A gravelly rumble sounds close by. It is faint, and delicate, like a storm in a neighbouring town (or a teacup).
Far enough away so that its touch is not yet understood but, still, it reverberates out and touches me.
Little Voice is ready for another adventure.
There is no need to know what to write. It’s okay to allow the words to form. They can be nonsensical and live in the space of in-no-sense.
That is where magic lives.
That is where images form without the need for them to make any sense.
There is a slight tug; an urge to run away. A feeling followed by a conditioned response to hide. It is brought about by a belief that I AM wrong.
I’m not supposed to be here.
This home. My home. Is not quite right.
Little Voice wills herself to listen differently. To see this as SAFE. To welcome and thank the stirring power inside.
The storm is brewing. Do you hear it? Can you see it?
I know that you feel it.
Inside the eye of the storm is a place where words become mine. I’m allowed to form them and watch them fly.
I’m allowed to dance and play with them.
I’m allowed to stay here.
No one is allowed to come and bother me.
Selfishly, I guard my space.
No one will force me to the other side. The side that fills me with dread. That bores me silly.
I don’t have to sit and master something. There is nothing to master. This is play.
Play is easy. Play is fun.
It’s not serious.
And so the duality push and pull of light and dark begins. Two voices, perhaps, and likely more, fighting for sovereignty.
A quivering wreck sets sail into a sea of wonder, knowing the storm’s power will wash it up on a distant, unknown shore.
It checks itself.
She checks herself.
She listens inside the silent beat of deep knowing and sets the course.
Courageously, if not confidently, she ventures forward. Confidence can come but is not necessary yet.
Childlike, Little Voice sets sail into an unknown darkness. She has heard, somewhere. Somewhere distant. Somewhere over a rainbow, that she’s not safe to stray.
She must not venture off the path.
“Come back to the safety of the straight and narrow.” They urge.
The woods may contain flowers and fairy circles, but they aren’t safe to go in alone.
Never alone.
You see, how the dream shifts? The seascape washed away to reveal a landscape filled with tall trees.
She is tempted to run inside. Her red hood is down and she feels freedom flying beside her.
“Don’t you do that!
They say.
And don’t you dare make too much noise.”
But Little Voice screams with glee. With giddy excitement. With wild abandon. She’s in a race. Giving chase towards freedom.
Flying with her red cloak outstretched behind her.
“If you go down in the woods today, you better not go alone.”
But Little Voice does not listen. The rebellious spark of freedom entices her onwards and she wickedly ignores all the warnings.
Rainbow lightning breaks the dark sky.
A flash of colour, riding a spectrum into the abyss.
A line. A break.
Leaving two worlds made anew.
One lies on top casting a shadow on the world below.
The higher level of consciousness - vibrant and full of different hues - spreads out and sparkles an emerald green.
While below, shadow and darkness are all that can be seen.
Little Voice stands between the two worlds, balancing on a line, and catches a glimpse of Heaven.
She has been living in the world below. A black and white world. With no colour. Hers is a drab life with debts and bills. Heavy clouds over every head. Everyone moves automatically through a life with no connection to the electricity of the rainbow.
Little Voice runs.
She wants to run far away. Where no one will see her.
She hears a voice shouting.
“Hide Dorothy! The witch might catch you.”
Little Voice is there. Watching.
She laughs.
An uncontrollable, cackling crone comes out of the dark abyss.
And as she laughs out loud.
Ferociously.
You can hear her roar, like a storm in a neighbouring town.
Far enough away so that its touch is not yet understood but, still, it reverberates out and touches you.
And you shiver.
Because where might she lead you? Will it be to the other side of the rainbow? Will you see a new vision of what could be?
Or, will you fall down the rabbit hole and find Alice? Who the blankety blank is Alice?
Colour explodes as the witch’s roar thunders to the ground.
Step inside your fear.
Unlock the door.
The key is freely given and has always been yours.
“Oy!” A shout. Not a roar.
Pricked my consciousness. Drawing me back from the precipice between two worlds.
A slight flicker and the screen...
Fixes back into black and white
And dull, dull, greys.
You want to share what you saw.
But who would believe you?
After all, witches don’t exist.
This is the only world.
Silly!
And you scare yourself...
Into believing.
How quickly. How quick.
Gravity forced her back down
And the heaviness consumed her being
Making it feel real.
The heavier it felt
the more she was able to convince
Herself
This was all there was.
The world of make-believe - just a momentary lapse of - Her imagination.
It's just an illusion.
This is my ineligible entry to the Dreem - Word of the Week contest. This is the 5th round of season 1 and the word is illusion. You can read more about the Dreem-WOTW contest on @samsmith1971's post here.
I combined the d-wotw contest with my first ever Three Tune Tuesday (finally, eh? @tengolotodo). TTT was first brought to my attention way back when by a lovely Scotsman and is a contest by @ablaze who lives quite close by me in the Emerald Isle. You can find out more by reading his post here.
The cover image was created in Canva using a quote from Alan Watts.
The line dividers were also created in Canva, as were The Little Voice & Dreem-WOTW banners.
Dreemport banner asset used with permission from @dreemport & @dreemsteem.
