The last few days have been very … active.
We were to visit my parents at their vacation house down on the coast for a few days. This is normally a very fun proposition, but this time I could not help feel disconcerted. I have been exceedingly on edge and moody over the last week or so. I had thought that it was the effect of teaching basic grammar and composition when my hart lies so far afield, or perhaps I was feeling stress over our economic situation which is not exactly pleasant. (I will write more on that when the time comes.) However, the reality was that something else was eating away at me, but I did not realize it until after our first night away from the house and all the other seeming pressures in town.
The last night that I had spent in the house saw a dream that was not a little disturbing. In it I was wandering around in the bed room where I lay and noticed a mirror on the wall. Looking into the mirror, I saw a boy who was dead but trying to contact me through the glass. Now, it was not myself whom I saw, though I suppose you could make the argument that I was facing my unconcsious or some such thing. There was no doubt in my mind that there was someone who had lived in that room trying to contact me thgouh the mirror. Nothing ever came of this dream, though.
The first night we were there, I dreamed that I was back in Oban for a job. D. and the kids were there, but we ran afoul of two mafia hit-men who were working at the bidding of a powerful villain living in an old victorian house. With the help of a strange, mad old woman, I managed to kill the evil trio and took possession of the house. Exploring its rambling rooms and corridors, we found that it had laid empty since its builder died, and all the old furniture and many curious items were still there. The dream ended with me finding a stack of unopened letters which, on opening them, produced a sizeable sum of victorian money intended to pay off various debts to the house’s builder.
The morning after this dream and after a devotional in the ocean, I came to an understanding of what had caused my stress. Two realizations have been developing in me. These are of such profundity and magnitude that they have, in conjunction with their many and weighty ramifications, made me almost physically ill. The first is that there is nothing which is actually unimportant. The second is that the ideal of the druid and its calling requires an absolute committment to all learning. At their heart, these are very good and powerful realizations, but they require a concommittant strength that I do not as yet possess. I can feel myself changing, though, and it is this change that has brought about my moodiness.
The second night I had a further dream and one that was in its own way disturbing and yet also somehow comforting. In it, D. and I found our way into a strange place that was at once a cul-de-sac and yet also a room. There we met a group of outlandishly dressed people who belonged to a kind of religious group or cult. One particularly tall fellow with glasses and a tricolored robe began acting hostilly toward us, threatening to use his “powers” against us. I reacted with a ferocity that surprised my dreaming mind and very nearly came to blows with him, jostling and man-handling him with some great force.
After this, D. and I left the strange area and went back to some temporary chamber – like a hotel room in its feeling – where we discussed the event. I began drawing in a distracted kind of way while talking but stopped when I saw what I had produced on the page. I showed D., who was horrified at the drawing: a creature of which H.P. Lovecraft would have been proud. It had the splayed, tentacular mouth of a hydra, but a long sinewy tongue tipped with a poisonous stinger extended from the ring of serrated teeth. Its appendages were many jointed mockeries of human limbs, themselves ending in barbed, horny proturbations, and the entire creature was fleshy and hairless.
Going for a walk afterward, we found ourselves back in the same strange chamber with the group who was just beginning some kind of ritual. Somehow we became part of the proceedings and we were led through a secret door into a dim staircase that descended to a stone archway. Half way down the steps I found myself confronted by the tall man with whom I had nearly fought previously. Suddenly I felt my body convulsed with a violent seizure as my body began to twist and contort. My head split into four tentacles and my limbs popped out of all semblence of themselves as I transformed into the creature that I had drawn. I turned on the tall man and tore him to pieces, but the shock of so violent and bloody an act brought me back to myself. With surprising ease, I transformed myself back into my regular form. Then I awoke.
I have no idea what these mean, but I have no doubt that they are important. Since then, the stress has not been nearly so bad as it otherwise was, and I feel acutely aware of good things coming. I believe that I am coming to understand my place in things, but in that coming I have yet to encompass what and who I am with a sufficient narrative.