Sex in the Soil

Autumn in Moldova

“When it’s missing then you want it more
It isn’t right
Turning out the door
And back to this
Leave it like it was before
And let me out”
-Warrior: Yeah Yeah Yeahs

We've all been subjected to abuse in some way, shape, or form. Whether it's a broken heart, a parent's abandonment, death, disease, poverty of the soul, or poverty of the mind- it's all there. We've walked down our quiet roads of desperation, swallowing anger, resentment, guilt, and toxic shame. And mostly, the grief is contained in our own private hell. It is in this hell, that we divide from other people and dive deep into our own cosmic experience.

There is an inner division too. Splits occur. Fragmentation sets in. We cannot see the truth in someone else’s experience because we are locked down in our own pain. We cannot gain any benefits from their experience because of our stubborn refusal to examine another’s journey outside of ours. We need open recognition of what our wounds are and the wounds of those around us, before we can embrace an enemy with compassion, or hell, even ourselves.

To make matters more difficult, we forget, the Earth is our greatest healer. We spend an obscene amount of time chasing plastic, only to forget the dirt under our feet and what it feels like. We disconnect and then make excuses for our collective sickness.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord”

I am not a devoted religious scholar, or even a “believer” in the fucked up sense believing entails in modern day society. However, this old hymn runs through my brain every time I ponder the meaning of healing through the Earth. After we come to terms with our own wounds, and can clearly see and put into perspective the wounds of others, we may wonder how to proceed next with the process of, as one of my favorite writers would say, “Getting over thyself.”

Healing requires we get intimate with the Earth. Traveling, then, in a larger sense, represents a quest for release and the movement toward passion and love, as we acquaint ourselves with the Earth. For the thrill of letting go and for a sweet moment of peace, we move, with authority, out into the world.

When I started to realize what my eyes had seen, and how damaged my vision was (literally 2400/20, legally blind eyes!), I knew I had to learn to “see” differently, in order to heal. To see the world and myself differently, I flooded my psyche with imagery in brand new landscapes and sat with it. In essence, I went straight to the Earth for healing.

This naughty little sex writer, then, is taking a few moments from her ass-pounding, fist-fucking world to share, in orgasmic delight, my favorite places. These are the places I must go. I must see them with my eyes open so wide they pop from my head. I must sit on the Earth at each place and run my fingers over the soil and breathe. I must, belly to the ground, lay my ear down and listen.

Vintgar Gorge, Gorjie, Slovenia



Krka National Park, Croatia




Machu Picchu, Peru



The Blue Church- Chisinau, Moldova



Bran Castle, Romania




Lucerne, Switzerland



Travel it all away.

Love,

Sally.

Perverted Subconscious Space

“You come out at night
that's when the energy comes
when the dark side's light
and the vampires roam”
-Building a Mystery – Sarah McLachlan

Have you ever had a dream you were so ashamed of you wanted to crawl in a hole and hide? Then, did you punish yourself by playing the role of both victim and perpetrator? After all, it's your subconscious mind creating- not his, hers, or it. Shocking thoughts are like a whirlwind in our brains, taking root in the deepest corners of one’s psyche, pushing us to think twice about the direction of our life. Others might not be privy to it, but, make no mistake; a subconscious revolution is taking place.

Naturally, for Sally, the most shocking dreams have been deeply disturbing sexual dreams. Incestuous red-faced embarrassments tempered with uncomfortable silences color the dreamscape and demand I decipher their meaning.

First, I must point out, this topic may be triggering for those who have been subjected to incestuous abuse. My intention is not to further enhance the pain many have experienced. Next, I should reiterate, I, personally, am not a victim of sexual abuse. However, I wouldn’t be paying proper respect to the topic if I didn’t mention that incestuous relationships are not entirely bound to the physical- psychological/emotional/psychic rape can be present with or without physical contact. Nor are all sexual relations between family members harmful to the people involved, obviously, it depends on the situation.

Being a human being, incidentally, is trait many of us share on this planet. But, as I am writing this, I cannot believe that I am. The old Sally never would’ve shared the intimate details of her subconscious with the general public. However, it is my hope, in the honesty I offer, others will be inspired to do the same. Even though different experiences shape our inner world and define us, we are all, as one of my favorite musician’s would say, “citizens of the womb before we divide into sexes and shades, this side or that side. “ Thus, it is in the spirit of shared awareness that I reveal the details of the dream.

