The dark nite of the soul.

Caution

Swearing.

Death from Cancer.

Sexual references.

That bag had laid next to that single bed, my single bed. It was an eternal reminder of the conflict of my life of caring, of not caring and being able to say, "I don't care!"

I touched the play arrow for utube reiki on my phone, "Cleansing the Emotional Field". My emotions cannot be explained and trying to explain to others. "Them", the cause of paranoia, avoidance, pathological neglect of my heart, with the head, the ruler. As usual, I, I the culprit of that confusion, had placed a small beading needle in a haystack, dry tinder haystack. My solution was to journey into my dreams, consult my unconscious ocean, who had beared witness to my calamity jane life; it always had the answer.

I was told before I came to this world, I would chose a path, a very painful path, for my existential experience. I think when I was born I said, "Fuck me!" I tried to escape when I was three, stopped coughing, went up to the lightbulb and my mother called me back.

After using six of my nine lives, i started to realise the answer was in me. I rarely asked people to rescue me. Rescue me from the bloody Mars in Libra in the fifth house, or rescue me from the double intercepted grand water trine, where Saturn sits in the eight house in Pisces. Now most people do not know what that means but show a seasoned astrologer and I have their compasdion. Mars is theaction planet and all Libra wants is balance, so most people make decisions easy, I will be in my head being the judge and the Social Worker, its abhorrent derailment of nonsensical opposites!

So that grand water train says its easy to pierce the veil, the depth of the ocean, the sixth sense is easy. "Easy for fuckin' you I say!" Regardless, I believed in dreams and in sleep, if I can get that, "they" would tell me, with the help of the one and a half hour reiki session, they would help.

I awoke at two in the morning, blurry eyed, like an robot my finger mechanical finger extended, pointed and tapped the circular arrow, the repeat button for healing my full moon in Leo squaring the god forbid, Saturn in Pisces.

I had slept spasmodically, tossing and turning. Jija jumped off the bed in her usual ceremony of disgusted Meow and letting me know she would now relocate to the dog bed in the loungeroom, which was my fault. "I tried", she meowed. "You're Virgo, you're mutable, you're flexible" and She huffs.

Deep sleep, finally, I had reached the executive programme, the valued unconscious mind! I was filling a soft, leather, black bag with four refined art pieces. The finals of my University degree required I display my artwork in a combined student art exhibition. I searched for my free entrance ticket, it was not there in the bag.! In the usual anxiety dream. I was unprepared and going to fail... ! .... ! .... !

in that bag. was the a wet oil painting, a soft sculpture of a free floating parrot and two smaller unframed originals! I was proud of my originals! I would have to buy the ticket - broke - I put my coins together.

That woke me up. A coffee. Pat Jija, "Beautiful girl" A cigarette. Comfortable, I open my dream journal app.  

Dream theme: 

Finals for Art Degree.

Dream Colour:

Black and Multicolour.

Dream feeling:

Anxiety.

Dream Description. I typed away the parrot, the wet painting, the lost ticket, the soft bag knowing the next category.

Dream interpretation. 

Yesterday was my friend's birthday, we are complicated (don't have to bother about sentence structure there and autocorrelation helps too). His children were supposed to visit. 

I believe the birthday is the day to honour the benefactory and the raised energy for their coming year. His wife had died from cancer, a tremendous loss for himself and his children.

I like wearing soft comfortable clothing and the security of softness and a bag that lost important things, dropping out in the car on the sidewalk, in small nooks and crannies concealing or growing over items like a new scab. Then the fun of upending the bag on the grocery counter, to see if the service person has voyeuristic tendencies with the excuse of can't find my debit card.

Yesterday, Her bag was hard leather, big with an accordian opening, full of closed zips and controlled leather with cardboard inserts. The strap was long, so I gracefully hung it over my left shoulder and found the bag unkindly poking my right hip. "It's in the right position", as I fiddled with the stiff box. The robust handle smiled at me, at least a bent twenty centimetres long thing did, but it's riverted metal stung, "expensive!" I could see, my small pliers could not yank it off, although I resolved it would be good therapy for me to try to yank it off! Oh dear, that angry little part that must not exist in a female, could yank it off with a small pair of pliers! Or I could take it to the listening ear of a boot maker who honoured my dark and tortured lilith in Aries in the ninth house, needing to be 97% good and 3% horrid.

But it was Kelvin's birthday, and it belonged to his beloved wife. He was giving me a present, the little rehomed urchin. I wanted to say, "No thankyou" but I woukd hurt him, his gift from his heart, his beloved wifes bag that he treasured. I smiled and tried to appear grateful. "Well I won't loose my things in this and the pockets are deep." I could also wear it over my head when he passed me off, like Ned Kelly!

Well my dream said, "A soft leather black bag fitted my creations in my comfort!" All my special things stuffed in an enclosure which belonged to me. I can't hurt his feelings I thought? But what about my feelings? My needs? But it's a gift from his heart?

I decided there was one way to soften this bag. I had done it before. In the past, I visited the local thrift shop. I would squish and roll the sodt leather bags, see if the shoulder strap was long enough to cross my body and drape on my hip. Once chosen. I would chuck three dollars it in the washing machine and patch the bag if it tore. Status once mattered to me, it was a causal line between pampered, or rejected and abuse. I found the no man's land, of SO WHAT!

