Candid Corvid Productions

The younger woman led me through halls of her part of the compound mansion.

Workmen were adding new aspects, which seemed like technology advancement.

Descending levels by smoothly-designed trap doors into brightly lit catacombs, I could see how the child version of her would have thrived in such a functional paradise.

When she brought me to the corridor where she could paint on, then erase the walls, she left me for a few moments to create my own presentation.

I felt this whole tour and introduction to how she had grown up was some kind of a test of my attentiveness and ingenuity.

She wanted to see how I’d respond, and if I would be worth more than being just some puppet they could use.

So, I got into the spirit of the moment, as if we were trusting, “thick-as-thieves” friends, and my brain clicked into the thematic of playing and one-uping each other.

I knew she’d grow impatient and that this could count against me if I took too long, so after only a few minutes, I called her back out to observe my artistic rendition.

She came out and observed the walls. They were still blank. She walked up and down the hall, looking at each one, seeking for some hidden coding or clue to what she wasn’t easily seeing.

“Do you get it?” I asked, in a jibing, gleeful tone.

She looked at me, unwilling to be miffed for not seeing the punchline.

“It’s impressionary art!” I crowed.

She looked at me, nonplussed.

“It’s art that you think in your mind I would draw – it’s whatever your impressions are of my artistic capabilities!”

I chortled a bit, like a kid quite happy with my inspired cleverness.

I didn’t even know I had in me, and she quietly fumed to herself at getting caught off guard by her own prebiased expectations.

When you can’t compete with perfection, you’ve got to be unique!

But, then the dream got the better of me, for suddenly I had no shirt on.

I apologized to her for this apparent loss of modesty revealing my amplitude, and asked if she had a spare one.

What does this type of occurrence mean again in dreamscape psychology?

I guess I felt revealed in sharing my playfulness with her.

(Title from Jurasdic Park movie quote)

“I could please you now, if you’d let me,” he extended the offer enticingly.

Her body responded with hope and longing, but she sadly turned away from its assenting.

“Thank you – but I can’t. I had to close myself off from you to survive.”

Shoulders clench, quivering, as I huddle in the now cold room, bent on capturing the images and feelings that began flooding into me during my giving a therapy session, as mind processed the dream.

The rain swooshes against cars and street as the vehicles pause, then slosh through puddles at the stop lights outside the office windows.

Up until today, the rain did not stop my loading or unloading the trucks.

And yet today, I am realizing how fatigued I am in my muscles – and even fingers – from all of the gripping and fine motor navigation coordination required in dislodging and transporting so many items from one treacherous landscape to unknown others.

The truck’s slippery ramp last night, which almost sideways completely “split” my legs, was one such terrain.

The shushing rain is telling me I’m to rest – that I’m not to rush out in the time gap between clients to address the near-countless plants and misc. items piled and crammed into the truck, still awaiting unloading.

It tells me it doesn’t matter that extra money had to be spent for toiletries and too-expensive cat food from the late night convenience store to feed felines and canines this morning at 4am and keep us all functioning

It tells me it does not matter that I will have to pay for yet another truck rental day.

It tells me that I must rest more and just get through working, to gain any recovery I can first, and that tomorrow, both my youngling and I will have a day off where we can then together tackle the whole thing.

If only I weren’t worried about funding with rent at work and home due in just a few days.

If only I could believe I’m truly in the hands of Divine guidance, and that everything will work out – no matter the pile of bills gathering and looming, like a giant tidal wave.

They targeted my father, and so went after my mother and their son and daughter.

I, being the oldest, understood too well suddenly what was happening as we discarded everything, climbed into a rickety Volkswagon van, and donned tattered clothing.

Luckily, the woven, striped blankets and makeshift bedding in the back did not smell musty, and our hastily grabbed snack groceries and water were tossed in without caring if the bags ripped.

I don’t know how far we’d traveled to reach the stone sanctuary, but when we arrived, it must have been long enough to confuse the hunters in their search, allowing their orders to switch from “kill” to “detain and bring.”

As we and mother were ushered into the chamber, dread filling my solar plexis, father was brought forward to meet the master planner.

He was told that he could choose to serve, or watch his family be slaughtered.

Luckily, the master gave my father further incentive on how he could serve with honor – or I fear he may have opted for us all to perish, simply to free us from this monster.

+++++

I watched as my fafher climbed the steps of the ladder to stand on the makeshift balcony and address the assembly.

It did not phase me that he now looked like The Witcher from the Netflix series, and it made sense that the people rallied to greet and follow him.

Bound to this new destiny, my family had become as royalty, and I was now maturing into a viable young woman.

I watched from a distance when the hunters would pass by in the halls, never coming directly down the corridors of the nobility, but crossing the transections leading to different meeting rooms on errands that only secrets and lies would keep.

