Night Terrors

Night terrors....

Ugh. 

Right???

If you haven't yet, take a moment to internet search "Night Terrors". This search results in a plethora of information about "pavor nocturnus".  I find it validating so many of us are gripped by our lethal imaginations and evolutionary inability to literally 'run away'. 

I have a rampantly active imagination.  I hope you all do too.  I know Life is interesting and fantastic just as it is but! If you also add an over the top back story to every tree you happen to meet -whoa, let me just tell you, now Life is Mind Blowing! 

(PS it is 4:25am, not anywhere around three am so this can lighthearted.  I had this particular night terror dream a couple of months ago. I woke up at 3:02am in such a regressively childlike state, I rudely woke up poor Charlie for a badly needed cuddle.  Thank goodness for cats.)

(PS.PS. If you decide to read this post through, I would love to hear your two cents and/or your own one.)

Anyway. Here is my reoccurring dream/ aka night terror.  

The setting for each is always in a house reflective of the real world one I live in at the time of the dream.  This imaginary house is devoid of furniture, wall hangings or color.  There are no light fixtures.  The only illumination comes from the windows where a vague wet grey light pulses in. The floors are always wooden slats that feel soft under foot; like I am walking on rain softened earth.  

My breath tastes stale and heavy in my mouth, sliding down my throat and into my lungs like thin plain spaghetti.  Sticky and un-buttered. The feeling of dread creeps around my legs in a fog of sweaty suppressed shivers and I walk quietly, room to room; again and again. 

It took a while, until I was much older, to realize what it was I am doing in this dream. Sometime in my teens, I realized I am checking, and re-checking, each room to make sure it has not been breached.  Most of the time, my anxiety stays at the same unchanging, distressingly high levels for the duration of the dream; a weird flat line that is exhausting but manageable. 

It is only when security has failed, that there is a sudden escalation of both terror and a contradictory determination.  What is really an adrenaline kicker starter is when I open my eyes to this dream and I know I have started the whole thing in a full scale alarm.

Again, most of the time, the walls hold 'It' securely outside.  Perhaps my vigilance keeps them strong.  Perhaps the silence of the house makes it less noticeable and vulnerable to attack.  Whatever the reason, the house is usually able to withstand the nasty imminent mold from contaminating the ghostly empty space within. 

Tonight, as I hung out with this amazing talking mushroom the color of thundercloud about how to train my hair to hold a curl, I heard a noise behind us…  Turning to look, I accidentally shifted my dream, parting the sunlight aside like a curtain and I stepped into The House.

My heart slams into my ribs with a force that knocks the wind from me.  Gratefully, this is a dream.  Breathing, while nice and settling, is not necessary. 

“It” is inside.  The helpful floors and my long skirts silence my quick steps as I hunt for the source of the intrusion, room to room, again and again.  

I find “It” in the front room, by the back wall, curled in the corner, rocking.  Matted floor length black hair drapes across the slight female form and feeling me approach, “It” rises to challenge my rebuke; uncoiling in a joint less motion of malice and decay.  The hands are spidery and the veins are black; the skin tightens and loosens in a fluid motion that reminds me of a marsh mellow about to be exploded in a microwave.

What is the most paralyzing aspect of “It”?

There is no face.  There are no features, no eyes, no mouth.  Instead there is only a muted white wash out where there should be some form of identity but there just isn’t.  The only sounds I have heard is a rusted intake of breath, a wail of despair and a laugh of hatred.  I do not know where I have conjured up this figure but I do know to avoid horror movies.  I really really really do not need more material for this.

When I was small, I would run and many times, manage to get out of the house.  Sometimes, the trees right outside would bend their branches down to lift me up and away from being followed.  After all, as we all know, trees are incorruptible to darkness and full of light.

Remember, the house is reflective of whatever house I lived in at the time of the dream.  Sometimes I lived in places where there were very few trees that had the strength or height to help me.

Then there were the worst versions of this night terror.  In these ones, I would open my eyes to the dream and find I was lying as if I were in bed (except there is no furniture, so I am not sure how that works).

I would know instantly that “It” was already in the house and had rotted the walls.  "It" had grown like fungus and everything was in ruin.

This variety of my lovely well known night terror mostly happened when I was little.  The first few times I actually managed to wake up screaming but after I while I started to think about it and ask 'What is a shadow most afraid of? Always?' 

Light.

I discovered that when I would find myself “in bed”, locked in suffocating fear,  if I called to my friends; the Wind Woman, the trees, the moon and unseen sun; to the earth, water, fire and my dream guide, they would always come, bringing their light.

I called them my angels, saying “Eight angels in the night, Eight angels to chase away fright, two at foot, two at head, one above, one below and two on either sides, surround me with your light!”  And they would come, every time, unrolling their light like canvas to the friend on the other side.  They would hold the wide ribbons of light between them and push back the darkness.

