Visions and Monsters

Visions and Monsters

At 3 a.m. the visions start. Maybe it happens before that. Maybe this cold spirit energy has been with me a while but I have pushed it away (but not released it) longer.
The vision starts with me in a garden with two little girls.
I am not me, I am a 50 something year old lady in an orange house coat. The girls are hastily given under my care and at first I am anxious because my house is not suitable for children. Yet I give them a change of clothes these pale blonde girls.
Their hair is dirty blonde and the eldest has big blue eyes. They are such quiet girls. We head in from the garden into my house. The carpet in bright orange and very fluffy, I know it is new and I am pleased with it. My home is white and orange surrounded by green hedges. I have never seen such quiet children. We sit and have tea out my china cups. They eat some jam on toast and drink a little. I put on my record player. I give them a pair of my old sunglasses to play with. For a brief moment they begin to be children. They laugh and sing-a-long.
I can hear him before I see him. Sense he is in my neat little garden. I turn up the music and tell the girls to "Just stay there a moment girls."
He is tall and white with a dirty rusty crop of hair. He is yelling and screaming at me. At first I am in a rage. I curse him, for what he has done to those poor girls. I yell at him holding my housecoat button tightly. I tell him social services are already on the way.
He seems to leave, or maybe fall back. I head inside the house. My hot angry courage spent and a cold slick dread washes over me. My heart hurts. Is it my heart or my own first against it.
My white glass and wooden door, previously so proudly owned feels so flimsy. The locks feel like nothing.
"Go upstairs girls, go on now."
They cling to each other and even though the small one cries they are both so quiet.
He is there again. His image broken into irregular pieces. He is waving a gun. It isn't a big gun but that doesn't matter. I have already dialed the police. The operator is on the line.
He wants "his girls".
I tell him he has lost that right and that the police are coming.
He kicks the door and even though I am pressed against it, it opens. I don't know who I am more scared for, myself or the girls.
I am slim, but wiry and for now keep him out.

This is the dream that has woken me twice in a single day. My heart hurts. I feel sick on waking.
I have tried to tell the lady that she was right to protect the children in all her fierce glory. That she can be forgiven or even praised for her courage and creative cussing.

The sick dread takes a while to leave me and if I blink I can see it all clearly. Not like a dream at all. The way the doorways buckles and splinters. The orange of the carpets. The silence of the girls.

I hope that in the writing of it, it fades for me. That I have passed on the message that wanted speaking. I hope she moves on gently to tend her neat garden and listen to her music.


Bright Blessings xxx