The two that had come for us – I noticed them the most, for the impression they’d left upon me had been terrifying.

Like an arrow tip snapped off and left in my gut, the wound gnawed at me, and I ever pushed my will against it to understand and dislodge it.

+++++

Being as our family members were allowed to cross between classes, we could partake in both nobility and commoner gatherings.

I went into the dark-lit hall one evening to pass time observing the mixture of revelry where hunters and clansmen mingled freely.

As I observed the scene where everyone was welcome no matter rank or reputation of duties, I saw the two there, and the one with the thinner, sharp angles on his face leveled his gaze at me.

I can’t explain well the way he looked and walked, only that there was something of a mix of elvin, hawk, and lean wolf about him.

I felt drawn to know him more to understand what made him tick.

Was the berry plum wine I did not remember consuming leading, or was it the heart of a girl becoming a woman that caused me to beckon him to join me in the dark enclave where we might have some brief privacy?

He approached me warily with a “Good evening, Milady…” – a knowing glance between us quickly assessing and conveying that we both knew where we stood.

He had not forgotten the role he had played of neutral clemency or death upon members of my family – self included – and he could see and feel he owed some kind of debt to me in order to even our score.

“I would like you to kiss me,” I said – and his eyes widened slightly in surprise, before resuming their neutrality.

But, I’d caught the glint of fear before he’d hidden it.

I now understood that he was like a wild predator inside, and that he knew – like any wolf – that if you get close to a fire’s source of heat, it can burn you.

“What’s in it for me?” he asked, nonchalantly, recomposed and assessing me man to woman.

I was flattered that he gave me my new status by this scoffing, and liked the fact I’d caught a glimpse of his vulnerability.

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” I asserted

“I want you teach me how to kiss properly, as I have no experience in these things – and I am ready.”

“I want you to teach me what is good and how to coax passion. Mayhap, I will teach you a few things…”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he struggled to keep aloof. Then he broke out in heartfelt laughter, dropping his guard and opening his arms wide to me

“Then come with me, Milady, and we shall see what delights we discover!”

+++++

I came upon them early one evening soon after, the two hunters having just strung up a young man built tall and strong who was gripping at the loop around his neck, struggling to not let it kill him.

My wolf – The Rake – was holding the rope hoisting the young man up. There was no mistaking the situation: they’d been ordered the kill the lad.

I rushed forward, ” STOP! STOP THIS NOW!” Whereupon the rope was actually dropped to my surprise, although Rake’s face remained impassive.

The young man dropped to his hands and knees, then struggled to loosen and get the rope off of his neck while coughing and gasping

Rake watched me as his hands still loosely gripped the rope, and it seemed as if he could read my thoughts and take in what I was feeling.

Panic’s confusion flooded my brain as I struggled to reconcile the versions of this man whose inner fire appealed to and quickened me.

Somehow, subconsciously, I had expected my “goodness” to transfer to him by our interacting.

I was flustered at my own naivety, and it dawned on me that I was going to have to teach him why he must modify his path in life and how he must own and use his power over life and death more carefully.

His high intelligence required soft handling and his spirit needed the warmth of my heart’s passion – I could see.

But, the reality of the world we lived in had dictated a role for him that was hard to abandon.

As he gazed at me, fully willing and capable of immediately resuming what I considered to be an outright atrocity, suddenly I was yanked back into my life’s previous “reality.”

+++++

My mind struggled through the haze of realizing the light in my bedroom was brighter than it should be, were the alarm to be going off soon at 7am.

“No, No, No – don’t let it be!” as I groped for my phone in the darkness, feeling impending doom and resurging panic as, indeed, both alarms had gone off – but were somehow kept silent.

“NO – I TRUSTED YOU!”

Adrenaline bursting through my body, causing instant shaking as I scrambled to find black smock pants, shirt, bra, socks (forget underwear – GO!), I crammed my feet into soft, velvet black tennis shoes and dashed to the bathroom – telling my youngest I was leaving immediately, so please take over Everything.

20 minutes was all I had to dress and drive to the office. I could still see Rake watching me from the other side, absorbing impressions of my thoughts’ cascade-patterning unfolding.

“I TRUSTED YOU! This is IMPORTANT to me!”

The dream had sucked me down into realms of deeper healing and alternative visceral experiencing long needed, and the alarm clock had conspired against time to keep me sleeping.

He had distracted me. His heart had lured me.

Because his darkness made it safe to accept the darkness inside of me that has felt like I’ve somehow become corrupted.

Because the darkness in that situation had allowed me to see how bright my white light is still shining.

Because my soul is seeking and needs another of it’s fire’s kind of heat to inspire and ignite the true me.

Because, as a healer, I’m drawn to the complexity of human spirit – especially if its kind appeals to me and feeds my own questing.