I snuck passed Kelvin. "Good morning" friend?, he says like a cat who had played with a mouse till it was dead. Deterring him, I said, I lost my meds! That gave him the experience of total control. Yer, the Arny Swatznagger inhilation feel. Long enough for me to hide the loose knotted white blankets, towels and most importantly the brown leather bag in the washing machine. I pushed it tightly upside-down to the side wall of the can whilst he loved my vulnerability. Innocently, I poured biodegradable, earth-friendly detergent over the things right under his funking nose, knowing his sacrifice wanting be affectionate but allowing the 3% to have my day@

Then I sat in my chair outside, my safe space, away from him! Cha choonk, the gear moved in the washing machine. Whoosh, the water flowed through the pipe into the can over my secret, I was free. Then Tension filled my body, what if the brown stain ran into the blanket? Cha choonk, the gear moved again. The can agitated, a little bang sound. Should I let it swing a bit? Would I be found out? I really don't care. I care about him and especially his wife and kids. But I have needs, needs of comfort, needs to not be shut down if my narrative is not the same as Kelvin's.

Wait... 

As I drew on my cigarette, "What about the spin cycle?" My muscles contorted in hips and necks yelling, "Deceiver!- Why not be an adult and have a conversation?" I ignored my conscience.

Swirling sounds. 

Relief-

The blankets have weighed down the can and moulded around the bag. Yes,all according to my evil, self indulget soul!

"Stay quiet", I whispered outside on the veranda to my accomplice. Cha choonk, gear change. Water in the piped breathed like woman birthing, breath trying to control the pain! Then the primal waters burst into the sink of my new life as a liar, a disrespectful subservient, a callous thing that had no rite to have an image of the Virgin Mary hanging in our loungeroom!

"Be quiet", I whispered again, my needs matter too. 

And then it happened, the birth of the Antichrist swung in the womb yelping in the centrifuge. I had to do a caesarean, remove it before, it destroyed the mother! The mother of my friend's children! How could I mulch a gift from the heart? How could I dishonour her memory?

Then Pluto ingressed from the twelfth house, the house of hidden enemies to the first house of self.

I repositioned the laundry and tiptoed to the verandah. The bag was soapy. I had washed many bags beforehand, I wipe it off with my dressing gown. An inspection revealed no tears, inside fluffy and Nicotine remnants. I was not expecting that, I knew She smoked and I smoked. He was afraid we both would die from the demon habit, one of us had!

I did not place her in the sun, I wanted her leather to be soft. The cardboard, sagged and twisted her corners, I cared about her. The bag was soft, it was a guilty soft, but it was soft! I wondered is he would see it there on the outdoor table, wooden slates pooling the blood letting of trying to be respectful and needing my own self.

I was rebellious! It felt good to implode my internal dialogue on an object. "I care you shit head", I yell to myself. "I can have feelings too... needs..." But I also cared about Kelvin and his departed wife!

That was the end. The end to the internal conversation between my old school parents and the fragmented me. The one who got counselling, tried to self improve, got educated and still the finger of God pointing that a chinese fire horse should be thrown off a cliff, especially females, when I was born!"

I remembered my foster sister, dying of cancer, but that has never been that important to Kelvin. I guess he cares, but his pain is great that mine seems insignificant. He does not understand, the doubly strong nuerochemical pathways created to help her minor intellectual disability. Three years of those pathways rigorously dying, the usual synapsis, like a branch on a tree of useless flowers in autumn.

I remember Kelvin saying, "You're too much, I will see you in two weeks" My sister had most likely seven more days of life" She asked, "Where is your friend, Kelvin?" Could I tell her? NO! HE'LL SEE ME AFTER YOU DIE?

Instead I lie, "We had a fight, won't be seeing him for awhile, let things cool down" Pain streaked over her forehead, She knew I was hiding something. She read my thoughts! She saw death looking at her. I wanted to tell her the truth, but lying hurt her less. I was scarred, before her death I had to lie to her! She trusted me as life left her body and I sat dead next to her too.

Kelvin touches my hand, like a ghost. The bag still hidden, "It's a day after my birthday", he says sweetly, "I've got you something for you" He puts a drug prescription paper to my other hand, still smiling. I try to read it, the words a blur, "I haven't got my glasses on!" My eyes scramble over the symbols. "It's blueies?". Without thinking my mouth shifts, "Fuck!"

I want to say "Mate, you gave me one of the best mind fucks, I have ever had" Then I remember the bag and I have my pound of flesh. I have my evil twin, 3 per century! Then my passivity scrambles to be kind to Instead I say, "Do you remember our story- the story of me going under the ocean, creating the best wave and you surfing that and we both come out cleansed and revitalised?"

My darkness could forgive him, at the price of a soggy bag. The ghosts who listened were probably both enjoying their heavenly cigarettes and I could imagine those two would get along.

Michelle Mavis Kennedy (Birtdate changed. Died September 1st, 2001 9pm). You were not perfect but you are still loved and held deep in my heart. I miss you.

"When it the Australian Spring, my heart is winter."