I woke to the Dreaming for the first time in a long time.
I was back in the cult-church of my youth. I felt the earth shake with every strike from orbit, heard the fire and damnation from the pulpit, read the news on my phone with shaking, terrified hands; recognizing, somehow, that this truly was the End. There was no final chapter, it was being written around us and the last time Iâd Dreamed this had been 2010 in a run-down apartment as I watched the sky torn asunder and the earth split.
The cold weight of the veil hung heavy on my head and across my shoulders as I gripped my phone in hands going white and blue from effort and chill. My brother shook me, tried to snap me out and away to go do something, anything, but sit tamely by. I refused. Not out of piety or false modesty, but because I knew I was not yet ready to believe it.Â
And so I sat, listening to the drone of people behind me as they stayed or left or ran downstairs in despair for coffee and soda and whatever creature comforts had been brought by the congregation. And I… stayed until it was finished.
The downstairs of the church had a stairway, a singular landing, and another few steps down to the basement floor. Plain white and grey âmarbleâ tile, folding chairs and tables, and old accordion-style âwallsâ that could be dragged from the edges of the room to create classrooms, or meeting areas closed off from the rest of the area. A few were being used as impromptu praying circles, but for the most part the church had cleared by the time I went below.
It seems in Dreams thereâs nothing left for me in this space; which makes sense since the Severing I performed, and the fact that I simply want nothing to do with this place any longer, even if I AM dragged back night after night.Â
I took nothing from them, this time, save the knowledge of who was present and who was missing, and exited the church from below.Â
I found myself in the parking lot, my small tabby in my arms as I ran along the lilac bushes for the cars, SCREAMING with everything I had for help. She made no move to bite or claw, knowing as I did that all the youths behind me had been torturing her. The leader kept approaching, hand held out demanding her return. I refused. He looked nearly apologetic as he kept coming, saying âBut I have to.â I refused a third time, and the world went sideways.
I was back in the basement, cat nowhere to be found which didnât feel strange. Jeff, Susan, and a few other shadowy figures stood around me, saying things like this was our final chance to do whatever it was we hadnât yet.Â
He referenced the local tattoo shop, and also âWhoâs feathers say *static*…?â I knew he was referencing my tattoos even though I donât currently have any with feathers. I was also granted an image of my next ink, the layout, and the words that will be encircling it.
I woke to the sound of an owl outside somewhere in the neighborhood.Â
Watch Me Rise indeed.