The dream sequence starts in my dwelling during my teenage years. My dad, who I haven’t seen in years, suddenly appears with his new wife. She is not the monster I expected. She is a young woman with pretty ringlet curls and a soft round face. She smiles at me, radiating warmth and positive energy. I smile back, say a few words to her, and enter another room.

I wait in the room for my father. When he enters the room, I’m filled with anxiety. I ask, “Why are you here?” His message is complex and I am horrified. I know he’s angry because I don’t understand. He removes his clothing, lies down beside me, and announces he’s returned to perform an initiation. He is suspended above me, dick hard, and ready to penetrate. I want it, but I will not let him do it. I’m deeply immersed in pleasure, when suddenly I’m whipped back into a new reality loop with force.

As my alarm sounds, the sickness stays with me. I feel disgusted, angry, and violated. The feeling persists through the day as I’m unable to shake the dream sequence from my brain. I cannot quite escape the literalism of the dream, but I am not completely bound to it either. I begin the process of slowly sifting through the tangled layers of my friendships, romantic involvements, and family relationships to uncover any hidden pretenses and find peace with my discoveries.

What I find, however, is not strictly literal or metaphorical. It does, but also does not, have much to do with the actual relationship my dad and I shared. In my dream, I will not fuck my father. In fact, I am terrified of who he is and what he’s trying to do to me. I resist, even though, my body clearly desires otherwise.

Through analysis, I realize I've stumbled upon a deep resistance to masculine energy and influence. You may have noticed my relationship with the feminine figure in the dream. I was relatively comfortable with her, perceiving her as soft, sweet, and tender. The masculine figure, however, was speaking in complex riddles and performing uncomfortable initiations on unsuspecting virgins. Unsurprisingly, I find myself, staring back at myself, in both masculine/feminine dream figures.

Further, since Sally often refers to herself as an “initiator of the highest order”, being initiated (i.e. taken back to school- sexually or psychologically) is extremely painful for this whore. But this is where I stand before you today.

Pay attention to any dreamtime shock waves you may be flooded with lately. Dreams of this magnitude represent a turning point in our mentality at the apex of an important revelation. But, before we cross that bridge and consciously integrate this “new material” into our lives, we must dive down into the abyss and recover. Eventually, synchronicity steps in to remind us we’re on path, when we are ready to process and put to use, our individual lessons.

Pluto and Jupiter hit the Galactic Core today, hold on to your metaphysical asses, friends.

Love & light in your direction,
Sally.

**Album Cover: Fatherfucker
Artist: Peaches

The Mighty Sword

Have you ever wanted to fuck your lover with a strap on? Bend him (or her) over and give it to ‘em hard? Women are supposed to be docile, like flowers. They aren’t supposed to act like men, want to be men, or interpret their experiences through a male lens. Thus, women who dominate, control, and posses their lovers are often the subject of controversy. No stranger to controversy himself, Sigmund Freud first popularized the term, “Penis Envy”, a psychological state which he said plagued female children at the age of four, when a female child realizes she does not have penis. Of course, feminists and other analysts have been highly critical of Freud’s hypothesis, so, “penis envy” is still a debatable subject.

Yet, many women I know (straight, lesbian, and bi) have wistfully trailed off in thought, “If I only could have a penis for one day…” Ladies, I couldn’t agree more. My desire to covet the penis has, over time, only grown stronger. For example, those incredibly lucid dreams about sticking my penis into Her. I’m not sure who She is, but I’ve felt her insides with my Throbbing Member more times than I care to admit. In my last dream, I felt more attached to my penis than I ever had before, which begs the question, where does the strap-on end and the penis begin?

Many curious folks have asked why I fuck with a strap on. As in, what’s in it for you, Sally? First of all, being on the other end of the stick is a refreshing change. One is released from the prison of gender. Strict conformity to gender roles is horribly oppressive and monotonous. Stretching ourselves (both literally and metaphorically) will open the door to new energy and discovery within our partnerships. Next, it fosters trust and allows for greater intimacy. For example, on Friday night, I fucked my lover with a dildo. It was our first experience with anal sex together as a couple. Since the first time with someone new is always a little tricky it’s important to ask the right questions. Does it feel ok? Tell me, how hard and fast? And, should I pull out before or after you climax? This, along with the lube, should be broken out immediately before you begin or you risk this unfortunate reaction:



