More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (32. Dreaming)

TEN of WANDS. Oppression (inverted). Force detached from spiritual sources. Fire in its most destructive aspect. Inverted, it could me self-sacrifice or generosity.

That would be the dream I had after the dinner party. I gave away everything – even the clothes off my back. Nudity dreams are nothing nude … new to me. I’m told they happen when I feel exposed or at risk. Sometimes they are freedom dreams. This was probably a little of both.

You know me: an exhibitionist who keeps herself to herself. I guess that would be a “closet exhibitionist.” I long to have my clothes off, but worry if I show a little too much sin … sick … um, skin.

Anyway, the dream. It started back at the party, and the showing of the henna. Instead of un-tucking my blouse or hiking up my skirt, I progressively removed each garment and gave it to a member of the coterie. (Elsa got my panties – strange.) Anyway, after I had taken it all off with a few members of the coterie remaining, we all went back to my house where I proceeded to continue giving things away … to anyone who came by at that point … until everything was gone except me and my house, which I duly gave to Evie.

Talk about a lucid dream … that was probably the most lucid dream I’ve ever had, except maybe the one about having silver skin, but that was a long time ago.

“Force detached from spiritual sources.” I think of that line and wonder, was the dream an attempt to reconnect with the spiritual? I had to purge myself of the wordy … err, worldly? It’s possibly, but at the end of the dream, I found myself giving my body to the men that were there, including Marcel. That may have been my consciousness trying to regain control, as the dream turned so suddenly. Before anything happened, I awoke – a sure sign of that being the case.

The dream was surely a message. Now I have to just interpret its meaning. Turn to the spiritual, yes, but how? What kind of spiritual? Would I have to choose between Wiccan and Catholicism? For me, that isn’t a choice. Part of me is each of those, and belief has little to do with it. I believe what I believe, and there isn’t a choice about it. I just have to do it in a more spiritual way.

Whatever that is.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (4. Hung up)

I could have predicted my card today:

XII. The Hanged Man. Sacrifice, punishment, loss, failure, perhaps even death.

We’ll just forget about the redemption-through-sacrifice part. I’m strung … hung up, and unable to move forward. It isn’t really stagnation. I’m being punished for what I’ve done. I’m being punished centerfold … err, three-fold for cheating on Allen, and until I either come clean or the gods have exacted my teeth … um, their payment in full, I’ll be sitting in front of my webcam making myself hot and bothered for Max and whoever else is watching on the other end. (I’m even more certain that he isn’t alone now. I heard someone cough in the background tonight.)

Why do I keep doing it, even if Max doesn’t reciprocate? I can get it off on my own without provocation … prevarication … predjudice … hmm … or an audience. Perhaps it is the peanuts in it (where did that come from?) … danger in it, or maybe I’m just cruising towards my nourish– … punishment. That would be par for the course for me. At least Max didn’t get the boob … err, job, so I won’t have to ever seem him again in person. (Maybe I should get a boob job! But it is probably too late for me.)

Do you remember the book I was writing during my last series of late night folly? I sent it out to an editor, who has just given me loads of amendments, so many that I’m tempted to just drop the book in the recycling. But that would waste the $4000 that I invested in the editor. She thinks it is good enough to publish … with some tweaking, that is. They say you will rewrite your trash … uh, book several times before it is ready. That will mean more late nights for me – several hours of editing (if I don’t have a big … err, gig) then a wank for Max, before laying my soul bare for you in my blog.