I feel like I am a part of something ancient, and that the more I get involved in it, the more I can learn. The more I can understand. I don't want it to stop.
I used to want it to...because I thought something was wrong with me. Voices started talking to me in the dreams. I had many dreams about various apocalypses. I had prophetic dreams (you don't have to believe me), where what I dreamed, happened later.
When I was approximately 7 years old, my mother used to stop at a store in Lincoln, Ne called "the way home"...if I remember correctly. It was a native-american shaman inspired store. She would stop to get her tarot read, or her fortune told by the in house psychic. There was an old native american man who would stand at this glass dome covering a miniature weathervane, we're talking the size of my pinkie. Once, while I waited patiently for my mother, I asked the man what he was doing. He told me he was moving the weathervane with his mind, strengthening it. I asked him how, and over the next few visits, he taught me to prepare my mind using exercises, like moving my hands until I felt a sponge-like substance between them. After I learning to tune into my mind, I tried controlling the weathervane, and it bent to my will. I could turn it left or right only, of course. No matrix bendy shit. But it was a powerful experience.
I know it must sound like total bullshit. But I assure you, these are real experiences.
There was a time once, sitting in art class, when suddenly I looked up from my table and said "the phone's going to ring"...my friend at the time looked at me, and the phone rang. After a while there was a group of people around the table, freaked out, skeptical. I predicted 4 phone calls and 3 songs on the radio, then it was gone. It was very weird.
I used to think I could detect Auras, before I knew what Aura's were. I could...feel...not necessarily see...a certain energy around particular people I encountered. I associated those energies with colors. I eventually started to feel crazy, and only told a few people, who also made me feel crazy. Recently, I met a woman who is now a dear friend. I can detect the strangest Aura I've ever been around. It's invisible. She's like a piece of lace. Her connection to this earth is thin, wispy, and all around unattached. Perhaps attached like a spiderweb to a wall.
It's made me start thinking about the Aura detection again. I had pretty much put all that behind me. I had stopped tuning into energies.
It's all so big. So much bigger than me. But I think I'm ready to learn more.
I'm skeptical...I mean, maybe I'm really just totally insane. Maybe I have schizophrenia (it runs in my family) or something. Or maybe, I'm not completely of this world. I like that option better.
Fin.
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