Luckily, it was an extremely pleasurable experience for both of us. After he climaxed, we laid together wrapped up in the sheets while he trembled in my arms and we laughed quietly. Have you ever noticed how a really good orgasm will make you laugh? Anyway, eventually he nuzzled up close to me and fell asleep breathing deeply while his head rested on my chest. It was, dare I say, romantic? The next day we both looked at one another with renewed interest as the power dynamic shifted

She’s a Man, man

Two of my girlfriends, pointed out the other day that I was ‘no ordinary whore’- meaning I don’t fuck for validation, love, money, or to cement a relationship in stone. In fact, they went as far to tell me, “You fuck like a man.” Both of them expressed their desire to acquire a similar mindset as well. However, I’m not sure it’s a trait one can learn, at least not at this stage in the game. And yes, some women are docile flowers- emotional, naïve, and easily destroyed, but not this bitch.

Why are some women unable to access their inner bad girl and make the Cocky Guy cry? Well, first of all, not everyone is as ruthless as your girl, Sally S. And secondly, some people actually want to fall in love, which requires a high degree of vulnerability. Vulnerability, evidently, is not compatible with search & destroy missions.

Even so, as a woman, contact and comfort with one’s masculine side is important. It helps ward off unhealthy/abusive relationships and inserts a certain appeal and richness in the personality. Too often, women, desperate to connect, will fall for a rebellious man with a penchant for wandering and infidelity. For women who actively seek marriage or serious relationship, men who “won’t commit” are their worst nightmare.

For instance, last night, a girl friend relayed a story about some Divorced Dude she was dating. They started to get close, and then suddenly he stopped calling her. She was, understandably, hurt. Readers, it is extremely difficult for me to see women let men get the best of them. I could feel my horns rise and the steam pour out of my ears as she shared her story. In the back of my mind, I was already coming up with an intricate plan for revenge.

But evil plots & revenge aside, I felt horrible for my friend. I wanted to infuse in her a sense of self-worth, strength, and power. I could talk to her until I’m blue in the face, but she’s the one who’ll have to pick herself up from the floor in the end. It’s no secret, my friend could benefit from a more masculine approach in her life. Identification with “masculine traits”, regardless of whether you like to fuck people in the ass or not, to the extent that it represents the balance of experience, is healthy

Therefore, the $30,000 question is what constitutes acting/fucking like a man? And, can women legitimately inhabit male territory?

Stay Connected. ~ Sally S.

Water from the Well

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Sleeping Beauty

"Pretending to be unconscious while he fucks me……"


I

have

lived in a cloud

with the fog and humidity

packed inside my brain.

And when I try to think clearly

all I get is more density

There was an accident on my front lawn and the boogie man was there with his twisted machete smile asking questions about how I got here

“I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart.
Questions of science, science and progress
Don't speak as loud as my heart.
Tell me you love me, and come back and haunt me,
Oh, when I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing tails
coming back as we are.” - The Scientist, Coldplay

Last time he left I was just a little girl, and I was terrified he’d never come back. I woke up with tears stuck to the back of my throat, eyes heavy and red. True, it was winter and the daylight was long gone before he left and I never had the courage to say I love you, but it was late baby, and I was sad.

In the crossover space in my head, I turned the dial, and crawled back into bed. There was no light coming from my window, there was no soft breeze to graze my skin, and there was no you breathing down on my neck.

He said he was going to penetrate me with his big green mouth and smoke-filled rainbow cloud.

This is the dream I had last night. Maybe I’m in love with an alien.

hello new shoes, bye bye blues

I put some new shoes on,
And suddenly everything is right,
I put some new shoes on and everybody's smiling,
It so inviting,
Short on money,
But long on time,
Slowly strolling in the sweet sunshine,
And I'm running late,
And I don’t need an excuse,
'cause I'm wearing my brand new shoes. -New Shoes, Paolo Nutini

Walking down the streets of New York City in my four inch heels, my feet started to hurt. I finally acquiesced to the pain and darted into the first store I saw. From the back room, an imposing blonde woman appeared. She led me over to look at all the shoes displayed on the wall. My eyes first zeroed in on the kaki colored pair. As soon as she returned with the shoes, I noticed the price - $325! Evidently, I had stumbled into a high-end store even though the outside of the store suggested otherwise. From my reaction she knew I wasn’t buying and proceeded to ignore me until I left. On my way out the door, a pair of dark brown funky platforms called my name, but I was determined to find a cheaper pair.

