Art Lessons from the Dreamer

With the rumble of thunder, I sensed a soft thump, then his energy.  I looked up to see him standing in my living room, his blue-black wings shimmering behind him.

“Hi.”  I nodded to the sketchbook I’d propped up on my knee.  “I can’t think of what to draw.”

He sat down at me feet and grinned up at me.  “I could model for you.”

“Do I need to remind you that I technically can’t see you?”

“You could draw a rose,” the Dreamer suggested, “they’re all angles and lines.  So are other flowers, but roses especially.”

“You sound like an art teacher,” I said as I pulled up pictures of roses on my phone.

“I have done that,” he said, “taught some art classes.”  He laughed at the surprised look on my face.  “I’ve been painting for years,” he said with a shrug, “I may as well teach others.”

He remained sitting at my feet as I worked, talking about drawing and the technical aspects of art.  He walked me through the outlining, starting from the outside and working my way into the center of the flower.

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“Beautiful,” he said when I was finished.

“Keep that in your sketchbook,” he said, when I asked if he wanted the picture on his shrine, “I want you to see how you improve over time.”

(He said I should share the final picture as well as writing about it, if I’m comfortable doing so.)

It’s ballpoint pen (the outline) and colored pencils (the inside)

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Art Adventures Begin, And A Realization

Today I bought a sketchbook and some colored pencils, because I’ve been wanting to get back into art after not having drawn anything for several years.

Then I remember that the Dreamer is an artist, and that he’s been gently encouraging me to get back into art and drawing for a while now.  Not for any sort of devotional activity, just that he thinks I’d enjoy it.  It makes me happy, that he’s encouraging my hobbies simply as things I enjoy doing.

That’s something that I’ve been noticing lately, that my Beloveds are encouraging my independence and balancing my “everyday” and spiritual life.  They’re helping me separate the “mundane” and spiritual, rather than bringing them closer together.  I’m going to have to sit with that realization for a bit, but it reminds me of the Madman’s comment about faith that ebbs and flows.

A Dream of Leaving

Quietly, he tells me that he is leaving.

Our marriage isn’t over, he reassures me.  It’s that the Consequences of this Summer’s Drama have spiraled far beyond his control, and he must tend to his Kingdom and People before all else.

I tell him that I understand.  I will miss him, have been missing him already with him being gone so much, but I understand that being King is not something he can just put down.

I reach out to hug him, and freeze when my fingers brush empty air.  He steps back so I can see him clearly, and I see that his once waist-length hair now only reaches his shoulders.

There are only two reasons why a Sovereign of Darkness cuts their hair.

The first reason is that war has been declared; the second is that they are in mourning.

He nods to my unspoken question.  He had warned me this was coming, this loss, this grief of his.  It’s part of the reason why he’s been away so much, he knows I would take his grief and internalize it as my own.  This is a loss he needs to process privately.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“There’s nothing you can do, dearest Heart,” he replies.  “I will have Others watching over you, but this,” he tugs what’s left of his hair, “is something you cannot help with.”

“I can support–”

“Varian.”  He sighs, holds up a hand.  “I love you, honey, but the best thing for you to do right now is focus on your schoolwork.”

“And healing–”

“No.  You’re still too close to that trauma.  I’d rather your wounds be healed as best as they can, before you start poking around at all that trauma.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

He steps closer to me, his arms slipping around my waist.

“Do not hurt yourself,” he says, his voice low and intense.  “Do not break what’s left of your Heart in order to satisfy some absurd demand that you need to be broken in order to heal.  You are not glass.”  His gold eyes flash when he says the last sentence.

I nod, unsure what to say in response to that.

He sighs and lays his forehead against my own.

“You are my Heart,” he whispers, “and no matter how much they smear your name, I will protect you as my own.  I’ll stand by you, no matter how much they drag your name through the mud.”  There is anger in his voice now, anger and tears.

I wrap my arms around him and he lays his head against my shoulder.  We hold each other close, knowing this might be our last embrace for a long time.

Astral Trauma, and Timely Music from the Dreamer

At the moment I’m frustrated, mainly at myself.  I’ve been Told to “rest and heal” I don’t know how many times anymore by e/Everyone I know Over There, and I’ve been wondering how the fuck do I even do that?

