I Shall Dream You and Write You a World

I woke up dream-drunk… my skull full of worlds with walls made of words and wants that demand to be written into a tale. Between my eyelids and sleep, I watched two slick shadow-clad bodies frolicking in a pond that was mostly mud.

Still half-asleep, I reached for a notepad I keep next to my bed, and scribbled the first three lines of this post. I didn’t want to forget the dance… or the mud. And I didn’t. The dream was in my mind as I watered my plants, as I waited for the sun to kiss my grin, as I sipped my passion fruit tea, as I typed these words, thinking, Don’t worry, my muddy sweets, I shall dream you and write you a world. Soon…

Speaking of dreams, writing and other things I love, my passiflora is budding…

my passion-
flower dreams summer
in my hand

…my mango plant, which is proudly bushy, is sprouting new color…

…and this morning, my bean plant woke up flowering.

The world isn’t perfect, my Wicked Luvs. Most of the time, it isn’t even happy. But… if we take a deeper look, if we dare to dream wild dreams, we might just find one thing (or thirteen) that makes us smile (delightfully wicked) for a while.

Real Magic Has Strong Emotions in It (and other real bits)

My grandmother sat at the foot of my bed. She wore her favorite black dress, and a bright red headscarf I had never seen. “That’s nice”, I said, pointing at the headscarf.” She never wore red while she was alive. “It suits you.”

She extended a hand towards me. There was something in it, but I couldn’t see what it was. I sat up in bed, to take a better look. It was a tiny bottle full of red petals. “You should wear it”, she said, smiling. “It suits you.”

I woke up sitting up in bed, looking for my grandmother. She wasn’t there. She has not been around in the flesh for many years. But I got out of bed and searched for the rose petals necklace I got from my friend Yvonne months ago. I wore it. It suits me.

Rose Petals, Lava Beads Pendant, and skull bracelet, by Melancholy and Menace

Emma, mistress of Groovy Gothic, sent me Birds of All Feathers, a children’s book that tells the tale of how a group of birds peacefully resist the “angry twittering twit of a villain [that] invades [their] peaceful apple tree”. She was going to get the book for herself, but since my sweet Emma knew that I was having a rather difficult time dealing with the Orange Infection spreading over the US, she thought the book would be perfect to cheer me up. It was.

Birds of All Feathers, written and illustrated by El Gato Gomez

Once upon a time there was a sheep that gobbled up a bunch of moon daisies that changed her forever. Her name is Mavis. And she has a wicked talkative friend named Stewie. They were crafted to life by my witchy sister, Gina Morley. As of a few days ago, they live with me. Yep, a sheep, a squirrel, and a witch in a New York City apartment. That sounds like a story, doesn’t it? Well, Mavis already has a story, which you can find on Gina’s blog. The package that brought Mavis and Stewie home carried other things—a sprig of rosemary, a perfect-for-me card, a wee spider, and a surprise that I won’t share with you. Some magics must be kept close to the heart.

Mavis and Stewie, by Gina Morley

I fell in love with the painting of a wild-haired warrior, enchanted by her fierce expression and by the fact that we both seem to go braless. When the artist, my friend Robin, learned of my love, she sent the warrior to me. I haven’t given her a proper home on my wall yet. I know where she belongs, but I want to place her there on the morning of the Vernal Equinox. It feels right, for I suspect she and I will start new things with the blooming of spring.

My fierce warrior, by Rasz Art Designs

If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, you’ve already seen my Poem Bits—micro poetry and quotes handwritten on lined paper with the edges torn. Lately the tearing of edges has transferred to my blackout poems, too. The latter began as an accident. I was in a lot of pain… decided to blackout a poem to distract myself… the pain was making my hands shake so much that I ripped the previous blackout when I tried to turn the page. The accident saddened and angered me. But I did not allow it to ruin my day… or one of my favorite blackouts. So, I took a few breaths… made some tea… and proceeded to gently rip all the edges off. When I was done sipping and ripping, I took the teabags—emptied the used leaves—and used the paper to create a background for the blackout. I framed it. I love it.

“I am stories”, accidental mixed media yumminess, by Magaly Guerrero

Can you feel the magic in all of this? The power of believing in a dream? Or of giving to a friend something you love because you feel she needs it more? Or of giving fangs to daisies and a sheep because your friend’s little brother just died, and you want her to smile? Or of presenting a friend with a painted, fierce-faced, wild-haired, non-bra-wearing warrior who reminds you of her (and of you)? Or can you feel the magic that is born when a moment of sadness, anger and frustration is turned on its ugly head until the energy that feeds it becomes something positive you can use to feed yourself, a story you are happy to tell?

If you’ve felt any of the above, my Wicked Luvs, then you have felt magic—the kind of magic I believe in. Real magic feeds flesh and soul. It allows the body to move when pain says stop. It brews fierce smiles and tears. It reminds us we are not alone. It comes loaded with strong emotions, with friends, and other wonders. My real magic tells stories… Can you feel it?