I left the store disappointed and disappeared into a sea of people just as a torrential rain began to hammer the city. An attractive man with dark hair and bright green eyes, in a muted-green tee-shirt looked over at me and said, “That Brillo scarf looks really nice on you.” The funny thing is I didn’t feel beautiful, in fact, just the opposite. The red n’ white silk Italian scarf around my neck was soggy, rain-soaked and heavy. We stood together on the street, my hair wild and tangled in my scarf, and stared silently at one another while he loosened the knots. In front of him, I bent down on my knees and came undone.

It's Freaky Friday, and I'm feeeling a little naughty. How about you?

A Techni-Colored Dream Inspires This Stream

I put my hand on the crystal ball and my eyes saw…..

In a neon forest the trees were spinning, from the ground they came, the blue and yellow leaves, snakes transforming, landscapes changing, the ground-breaking, the orange sky shaking, an earthquake quickening, the explosion rocking, a desperate launching, a girl leaving, the last escape, the last chance, a radio malfunctioning, Jesus freaks waving their arms in the air, speaking in tongues, the blood in their mouths turning to rust, the court embracing a lie, the fatty excess leaking through the door , the system unfolding, the breath of death staring down at the face of a little girl, the uneasiness mounting, the wounds of the fleshing escalating, intensity circulating, drinking the kool-laid, the brainwashed followers partaking, the efficiency of the mass-grave containing humanity’s waste, flies hovering above the edge of the dinner plate, eating our mistakes, eating our habits, eating our addictions, eating the atrocities done in the name of God, holding hands so we can embrace love, licking gold from the moon to find our way home, separating our ambitions from dead weight, experiencing purity while fortifying destiny.

Neon Forest- Iggy Pop

I'm sliding like a lizard on my belly and back
It's a miracle I haven't fallen through any cracks
The life on display is trouble for sure
The drugs that I took have made me impure

The neon forest is lighting up
The neon forest is lighting up
My brain

I've learned some nasty lessons so I'm shutting
My mouth
A fury in my gut is spinning me round
and round
To be a total phony is the winning design
When the fabric of life is a horny goldmine

The neon forest is my home
And like a cartoon cat I roam
Where only kids are still alive
And anyway they're gonna fry
My brain

You can get a weird prize for being adored
You can join the "in crowd" for being a whore
Although you are lonely you wish for a fence
America takes drugs in psychic defense
You can say what you want but nobody's there
Have you got any money?
Are you anybody?

"You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book... or you take a trip... and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might generate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken." Anais Nin

The Executioner's Hood and the Boys in the Woods

Our Human Frailty is Observed:


I ran through the woods in an invisible cloak of amour. The leaves on the ground crunched menacingly beneath me. The air was cold and the trees were red and yellow, angry and bruised under the guise of another season’s passing. Animals roamed through the woods, stuck in their maze of indifference while the executioners fired shots. Standing erect with their black hoods, the snipers had full control. As the bullets whizzed past my head, I suddenly realized why I felt so close to death.

I had this dream two nights ago. Anyone who says the personal unconscious is not connected to the collective unconscious is denying the affect of world events and living in a little encapsulated bubble. The world has problems, yo, and if we’re not at least recognizing this, then we should start digging our graves now.

Recently, the whole world saw parts of Saddam Hussein’s very public execution. The death video has prompted an outflow of compassion especially among the world’s Muslim population. Witness as a former “cruel dictator” is made into a martyr. Now, I’m not saying whether this is right or wrong. The circumstances surrounding his death, and indeed this whole fucked up world are nebulous, confusing, contradictory, and full of metaphor if you can reach out and grab it. However, I think we can all agree, execution by hanging in the public square is downright medieval. If this is what we have regressed to as a people, we are in serious trouble.

It is an obvious fact that children copy what they see in the adult world. Children, psychically, are presumed to be more vulnerable than adults to collective forces because issues like “psychic flooding” and the “unconscious” are not acceptable concepts in an adult materially-orientated world. This, however, does not mean that world events aren’t affecting ALL of us on a deeper level, they are, and we cannot afford to pretend to be disconnected from this anymore. Our children, through their actions, are telling us witnessing a hanging on public television is not kosher.