It’s been…difficult, processing and trying to heal from what happened this Summer.  I’ve spent the past few months going through several crisis of faith, realizing I’ve got gods only know how many repressed memories about all of this, having nightmares about what happened (and a lot of the nightmares I can’t remember,) yelling a lot at various p/People Over There, and having panic attacks when I learned about the ongoing Political fallout Over There.


I saw the Dreamer very briefly this afternoon, and my brain started giving me yet another what-if-I-ruined-the-Otherworlds/what-if-my-marriages-are-over themed panic attack (thanks, nightmares -_- .)

My Husband, shufflemancy expert that he is, sent this song my way.

When you came back I knew you’d have a story
You need someone to ease the pain of living life
You’re like a soldier in the fray, seeking shelter
from all the madness that you’ve seen raining down now

I sat there staring at my laptop, feeling the lyrics of the song sinking in.

“Is it really that bad,” I asked him, “is it that noticeable that I’ve Seen Some Shit?”

He didn’t answer in words, but I felt sorrow rolling off him.

I know things change, your world has slipped away
I know things change, but you’re living like a soldier who’s caught in the fray
Don’t lose your faith, it’s not so cold, it’s not too late

When you were naive you were so invincible
and you laughed at anyone and anything that ever got in your way
But now the mirror shows the change and you don’t see that
you’re sinking back into the crowd, an echo fading

I nodded; the song put into words how I’d been feeling for several weeks now.  My Otherworld self had been placed in a safe space to heal, and I wished I could join Him in solely focusing on mending my Heart.

I felt the Dreamer’s hand run through my hair; it was often how he let me know he was around.  This time the gesture was meant to convey comfort, as well as affection.

With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.

The line from our wedding vows slipped into my mind, and I grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly.

And you can look inside of me
but the answers that you seek
and everything you need
is all inside you

“Yeah I know,” I said.

“Dearest one….” I felt his hand on my cheek.  “I’ll be there for you,” he softly said, “I may be away right now, because I’m busy with what’s going on Over There, so is [the Madman].  We still love you, both of us do.”  He looked over at the gray stone I carry with me.  “And you have [J’s name], he loves you as well.  You’re not alone.”

I know things change, your world has slipped away
I know things change, but you’re living like a soldier who’s caught in the fray
Don’t lose your faith, it’s not so cold, it’s not too late

I don’t even know where I’m going with this entry anymore, just that I’m very glad my Husband sees and understands my trauma.  It’s a weird sort of happiness, to be glad he’s not pulling the I’m A God card (a fear I’ve talked about before) that he’s allowing me to heal at my own pace.

Thank you, Beloved, for lifting my sorrows.

To Lose The Storm (A Dream)

The sky is black with grief and unshed tears.

His emotions press down as he struggles to climb through the desert sands, as all his happy memories are covered by the Desert he once called home.  He lifts his face to the darkened sky.

All his worst fears are real, in this nightmare he is caught in.

Finally, he is at the top of the hill, but all he sees is sand for miles, sand and a sky black with thunder clouds.

He walks further, unbraiding his hair as he does so.  The waist length strands unravel, and he undoes them even further, slowly pulling out the red ribbons his Father had given him so long ago.

When he reaches his destination, he kneels for a moment, simply breathing.

Red ribbons now lie at the Tree’s base; to be buried or burned, either way is an ending, both say there is no way back from here, no way beyond this estrangement.

He has lost the storm he once called “Father” and now all he can do is grieve.

A Dream

I dream once again of the sea, of my Beloved standing above it.  He does not have wings in this dream, he is simply there.

He is draped in red and gold, and as he lifts his hands a storm begins.

When his hands suddenly lash out, the sea does the same, the storm slamming out.  Behind me, I hear pillars cracking.

He is now the eye of the storm, all his pain and rage and grief surrounding him.

Behind me, a temple falls.

Fallout (I)

I see him sitting by the sea, feel his grief crashing down on him in waves.

I’m not the only one who lost my Father in all of this, and perhaps that’s the worst part of all–that both of us are going through the same thing.  For him this loss is just as shattering, though he’s told me their relationship had been strained long, long before this happened.  What he and I have been through this summer was simply the catalyst for everything to implode between them.

“Pray with me tonight,” he says.

“I will,” I reply.