I am a faerie. I am performing trapeze stunts with the faerie friends I knew a long time ago, when I was a little girl. We are in the lair of the wizard and the wolf. We are teasing the wolf, swinging over and above his head, just beyond his reach. He beholds me with an amused confidence, a predatory knowing; belying the notion that he is not merely a dumb or primitive animal.
Curious I fly downward, closer to him, to greet him. Cautious, child-like … charmed. He is an intangible and alien beauty … and as I behold the potency of his maleness, I know attraction and arousal.
It is in this moment that he is transformed into something more … something Other. Wolf but not yet wolf, man but yet not man, faerie but not yet faerie. An ineffable humanoid being, a primitive, intellectual, mystical thing, which is all at once wolf and human and faerie, but at the same time nothing like any of them at all. He is Perfect Presence, but what he Is, I cannot say. I too am transformed from my diminutive size to a very tall and graceful lady.
He is now standing before me and his body is now very close to mine. The gaze within which we are trapped is a very intimate, very charged, very emotional affair. It is then that we decide to go on a “date”, on which I would share with him all the wonders of the faerie world. We both shrink to my original tiny size and I grab his paw as we slip outside into the dark of night.
We wend our way through the darkness and nightfall, until we reach an enchanted forest, where the woods are alive with the fragrance of eternal autumn.
We fly from tree top to tree top, from tree branch to tree branch, leaving a stream of faerie dust behind us, even as we send a beam of glowing energy and light up ahead of us to determine the irregular flow of our path. It is on this path that we zip line through the trees. Flying on the backs of birds and fallen leaves we romp and play and soar and trip until The Dreaming shifts and I depart to another realm.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
The Faerie and the Wolf
The Daemon of Sands
I am walking away from the old house and I feel as though I am walking home. There are people with me, and though they feel familiar within The Dreaming, I do not know them in The Real. We are walking down the road, away from the first church, in the dead of the night, disturbed only by the light of the street lamp.
Suddenly a sand jinn, a daemon of sand, swirls before us, sucking us under and into itself like quicksand. Very soon I will be lost forever. Oblivion awaits … a long-forgotten home. I awake from The Dreaming but am not yet within The Real. Instead I am within a tween time … a tween place … a place of lucidity and of waking dreams.
My eyes still closed, the daemon Diablo screams before the black screen behind them saying, “Why are you so afraid?! This is nothing new or strange! You have been here before!” I do not know what he is talking about.
Now, there is a pressure on me, and I cannot rouse or raise myself. I cannot lift my eyes. I cannot inhale air and breathe, and when I finally do manage to crack my eyelids, heavy as they are with sleep and fear, there is a Presence before and above and around me. Although I can’t see it, I can feel it clearly.
I am fully awakened by the sound of my garbled and inarticulate groans as I struggle to escape the Presence and the dream state. When I roll over onto my side and fall asleep again however, the Dream, as I feared it would, did not resume.
