A dream about pain, release, and retribution

I never really thought about “how” a dream start, I simply never really stopped to think about it. I know however how it happened for the past night one. This time, in fact, I woke up remembering it all. It all started with flashes, it was like watching an old movie. Thinking about it, right now, the best description I could give it so say that it started with me being a spectator sitting in an old cinema. It had the same kind of magic, as if my subconscious mind were suggesting me that I was going to experience something special, intense, magical. So, yes, it was that kind of magic we feel moments before the movie starts: the heart beating faster, the lights dimming, the squeaking of the old wooden chairs caused by our getting comfortable, the smell of the past and that sensation the unknown in front of soon going to be revealed. Yes, describing how the dream of past weekend started for me was very much like that, and even more so because the true start of the dream came with images forming in my mind in same way. At first all became white, and then flashing images started appearing, projected in the canvas at the end of the room of my brain. One image, then the big white, the film rotated some more, then, another image and another, with the interval between images getting shorter and shorter, till it became a continuum. Till I left my chair, and became part of it. 

When it happened I was in pain, a deep pain, a deaf pain, a pain so silent and deep to have me paralysed, to have me with no escape, and unable to tear, unable to grasp on the black walls on the well where I was, unable to dig the nails on that well to make it bleed, and climb out. It didn’t take me more than the time I needed to close my eyes, to know the reason of that pain. It was a loss. It was the awareness of the solitude that it would have meant in my future life, it was the realisation of a chasm that opened in front of me, in this life, between me, and my mother.
She was gone.
Would she be ok? Was her last breath a silent tear, or rather a ripping of her heart?

Black, black black, and no tears, why was I not able to cry? The world around me continued to turn, to move, to make noise. It was as it should have been, but I couldn’t find peace, and I could not cry. I know why I could not cry. The same thing happened to me already, it happened to me after an accident, when I was 18. It left me tearless, for two years. My mother deserved my tears, my emotions becoming liquid pearls. I don’t know why I dreamed that, but in my dream I could not let it be like that. Not this time. Not two years, no silence, not for my mother, no. 

Down there, with my naked feet and my naked body in the mud of the black well I had to do something. 

Dreams are like that. 

I knew what I needed, I needed pain, I needed pain, and it would have to be holy pain, it would have to holy pain. Pain, pain pain as much as I could endure. Holy pain, pain till my tears would have surrendered and they would have surfaced again, from my stupid eyes unable to cry. 

I knew who I needed. I knew who would have understood that. I knew who would have not considered me totally insane, who would have not stopped me, and who would have understood my need, who would have listened to my begging, who would have understood what it meant, the  holiness of it, and how there was nothing in the world that could have been more sacred and no act of love, to my Mother, and to Her, that this. Than my plea. 

And so, it happened. I summoned Her.
She came to me.
She didn’t smile, no, no smile, She didn’t try to convince me not, to teach me how. She stood in front of me, I raised my face, while the most silent and greatest of pains was clinging on me and suffocating my heart like a black ivy draining my very soul.
Naked, completely naked I reached for the center of what seemed like a dungeon, but I should rather call “Church”. In there I offered myself and I begged to be blessed with pain. I got whipped, from right to left, diagonally, left and right of shoulders, then down, then to the back of my thighs. I felt the pain and the tears filling the room, filling me, Her, the walls, the air. It became rage, whispers, moans, laments, sweat, and burning pain, swelling, and then, it happened. She came closer, put her gloved hand over my head and bent it back to face Her. It was at that point that my eyes filled with tears, the image of the beautiful exhausted Her became blurred, blurred from the tears they were “Lacrimae rerum quae afficiunt mentem et animas mortalia” {the tears-of-all-things, touching the mind and souls of mortals}.

The tears of all things, all together, flooding me, from head to toes, North to South, East to West.
Tears, tears, tears and feeling loved and feeling capable to love, to reach, to suffer, to be near to those I love and feeling found, and the awareness I will never be alone, and do will be them.
I fell, I fell on the floor, and the time for kisses came.

No words,
Kisses,
Kisses and tears.
Kisses and tears.

This is how I woke up. 

As for “Her” – She is “my” SHE.
She is Dominea Bethany Ann. My submission belongs to Her, such as my total truth, and the bonding Love w/We share. She has me, She just “HAS” me.
To Her, i proudly kneel