I have been an outspoken critic of the death penalty for years, but in this situation no explanation is need, it’s clearly refuted in the actions of our children. See a story below published by the Associated Press regarding a child’s interpretation of the events surrounding Saddam’s death:

Turkish boy's kin: Hanging copied Saddam

By SUZAN FRASER, Associated Press Writer

ANKARA, Turkey - A 12-year-old died by hanging himself from the ceiling of his home, a hospital said Wednesday, and family members said the boy was copying Saddam Hussein’s execution.

It was the second death of a youngster blamed on televised images of the deposed Iraqi dictator's Dec. 30 execution. 30. A 10-year-old boy in Houston died Sunday by hanging himself from a bunk bed after watching news reports of the execution.
A hospital official in the southeastern province of Mus said Alisen Akti was dead on arrival at a hospital. The boy died of asphyxiation after apparently hanging himself, the official said, speaking on condition of anonymity because she was not authorized to speak to journalists.

Radikal newspaper quoted the boy's father as saying that the youngster had been affected by television images of Saddam's execution.

"What kind of a problem could a 12-year-old have to want to kill himself?" Radikal quoted Esat Akti as saying.

"After watching Saddam's execution he was constantly asking 'How was Saddam killed?' and 'Did he suffer?'" Akti said. "These television images are responsible for my son's death."

The family could not be reached at their home in the village of Sutluce. No one was available at the paramilitary police headquarters, which is responsible for the area.

By SUZAN FRASER, Associated Press Writer

Stop the World- The Clash

The panorama of the city is wrong
in fact the city seems to be gone
burning rubber and smoke in my eyes
there's a flat burning junk heap
for twenty square miles
they took it into the nuclear mine
judging by this, they left nothing behind
down in the bunkers in the crust of the earth
now crouch the wealthy and the noble of birth

if I could a ride a train around the city
that holds this as our fate
I’d hide from electro-circuit central
to the shock inducer gate
not forgetting the by-pass
across the Washington hooks
through the phones and desks and screens
of the Kremlin’s crook of crooks

there's some panel in a circuit board
destination of the override
scanning the wild wind
blowing through the Berlin corridor
spotlight in a palace, shielded from dust
malfunction or not, the failsafe is the crux
so far away from us,
shaking with the mystery tears
one lonely night in Ladbroke grove
far away in the deserts of Omaha
they got it nailed down-Swiss tight
the bank notes of Europe
the emperors and kings
curl in the autumn as the burning of leaves
and I’ve cleaned my black guitar

Pulling Back a Dream

As we begin to uncover the layers of who we are, some strange happenings often occur. This weekend, being true to form, was sort of a montage of strange experiences bundled into a few days. For example, on Saturday I ended up on the kitchen floor throwing a tantrum like a little girl. You may ask, what nearly brought me to my knees and into the fetal position on Saturday night? Readers, I stubbed my baby toe. Now, this wasn’t an ordinary toe stubbing, no, this shocking blitz of pain entered through my baby toe and went up my leg and down the other side. This unprecedented throbbing throughout my foot gradually turned into a great big bruise with a large array of colors represented. I’ve got blue, I’ve got pink, purple, green, and variations of each. One could paint a masterpiece from the color palette on my foot.

However, this shock wave of pain did not deter me from participating in the weekend’s festivities, and like a trooper I soldiered on in my black stiletto boots. The night began with random frou frou shots administered by a lovely bar wench, in full wench gear. With the liquor flowing, the pain in my foot gradually diminished. Naturally, at this point the dance floor was calling my name. I hit the floor with vigor, oblivious to the throbbing in my shoe. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before a sexy-mamma diva threw me against a wall and had her way with me. Yet, I was surprised when it happened, as we were not in gay-friendly establishment and she was quite forceful.

At the end of the night she asked me to leave with her. I was puzzled. Does this really happen in straight venues? Her boldness was stunning, and in that moment, I thought, “Why the hell not?” Other detailed events ensued shortly after, but dear readers, this is not a XXX-rated porn blog site, so I’ll leave my observations to myself.

Eventually, I fell asleep with my head on her stomach, sighing deeply and wondering how this would fit into reality as the sun was coming up. I drifted in and out of sleep for awhile and finally woke up as the sun’s rays burned through my basement window. I rolled over and reached for her, but my bed was empty. I looked over at the floor and there were no signs she had ever been there.

