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The Ship of White Dreams
The ship of white dreams is anchored in the harbor.
This time I drink the white liquid down in three deliberate swallows. I keep my eyes closed tightly shut as I was instructed, and there is no little imp inside of me telling me to open them and peek through my long lashes. Today’s journey is a mutual agreement, a contract of simple trust and I am committed to keep my side of it, no matter what.
The red room was another transformation, I was told, and the Red Dream ( see post), that the scarlet liquid induced in me, or perhaps I imbued in it, was a sensual awakening of my senses, the tactile coming of age.
I sit quietly, eyes closed, the salty air plays with my loose strands of hair, and it begins to feel like every time I notice a bit more disorientation in my thinking, is when I feel the puffs of wind on my hair, and I now imagine the wind is trying somehow to lift me up from my spot on the white deck. I was told that when the liquid surges through me I will be able to open my eyes and see once again the glowing free-form dream ship I had only glimpsed for a second, before he said in my ear softly but firmly,
“Close your eyes my dear”
While I wait for his voice to tell me what comes next, I reach out and touch the sides of the ship that are nearest to me. I run my hands over the glossy warm smoothness and I imagine it reflecting the sunlight until it is almost too blinding to look at it directly. I hear the sails, which are made out of spun glass I am told, and I accept that possibility as I accept everything that is happening to me lately. They are flapping in a sort of glass wind-chime tinkling, every once in awhile snapping like conventional canvas ones. The snap and tinkle, the feeling of the ship’s rounded sides, the easy hypnotic rocking in this calm harbor allows the effects of the liquid to magnify in my brain. I hear his voice and feel his breath whispering close to me,
“Open your eyes my dear”
When I open my eyes I am beginning to lift up from the deck and the sunlight is blinding me again, because too much light is like a darkness, and I shut my eyes to protect them as I ascend in a slow elevating spiral. I try to level out and find some way to control my travel. Perhaps I am still sitting on the ship below and he is watching me sway and flap my arms comically, but in my mind, I feel I am weightless again and maneuvering to gain grace and some measure of control, although I know the liquid and my willingness to obey instructions overpowers much of my improvisation. I come to the conclusion it doesn’t really matter where I am, as in my mind I am now going up in the air.
I do manage to right myself and open my eyes, and the beauty of the scene and the ship I have just left is revealed in a moving moment of total awe, and I swoop down again towards it, like a gliding falcon looking for the arm of her trainer, to rest safely upon, but my trainer has vanished and gone. I circle the deck one more time and then, flight is mine to try to learn to use and enjoy, and I take control of my vision by attempting to pilot myself over this magic land.
The air currents easily float my body, as I bank expertly and make a last pass across the stern. Even though my head is churning like an accelerator and fear keeps a foot on that pedal, there is a carefree feeling of adventure and maybe even some secrets about to be revealed, I don’t know yet, and the not knowing is a rush on its own.
I take off to explore the airways of this strange colored land, and I feel white and pure, full of clear thoughts that rush in, one after another, all of them making me lighter, freer, and less burdened than when I first sat down, weighted by gravity and too much useless thinking to ever get off the ground on my own. I love to fly only if I am swept up in it, but am not yet ready to throw myself off of cliffs. This time, unlike in the Red Dream, I am in control to some degree, however just as I think this thought, I feel a pull coming from below, an urge even stronger than the desire to soar high above. I am pulled on again and again by a longing to fall into the water below me. It calls up to me, in small notes and repeating waves of rhythm and I am becoming spellbound by its glimmer and its undulating surface
As if the water were jealous of the air, it casts its spell over me, and I look down into what appears to be the most beautiful electrified gelatinous liquid of pale blues and greens and the white of small promised revelations. I arch my back and point my legs straight and decidedly, I take a swan-dive that changes into a sleek arrow finding the target, and my head pierces the bulls-eye surface and I know immediately my intuition was correct… it is in the water where I am supposed to be, and not the air as I first thought.
I hit the water and immediately I am being pulled along just under the surface. I take in the thick liquid easily, and begin to breathe in some new way, as there is no feeling of drowning or transition. It seems perfectly natural to be here and yet who I am, who I was, seems so far away, that I can barely remember how I got here or the anchored ship that was my starting point. I lose track of where the liquid ends and my own form begins and then I realize my own form is losing its shape, but in a painless, barely noticeable process, that is pleasurable, truly pleasurable, like when I remove all my clothes and float in a bath, but this time my corporal structure of skin and bones are the clothes that are being peeled away by this magic liquid that undresses me with tenderness in a way I have never been undressed before.
All begins dissolving, my ego along with my body and I am slowly becoming the liquid or perhaps, it is becoming me. A moment of fear invades my surrender, but I talk myself into going with whatever might happen, even if I don’t understand it or am in control of it. He had told me that before I drank the white liquor, I might feel these flashes of doubt, but should trust and trust deeply whatever was happening to me. I do. I do.
I am now color and movement and I am not me.
I am no longer anything more than the liquid that embraces me.
When I hear his soft comforting voice in my thoughts saying,
“What is it you fear most that lives under the sea?”
I do not hesitate, and think back,”Sea Snakes!”
He says,”Then a Sea Snake you shall be”
I am a Sea Snake and the whole sea is my playground. I am the most beautiful and misunderstood creature that lives here, I think to him, and his voice smiles in his thoughts when he says, “Of course you are.” He lets me swim and be my new form for endless hours, perhaps in that shadowy world we call Reality, it is only a few minutes, but I feel the exquisite joy of having a long sleek body that moves quickly and agilely through the liquid world it was built for. I am in my element so to speak, and I know I mean no one who falls into my beautiful pond, any harm.
I find myself rubbing alongside the hull of the white ship anchored there, and although I do not recall any personal attachment to it, once again as the liquid begins to subside in my system, I am attracted to run my sleek snake form against the hull, which is also as glass-like, and smoothly cool as the water that suspends it in a gentle rocking. We are one, the hull and myself and I push all the way into it easily, as it is not as solid as it appears
His voice says to me “Return” and I feel him close as I lay on the warm shiny deck, my sinewy snake shape now splitting at the bottom forming separate legs that open and close on their own similar to an ex-caterpillar pumping life back into its new self, a butterfly. I don’t move, I feel too heavy and coming back into my human body is not as pleasant as I imagined it would be. The truth, I could have stayed a glorious mindless Sea Snake for an eternity, swimming around the Ship of White Dreams… just as long as his voice stayed close to me…
To be continued…