***Okay -pause.  Seriously! IMAGINATION is fantastic right???***

As I grew older, I became angry; this was my house, this was my space.  Strange and empty perhaps, the floors were my friends and the eerie light was from the over sized moon.  What business did "It" have to be intruding on my space?

On the rare occasion that I must call out to my friends, they now ‘throw’ their light into me.  Now, when I find “It” I say nothing, I hold my arms open and the light bursts from my chest, my face and hands - the radiance blinds me and  pummels “It” through the walls and out away into the sky.

Tonight, as I found "It" in the corner of the front room, as it slithered to me, I didn't hesitate.  I stepped forward, using the light breaking from my hands, I threw "It" out of the window and wrapped the house with the bands of light to prevent reentry. Then I wandered off to hang out with Char - interesting side note, Charlie is always with me in the dream; he has been since the first night in my apartment.

Even though, or maybe because, this night terror still comes by a few times a year, I find it an important reminder.  This night terror is symbolic of how I see my friends and family in the real world.  How I hope they see me. That, when faceless, nameless terror shows up on my real world doorstep, I know I can call out to my angels and asking for their strengths and experiences, to help me cast out unwelcome shadows.

There are few forces as powerful and mind blowing as the positive energy we can receive, and give, in our beloved relationships.

The Life in Her (Original Art)

"The Life in Her"

18" X 24" 

This was two separate pieces; Loose canvas mounted on canvas stretched over a board)
Acrylic

(Twitter)

Cannon Ball! (Original Art)

I painted this a while ago and while it wasn't quite finished I couldn't figure out why.  After a few days of chewing it over, I hung it on a wall that I walk by a bit.  Stubborn paintings eventually do come around and tell me what it is that needs to be finished.














Yesterday, while walking by I parted a distracted glance at it and at last had my 'AH HA!' moment

'Cannon BALL!!' 

18" X 24" X 1.5"Available

Prints of Artwork Available

A Walk in a Dream is Available online.

Winter is Coming is Available online

The Summer with Grandpa (2012)

In 2012, I got a job in a city by my parents and because of this job, my monthly visits via family dinners with my Grandpa became weekly and then bi-weekly visits.

On my first non-family-dinner, on-my-lunch-break-visit  I hung out with my mother in the kitchen for a bit, who as a primary caregiver, was a bit hungry for company too.

Then I wandered into his sitting room to ask how he was.  In reply he turned the TV volume up. I shrugged, sat down and ignored him in return.  I pretended my Grandma was in the room and thought about all the things I would have wanted to ask her or maybe tell her. Idly I noticed the show was a western film, an old one and watching the backdrops I asked out loud, "Was this filmed in Utah?"

He glanced sideways at me; (well, now I knew his hearing aids were in), "Who the hell cares?"

I didn't mean to but I grinned.  He caught the grin and accidentally grinned too before we both resumed ignoring the other.  I left after about half an hour, kissing his face as I went and saying I would see him Friday after work.  He didn't answer.

He was, understandably, a bit suspicious.  I wondered if he wondered if this grandchild was here for patronizing pity or for money? What was the catch? We had never been close.  Our prior monthly visits since Grandma died in 2008 were a mixed bag, sometimes he amiable, sometimes he wasn't. Plus I had always brought a baked bribe.  He loved my desserts and I was showing up empty handed.

He had lived his life as an entrepreneur and was good with his money.  He disliked authority, distrusted government and had a low tolerance for nonsense. He'd always had wandering feet and an itching to get on the road. Now, ninety six years old, he still possessed his strong mind and independence but his increasingly frail frame didn't support either aspects of his character properly. Which made him grumpy.

At least I think it made him grumpy but that may have just been one more contributory reason for grumpiness. In all of my memories of the man as a kid, I think the only time I saw him not grumpy was when he was in his garage or planning a trip.

The catch was I wanted to know him.  I missed my grandmother -a lot. As my sole surviving grandparent, I had decided he was to be inflicted with my determined company. I don't have a lot in common with most of my family.  I felt that he and I did have some things in common so I wanted to know him.

I came back on Friday.  The moment I walked in my parents ditched for a late late lunch together, something that was rare due to the necessity someone always be near him.  Mom patted my shoulder as they went past and pointed to his sitting room.  I wandered in.  He was napping.

Honestly a nap sounded nice.  I set a timer on my phone, sat down in the adjacent recliner, kicked the foot rest up and closed my eyes too.

We were both out like a light.  I woke up to the bell tones on my phone 20 minutes later and looking up I saw him studying me.  I sat up, folded my hands in my lap and smiled at him, "Hey Grandpa!"

He cleared his throat, "Why are you here? Do you need money?"