Next time, I’ll know not confuse reality with a dream because morphine will do that to you while you sleep

The Vampires Are Feeding

Strange dreams inspire me. On Saturday night as I slept, I mingled with vampires who were elevating themselves in an industrial building- warehouse district style. I looked on unconcerned and said I had been elevating myself since I was a kid. The vampires existed within the structure, but definitely were not in control. Frankly, I was not impressed. Although I was not a vampire, I wasn't shocked nor intimidated by their presence either.

Art is also inspiring, especially myth, which feels so natural when taken in context.


title- Proserpine
artist-Dante Gabriel Rossetti
style- Pre-Raphaelite
date -1874

Feeling the pull, I wrote this on Sunday morning after my dream.

Ode to Persephone: Queen of the Underworld

a dirty little bitter face reflects the fruit
red bumps on her lips
the seeds bleeding from her eyes
a rotten apple in the hand of a woman
the last rite of the Aphrodite myth
a descent into the hand of a monster
lucid while she lies beside him and shrinks
stuck to the corner as she looked closer
the mirror glittered and the sparkle deepened
she’s been running round’ with these outlaws
to get a sniff, if only a small desire satisfied
perfection at the point of obliteration
lost in the creative cycle batteries still charging
and she craves this and she craves that
witness as it was, the preacher and the nun
pulling the thing till it bled
we said Jesus was a man and Mary caved in
separate traditions carved from the animal bone
sick from the decay we got our sleepy award
still begging us to stay gone

The Irony of Incarnating

This weekend I got the flu, and it got me thinking and dreaming about sickness and bugs and the way these illnesses affect us. What exactly are our bodies saying? And where does the anger stop and healing start? I mean, human beings are in unique position. We move through each day with strength, yet we are fragile and our bodies tell that story.

Our bodies tell the stories of abuse, sickness, tension, anger, stress, fatigue; even so we still can SURVIVE. Survival is the work of the world, thrust upon us when we least expect it. We are expected to survive this.

All of our bodies’ work is symbolic, so it has a girl like me thinking…

What promises have the gods above made to us? I wonder what happens when we break ours. Is that why we’re sick? Vengeance, the definition of tough love, disguised as hatred, it is the name of the game, people. Although I’ve refused to believe, I’m still waiting for destiny to come and tap me on my sleeve. These are the consequences we face.

Spiders Crawling Up My Back

Because they told me I could be a star
Because they told me no one else could do it
Because they told me everyone would love me
Because they told me it wouldn’t hurt too much anyway

If the swelling doesn’t go down
If the red marks aren’t fading
If the sweat makes you sick
If the pavement is too cold

Lay next to me baby
and wait for love to wash it away

Swallowing Tar

I’m on a conveyor belt with a young woman on our hands and knees. She is being held against her will. I am helping her escape from her captors. They have trapped her on this sliding platform and every few minutes the belt slides backward and she swallows. She swallows mud, tar, and all the toxic shit around her. It seeps in, enclosing her in heaviness. I try to save her as the belt moves closer to the rotting mess behind us. I begin to negotiate with her; it will be easy to leave, if she’ll just listen to me. However, I can feel the tar against my feet and I think “I’m going to suffocate, I will die here.” But, in the nick of time, she changes her mind and we jump of the belt on to solid ground and we run. Crossing the empty school yard, we finally pass through the fence and our lungs open up as we breathe.

Obviously, this is a dream. I had this dream in the wee hours of the morning of October 15th. Eventually, my phone rang and snapped me back into reality. But the images from the dream lingered for the rest of the day, the details etched in my brain. I called a friend immediately and relayed it to him, ending with “analyze that Freud”. Although, I realize we are the best interpreters when it comes to our own subconscious. So I got to work, a little self-analysis never hurts.

How many lies have our parents told us? Have they lied to us about God? About death? Have they implanted in our brains various negative beliefs about who we are? Will we spend years untangling this mess? Maybe, may be not. It depends on our willingness to leave the black hole we’ve been festering in for too long. If we hold on to our tragedies, trapping ourselves in their image, we may rob ourselves of our right to become who we are. It’s time to get off the belt and run. Let’s breathe clean air, let’s move to higher ground, and keep it moving. The lies will be discarded along the way. With a clear mind, unpolluted and sharp as a razor, we will rise.