It didn’t start in New Orleans but it followed me home. Two of them: black and white. And the dreams of them were awful. One I choked and one I yelled at. You can’t say for certain who you are, or were, in a past life. You can’t say anything for certain. That’s what I told the psychiatrist. He said
“It sounds confusing.”
No one ever held me anywhere for long. I was breaking out of everything; talking myself in and out of prison. I had nothing to do with the two witches’ fight. My brother warned me as a child
“You can’t be so trusting, lion, people will hurt you.”
I was a sweet milky flower.
“Don’t be so naive.”
I am a walking torch.
“You’ve opened too many portals.”
I was doomed.
When the first witch came, I was sleeping in bed with a friend in a New Orleans hotel room. I felt her enter before I had the vision. Me, sitting up and my mouth suddenly blowing black smoke that turned into bats.
I told her, “I can’t help you, you’re already dead.”
Then she approached in her form: old and white and I grabbed her by the neck and choked her. I woke up terrified to tell my friend my dream. I slept unsoundly. I had seen my face in a mirror pouring black bats. There was no mirror on the dresser in front of me.
When the black witch came, she was a little mad but I wasn’t sure why. I was sleeping in my bed. It was around Valentine’s Day, 2018. The same friend was there in my bed, we are close, like sisters. The black witch came and cornered me in my own bathroom. I realize now, we were confused. I was yelling at her. She was yelling at me. Sometimes I just saw names. Lists of names. Google found a family dead in the midwest with those names. A black family. I also realize now I didn’t look in the mirror.
“I can’t help you, you’re already dead.”
They always show me The High Priestess and the other dream I wore a bat on my wrist.
“Be careful with that,” a strange woman said to me. “I serve Lucifer.”
In the dream, we were underground. I was attending “witch school.” A woman who shared my same birthday told me we talk with our fingers like this and she held them up and twisted them, the way I had done my whole life with the straw. You were there, and this was when I was dead set on meeting your eye. You were talking to two black women and frowning and I was talking to two white women.
I should have never been in the middle of the war. I’m neutral. I’m not from here but they both found me and both begged to tell their stories. One night, I snapped
“And you think it’s ok to disguise yourselves as ONE child that follows me everywhere and whisper your fucking story while I am trying to keep it together?!”
We had covered the mirrors. I don’t know what the fuck has happened to me. That’s where I should have started.
I calmly tell my therapist, “I am ready for hypnosis.”
“the act of naming things”