Just a dream

[jeanvieve]

Every once in a while my Grandmother Monson shows up in a dream. She is my mother's mother, dead now for nearly twelve years. Mom said once that her mother doesn't show up in her dreams, but I was always the favorite so it was right she should show up in mine.

We were living in some town surrounded by water and many boats. I'm not certain if it was New York or Istanbul - both of them had the broad waterways I can remember while awake. We were witches, she and I, women of power. Mostly. In truth, she was trying to encourage my own skills and powers, as I was still learning for all that I'm physically an adult. I'm afraid of heights, you see, and so flying was proving a real stumbling block. I could get to a certain height or speed, but the effortless skimming of the atmosphere at globe trotting speeds was too much for me.

And its not something you can just explain to someone, flying without fear. You can encourage, you can accompany, and you can even surprise or lure. But unlike all the sports I ever learned painstakingly one muscle movement at a time (because my muscles are particularly stupid and can't take something from a visual to a kinesthetic, darn it) flying is something else again. Over and over we'd go out on well lit nights and soar over the water with white sails below. I was less afraid of flying over water, as somehow the notion of being hurt in the fall is alien where water is concerened while ground has that disturbing solidity to it that I've never really liked.

The other things were so easy. Telekinesis. Pyrokinesis. I could light candles and make things fly around with the best of them. Why couldn't I fly? Why can I never just soar without effort in dreams?

There was hiding during the daytime, in plain sight. Work, school, her teaching swimming as she always did. Hanging out with a coven of wiccans who claimed to be witches but really were in it for the candles and jewelry and chanting. We knew there was nothing to their little charms, but they were happy with them and had no potential to wake to something more. Then, a mother and daughter moved into the neighborhood, showed up at the coven. And I could see that she had magic. A rival, somehow.

I have a feeling I would have flown if she was good at it. Something inside me kicked off into another gear when I looked at her smiling face. No one I knew, a stranger. But a friendly rival, someone to show off for, or be challenged by. Alas, I woke up before I could find out if this was enough motivation. I think the fear would always be there somewhere. But when you do something right once, its imprinted on your body and soul to remember and be able to duplicated. If I'd had one good flight, I could have as many afterwards in the future as I wanted.

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[rantipole6.livejournal.com]

Good game Sunday. I'm adding you to my friends list.