"No sir. I do not need money. I just wanted to see you."

He thought about that and answered, "Well, okay.... Then you can stay a little while."

I beamed, "I am reading a book.  I brought it and I wondered if you would like it.  I could read you a couple of pages."

"Okay then."

The next week's visits were very much the same. I started getting braver and asking why he had left the Navy and why did he start his own company?  What did he think about certain politics, religion and about having children? And you know what Reader?  He started answering all these questions.

He disliked the government because they made the Great Depression longer with all the programs they started.  He said the programs made people lazy and greedy and then the Great War was the escape goat from the bad choices.  He liked working for himself because when things fell apart, it was his to fix. Especially since things would fall apart when working for other people anyway.

This summer was a gift.

In mid September, on one of my last visits with him I told him I would soon only see him once a month again.  I had been offered a job, a very good job with a bigger company.  As I had told him about it he patted my knee and incredulously laughed, "What will You do for Them??"

I glowered.

He smiled and tugged on one of my long blond strands and gestured at my hot orange shoes, dark blue jeans and turquoise blue top, "Yes You!  You have wandering feet and a creative mind too.  What will You do for this big serious company?"

I flipped my hair, sitting up straighter, "I will be a Program Analyst."

This pleased him and he sat back with his hands on his tummy to think on that a minute while I went back to messing with the arrangement of tiny metal figurines (trains, elephants, sewing machines, etc.) on the table next to his chair.

"Girl, I will miss you." He at last advised.

I swallowed my instant female reaction and cheerfully got up to hug him.  "I will miss you too."

My last visit was end of the first week in October. I hadn't been by in five days and I was disappointed when I found him asleep.  I tiptoed back out and sat down in the front room to read my book. About five minutes later I heard his door open but kept my eyes down so he could decide if he wanted to see me.  Five minutes after that he came out and sat down without looking at me and asked, "What are you reading?"

I told him.  He shook his head, "You sure love history."

I shrugged and smiled and put it down.

"Read me a chapter Girl?"

I picked it back up and I began to read and he interrupted "Louder, no reason to whisper."

I started again, and again he interjected "Louder! Can't you read any louder?"

I flushed, maybe he forgot his hearing aids? Maybe he was having an 'off' day?

Soon I was shouting the words as I sat crossed legged, book open in my lap, my hands wildly gesturing to show the violent bloody battle scene laid out before me in calm white pages and black ink....

And then he started to chuckle and I paused, a tiny bead of sweat running down my temple, and I looked up to stare at him.

Now he was in stitches, clapping his hands on his knees as my wide eyes blankly took him in until he gasped -"Gotcha!"

I blushed, slamming the book shut as I grinned at that mischievous person. I tried to cover my mirth with my hands as I protested the ridiculousness, "Grandpa!!"

We laughed and laughed and I ruefully agreed he did get me and after a few more minutes he smiled at me and he told me he had a couple of things to say to me.

In summary he told me to always laugh and always wonder and let my itchy feet take me places and ask questions. He told me he loved his life and he was glad we were friends...And that's all I want to share on that.

I left him feeling young, small and grateful.

My Grandpa passed away just a few weeks later in November.

http://acarnamedkatie.blogspot.com/2011/11/grandpa.html

Exactly 3am

Ugh it's 3am. I know it. I start arguing with myself, 'Don't check the time. If you don't check it then it might not be and the longer you don't check it, then if it is 3am now, then it won't be 3am anymore when you do....'  This is an irrational inner conversation and I know it but then my hand is reaching for my phone -without the other half of my brain being fully on board, and I check the time -

UGH IT is Exactly 3AM.

I think about it for a few more minutes...  Maybe.... maybe if I just wait a little more... I start counting backwards "100...99...98...97...96..." Breath in on the first two numbers, out on the third and fourth, slowly.....

I give up at 47.  Nasty number that one; an odd number that adds up to an odd number, eleven. -I am getting irrelevant.  Get up and do something or stay here and start counting again.

I slide up and out.

Luna is on to me lately.  Sweet creature doesn't know why the human is up, it is better to go back to bed!  Her worried little face is so beseeching I take her back to her bed and kiss her and tell her to go back to sleep. She does, gratefully.

I go to my safe haven, the art room and start to sketch in purple markers.  Char joins me almost immediately and takes his place by the window to watch.

Elephants are the latest dream subject.  I love elephants.  I haven't been up close to one so the kinship is entirely the result of my overly active imagination, books and YouTube videos.  I'm always leery of actually meeting one.  What if desiring the acquaintance is one sided?

I am grinning at my train of thought, this one is funny and I think I will stay on it for a minute.  The resulting elephant in front of me is now an interesting hot pink.

Doodles

More Doodles!!

Doodles

And More Doodles!