Siren and the Sea

Such a strange dream. I don’t want to have dreamed it. Most of my strange dreams are interesting and quirky. In this one he was with someone new. Someone that had his attention in that dangerous way. I wasn’t jealous, this isn’t that kind of story. I was afraid for this person. I was afraid, because like me, they had no idea what his intensity meant. They didn’t know that he was looking for a seabed. He would tell them they were the stars that guided him home. He would tell them that they were an anchor to hold him safely in a storm. He would tell them that they were plentiful and wholesome and all that He would ever need. He wouldn’t tell them that he was an ocean, a lifeless poisonous sea that collected acts of love and turned them into dead things to float on his surface, but that he would never really understand or absorb the love. He wouldn’t tell them that he was in search of an island to swallow and consume. But He would make the idea of being consumed by him sound like a vision you always wanted but hadn’t realized.

In reality He was seducing an island with wave after stormy wave and coaxing out all the island’s resources onto the shore to stand exposed and wait for the all consuming storm to begin with adoration and reverence. He wouldn’t tell them that He would storm over their innermost sanctuaries, those places that should only ever be for your own individual safety, until they had nothing left. And He certainly wouldn’t tell them that He would do this knowing that the day would come in which He would cry into his own dead stillness, floating in his decaying waters, and that tears that were only for the loss of a thing He felt he should have, but that He can’t understand or reciprocate authentically. And by those tears he would grow his mass, strengthen his poison, give momentum to his waves….

….In the dream I found familiar pieces of the casualties He had created rotting in surf. And then I saw the new person’s face. And I was stricken. I found their pieces, and I put them together. Legs, and arms, and fingers and sections of torso and a head, and they built a destroyed island. I laid down on the island and let my consciousness travel into that of the new person. I found myself in the new person’s body, being crashed upon by the ocean of poison. Sweat and his taste in a mouth that wasn’t mine but that I was using. He crashed again. And I turned this mouth the inch or two towards his ear. He crashes harder. I gasped in effort to form words around the sea inside this mouth. He crashed again. I say words in a voice like a siren, “I know what you are.” And he comes.

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