Because I desired him, and he needed me.

My brain in its turmoiled vex – unsure of what to think or believe – could only quip, “Never trust a murderer!”

And yet, perhaps it was he who had awakened me, knowing I was fully capable of using the time remaining to somehow still succeed.

This is something I’ve aspired to become, yet is a way of being that frequently eludes me.

I don’t understand why it does, yet sometimes find myself “waking up” after a period of continuity has made me fall into a mode of creative stagnation.

I will say, however, that I very much (I mean so much it alters my sense of internal safety) dislike missing work at my new job due to the difficulties of getting us moved out of my parents’ place and into independence.

It messes with my sense of purpose that I lost work and income, and this brings insecurity which capitalizes upon exhaustion from energy over-expension to begin tearing apart the fragile self trust that I’ve nurtured.

It becomes like being under constant assault by one’s inner critic, an embodiment of impressions received from any bad messaging imposed by others along life’s past journeys.

Feelings are important.

They help us identify aspects about ourselves at any given time, relating to any given situation.

However, one thing many people do not know is that when you attempt to transition from a bad situation to better, emotions are a bit laggy.

In homeostasis of mind, body, or soul, for example, there is a bit of squeeze – resistance to change or what’s called “snap back.”

It is not that these aspects of the self are trying to sabotage – although their antics can have that effect by giving us cross-signals that make us doubt ourselves, rather than clear, “Hey, yeah, let’s do this, you’ve got this!” signals.

In other words, leaving a bad situation and entering into a better one can have a bumpy, non-smooth transition which can give a person tons of self doubt, confusion, and anxiety as to their internal orientation and relation to the world.

It makes a kind of sense, though, that what one had come to “recognize” as “normal” was what “the norm” was to our system.

We are creatures of comfort – and let’s face it – sedentary, if we can get away with it.

Our beings naturally resist change for their own sense of self preservation.

Something’s changed out there.

The land feels taken over by a watching presence that is slowly claiming it.

Gone is the harsh cheer of summer and the promise of plenty.

Fruit trees and hay grass crops produced at a fraction of their usual yield – maybe because of the smoke from last year’s fires and the drought.

It’s likely the normal abundance of fall game is also diminished as a result.

Last night’s skunk seemed unnaturally ravenous, when for the last two years we’ve smelled it, but it never needed to dig.

I told my youngest we would not go outside tonight, after having left the truck running with lights on while bringing in groceries

The sheep and roosters will have to wait for food until the morning, and I hope the boys will be alright.

They say large predators won’t attack if you have lights on and are with your dogs, but this sense feels menacing.

It doesn’t care what we are. It just knows that it’s hungry.

I realized once we returned to the relative safety of the shelter that we had to go back out and remove the blood-soaked body.

Another problem was, we didn’t have the coop keys because our pet sitter had accidentkally taken them home with her.

So, with gloves, garbage bags, a wrench, bolt cutters, and hammers, we set about attempting to pop open the lock.

I finally secured the lock in one hammer’s hook and beat on it with the other until the lock’s outer casing popped off, and I could wail on where the latch nestled.

It soon yielded and I could slip the chain off that had merely smirked at our earlier efforts to snip it.

Meanwhile, things were going bump in the dark that normally didn’t, and we could smell the skunk returning. Then, we heard the shrill cry of a not-so-far off cougar.

I wasn’t happy that we were out there so late at night – basically luring any predator by the smell of fresh blood – and hastily cleaned up the mess.

To cover any remaining scent,I smeared stagnating wet hay over the blood spatters on the cage bars and cleaned up the bulk of what had poured onto the ground.

The neighbors across the road had an outside fire going and were probably wondering at our commotion and occasional vexed cussing as we troubleshot the entire situation and tramped all over the property, looking for tools and implements.

Then, I had to climb on top of the already packed large garbage can’s contents to tamp it down further and make an indent for the bagged remains so the lid would close properly.

The varied materials within it shifted dangerously and I yelled out something like, “Stop – No, not this time!” as I felt anarchy’s chaos taking note of my vulnerable position.

I swear, sometimes it’s only beligerant attitude that makes the forces of destruction grant latitude!

We came home to the predator having gotten into the rooster pen again.

It was a skunk, chewing on the neck of one of the white silkies that has no self preservation instincts

My youngest cried out to me in alarm and I tramped up the hill with a metal garbage can lid, which I bashed aggressively against the coop to cause the critter to retreat..

Blood drenched the end edge of the inside cage which was supposed to have been a second layer – but the four boys in it always slept clustered against the edge.

We’d had to tarp that area because they wouldn’t move out of the rain, and I had commented days ago to my youngest they had Darwinianism stamped all over them.

I hate being proven correct in such a matter, and I’m upset that we’ve lost two more roosters to the opportunist.