Wednesday, March 31, 2004

I had a dream.
I was in some training complex and the beautiful eighth-grade dancers came out, half of them naked, half of them wearing tight black pants. I watched them lie down in formation, and as I knelt, it was like I could only see their breasts; no heads or bodies, just breasts, lined up like mountains. My mentor was there to heal them and I was there... I don't know. I felt pretty awkward, like I had walked into the wrong room.
My mentor came and I watched her hold them and caress them and heal them with her warmth; and I watched in sadness, for I wished she would heal me the way she healed them, the bright young nymphs of the dance troupe. But alas, I had no purpose, no reason for being here, no reason to be naked or to be a part of something like they were. And so, no reason for my mentor to grab my naked body and hold me in her warmth and heal me. So, I just watched and idly sat down on my mentor's leg while she caressed a dancer, and she put her arm around me to heal me as well, and I pushed her away, as if to say, "heal her instead." I wasn't worth it. She's the priority.
(My other arm was around... my dog. No, I have no idea why.)
She complied, reluctantly, and I headed for an empty room so as not to get in her way. I didn't know how to present myself to her, as naked and ready for healing, even though I knew she would heal me; I just knew that I wasn't worth it like these girls were.
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