Not Buyin’ It

Last night I had a dream I was in some sort of godforsaken upscale organic food market place, like Whole Foods, and this really cute woman in a nice suit came up to me and tried to sell me her weight loss plan thing.

She was like “We have this revolutionary new system that will allow you to–”

And I was like “Get. The FUCK. Away from me.”

 

Rethinking Thin - Gina Kolata

Rethinking Thin by Gina Kolata was the final clue-by-four.

And she kind of backed up and sat down in a chair that was by the wall, eyes wide, and I felt a little bad for being so angry so I explained the whole deal to her. I told her I was an eating disorder survivor, that my body was nobody else’s business unless I chose to make it so, that I might not be happy with it but that it still deserved love and shouldn’t be starved, and that what she was doing — I was adamant on this point — was genuinely hurting people.  And she needed to stop encouraging people to do this to themselves.  And if she was doing it to herself, she needed to stop it.

I told her about the books I’d read that set me straight, took her notebook away and wrote down the names and titles, and gave it back. And because it was a dream, I knew that I had planted the seeds of doubt, and that she would change her mind and stop doing what she was doing.

And I think that was a pretty amazing dream to have. I literally wasn’t buying what she was selling.  I’ve had other dreams like it, but that was especially good.  A dress rehearsal for when I have to meet the new doctor I’ll be seeing late this month, I guess.  I’ve already called the office and explained the deal, and I explained it again on my intake forms, but that doesn’t always do the trick.

So yeah, I think that’s a victory of some kind.  We are at the mercy, in dreams, of what we really think about ourselves.  There’s no filter there.  And yet, all this time, it’s been in dreams I’ve seen the first flashes of acceptance.  Meaning it’s been there the whole time, quietly growing without me knowing about it.  A dream like this is proof of that.  Proof of how far I’ve come.

I am pleased.  I am really pleased.

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Dreams: The Boy Lost in the Goblin Market

Before I can talk about things, I have to bore you with the second dream, which is actually really sexy and you should read it.  It’s also really sad, though nobody dies and there were no injured kittens or anything.

The second dream was similar to the first in many ways.

Things were really beautiful at first.

I was a strapping, handsome young man serving a very, very powerful and well-placed wizard. I lived with him and his apprentice, who was an incredibly powerful girl of about fifteen. I was having lots of very good, very loving, very kinky sex with both of them.

My main purpose was as a focus object. I had no magical skill, but I had another unique talent: I was a vessel, a human familiar. A reservoir for magical energy. I could serve a as a kind of bridge for my master and his apprentice, combining their power through me. I could help to steady energy flow during magic, and I could serve as a sort of power bank. In a pinch, I could intercept hostile magic and drain away most or all of its power, meaning I served as a sort of bodyguard to both of them, protecting them from magical attack.

Just imagine that this lovely lady is a lovely dude.

Photo by Grendelkhan, from Wikipedia.
The fact that I was not able to find a decent creative-commons pic of a MAN in a slave collar is a cranky-as-hell conversation for another time.

Basically, I was a human familiar and bodyguard with a talent that needed to be used, just as much as a wizard’s magic needs to be used. If they did not use magic regularly, it was harmful to them. It would burn them out from the inside trying to hold it. If I did not have it channeled through me regularly, if my talent was not used, it was harmful to me, and I began to pine and fade.

I was very, very important to what they did, and I was part of a healthy, working partnership. I loved them both very dearly. Equally, but in different ways.

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Dreams: The Underground Tower and the Child Who Lived There

Around the first week of January of this year I had a pair of dreams, one night apart, that have tugged at me ever since. I finally found the personal journal entries where I wrote about them, and found that they are as relevant now as they were then. I want to share them with you because they’re so beautiful, and because there are things I need to talk about that relate to them both, and I think I’m ready to do that now.

The second dream is here.

I lived in an underground wizard’s tower. Like a deep, deep stone-lined shaft with lovely arched entryways leading into a warren of corridors and rooms. It was huge. There was a waterfall down one side, and a meditation garden at the bottom full of mossy rocks big as bulls, and a lily pool, and small statues hiding in the roots of the twisted trees that grew there. Though the sun never reached more than halfway down the central shaft, it was never dark. Lights hung among the branches or glowed near paths and benches. It was immensely peaceful and quite lovely.

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Dreams: The Wolf-Girl and the House on Fire

I often have highly-symbolic, narrative dreams.  I’m told that’s common with bipolar disorder, but people like ascribing things to mental illnesses, so I’m not sure how much stock to put in that.

Night before last I dreamed I was at some sort of combination SF/F convention and home and garden expo thing held inside a really big mall.  All the “shops” were suites where people basically lived, doing their thing.

There was a huge glassed-in house — a really nice one — right in the middle of the three-story open area in the center of the mall.  I don’t know why, but I knew I had to go live there.  I didn’t want to, though.  It was furnished and looked comfortable, but the walls were see-through, and there were people going in and out all the time.

I couldn’t get into any of the other suites.  The doors were locked, or they wouldn’t let me in.  I didn’t have anywhere to go, and was getting pretty frustrated, when some guy came up and said I could go into his room with his friends where they were having a party with drums and dancing, and I was welcome to come and stay there if I would dress for the occasion.

Not having any alternative, I agreed, and went to get dressed.

Furry puppy!  Squish squish!

Photo: Wolf by Metassus on Flickr.

I got my black wolf-skin and put it on.  I dropped to all fours and trotted back.  I could see my reflection in the glass walls of the house, the glass walls of the elevator, and the glass below the rails.  I looked like a wolf trotting, only the occasional flash of knee or elbow to break the illusion.  I thought I looked pretty good.

I went back to the guy, who was waiting for me.

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