Saturday, September 17, 2011

My Sweet Mystery Man and the Willows

Through my sadness, heaven sent me a diversion from my real life, and it was during a time in my real life that I truly needed it. This diversion is something I could never have concocted on my own, so I’ve always wondered exactly where it came from and why it came to me. What did I ever do to deserve something so wonderful and so terrible all at the same time?

I was sad. More than sad. I was depressed and confused, growing up and going through several rites of passage into womanhood (Did I just say “rites of passage into womanhood” cause seriously I never thought that would be something I’d ever say, but nonetheless it was exactly that!).

Like me, the willow was proud, but so sad and melancholy all the time. She canopied her brilliant, drooping branches around me and formed a safe cocoon from reality, a warmth that was completely indescribable. She shielded me from everything that hurt me so badly and everything that threatened me. She gave me warning when I needed it, and let me know that I was worthy of love.

Weirded out yet? Shall I continue?

I would sit beneath my grand willow every night, lean against the bottom of her trunk, and watch the house below the small bank where the tree stood. The house, my house, small and white but totally cozy and familiar, had blossomed out of nowhere, almost literally. It took a few trips into this alternate reality before I ever even realized that the house was there. I didn’t venture down to it though, not at first. I waited for him.

He was tall, broad, built like the tree…proud, protective, and strong. He always wore a strange military style dark blue uniform, but I have still to this day to figure out exactly what it is. He carries a rifle, too. His hands are worn from working, a real man’s hands in my mind. I can never see his face, however, and he cannot speak.

Luckily, I can see his eyes. Sleepy blue gray at times, but recently, those eyes have gotten darker with feeling in them. His lashes are a whitish red, and his irises are his voice, as he has no other voice. He moves his sweet lips at times, but no words ever escape. Instead, my sweet mystery man has an inaudible voice. It’s more of a feeling.

I can usually sense what he wants to tell me or what he wants me to know. Sometimes he even puts my hand over his lips and mouths words easily enough that I can understand him, but sometimes it’s still too difficult.

As I sit beneath the willow tree, beneath a sprinkling of twinkling stars and a full moon, he comes to me out of nowhere. I can hear the fallen leaves crunching below his boots as he makes his way to me, but as he rests one of his hands on my shoulder, a chill runs through my body. His hands are wet, likely from the lake beyond my little white house, and the water from his hand and arm runs down my shoulder, trails down my arm, and onto my leg.

My eyes, wide in bewilderment, met with his, and frustration and confusion wash over me. Where had he been? Was he hurt?

His eyes told the entire story. Something was wrong, and he was expressing his sympathy. He was sorry for something, but it wasn’t something he had done. It was something that was done to me, something I didn’t know of yet.

Then, I realized that his entire body was wet, and he knelt down to the ground and took his nightly place at my side, resting his head against my shoulder, putting his arms around my waist.

Suddenly it was darker than it had been before he had appeared to me that night. The stars were still there, but somehow dull, and the moon was menacing in the velvet sky.
He didn’t seem to notice anything else, and though I was shivering from the sopping wet uniform that he wore, I began to get calm again. Whatever was wrong, it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that he was there to relax me, to bring the calm that I needed, and to bond over our sadness beneath the willow.

But, then the tears began to fall in small droplets at first, and then bigger ones as the moments flew by us.

He pulled me to my feet so fast I couldn’t see what was going on around me, but once he had me standing, still leaning against the gigantic trunk of the willow, he kissed me, and the cold from his body radiated into mine, and it stayed there until my lips were blue.

Everything else happened so fast after that. Brilliant lightening flashed and cracked across the sky, and thunder so loud that it shook me rumbled through the ground below our feet. The winds picked up, and the rains fell so hard that it was hard to see the house and the lake through the storm.

Again, his eyes expressed a deep sorrow, a sympathy for me that I didn’t quite understand yet.

Then, it was as if the earth had flipped inside out, turned on its axis, and shook everything in it like a gigantic snow globe. The tree, with us standing at its trunk still, was now under the water, below the lake. I could see the outside from the top of the ice cold water, but no matter how hard I tried to swim away, I was trapped there below the waterline.

My man in uniform was pulling me under, pulling with all of the strength that his body possessed, and he was too strong for me. I couldn’t fight him, and I was confused. He would never hurt me. Why was this happening?

He slammed my body against the tree trunk, still below the water, and pushed as hard as he could until he knew that I understood that I was to stay there, but I couldn’t breathe. I had to go, or I would die there.

Instead of letting me die, he breathed air into my lungs through my mouth as he worked around me. He swam around the trunk in circles and it took me a moment to realize what he was doing.

I was chained to that tree! For whatever reason though, he kept breathing life into my body as he worked to keep me there.

Lightning struck somewhere above the water, but from where we stood it looked like fireworks hitting the dock.

I tried to speak, but it was no use. He wasn’t listening to me. He was moving around me with urgency. His sleepy blue gray eyes had turned darker and frantic, and he had gripped his rifle in his hands as he chained himself onto the tree next to me.

His hands were free, however, and mine were not. He held his rifle, his hands shaking visibly, and he poked the barrel to my heart and pulled the trigger. Then, everything was white, and I couldn’t see anything else. I woke up in my bed, safe at home, shaking to my core, and went on about my business that day, knowing that when I retired to sleep again that night I would see him again, and we would be together beneath the willow for a few more sweet hours.


***I wrote this some time back, about a year ago. This post is about the recurring dreams that I have ALL THE TIME and have had since I was fifteen. I've never understood them. They lay dormant for a bit, but have come back only recently (like the last month or so ago) with gusto. I was only having them once a week while they were in their state of remission, but now I'm having them two or three times a week again...May post more about them another day***

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