Creative Bloom | Volume 2: Stories from Artists

Introducing Creative Bloom - our new Hopegrown series where art, nature, and soulful storytelling come together. From magical fiction to poetic reflections, each post is a gentle invitation to let your creativity bloom!

Smirking Black Cats, a Fox-Trotting Specter and a Lesson How to Regain Your Power of Manifestation – Portal 88.

It is night and I lay alone and awake, completing the silent revere of my thoughts. Savoring the comforts of my bed, I quietly watch the bedroom curtains dance softly in the wind by the open window. Something heavy rumbles overhead as the predicted storm rolls darky in. Thunder fuels the building trepidatious nature of the storm, permeating the stillness of the room until even the air feels static with anticipation. In one moment, I felt safe and peaceful alone in my bed, and now, I can’t help but hold my breath for what is yet to come. I have always enjoyed thunderstorms, especially at night, all cozy in bed why the rage of earth battles outside. Why am I afraid now, I do not know, and that frightens me even more. This sudden sense of anxiety has caught me off guard, making me uneasy of the dark void that blooms beyond the window.

My focus becomes heightened by the melody of crickets and frogs, buzzing in a state of apprehension from the meadow. The hissing of insects starts to amplify in the room, making the stillness of the dark invasive on my mind, pulsing like a cankerous sore into my consciousness. The air grows hot, and sticky and I can hear the soft buzzing of a fly hovering around the ceiling. The sound of the fly grows louder and louder, pulsing in rhythm of my now racing heart.

Then suddenly, like a snap of a whip, everything goes silent. My breathing begins to sound shallow, although my heart still races, and I can feel a heaviness soak up through the floorboards, dispensing like a haunting fog that cloaks the entire bedroom in a forever dark.

This stillness feels like numbness, harmony before the break, peace before the storm.

This is a different kind of dark, yet one that I am not unfamiliar with, and it is then that I realize, it is coming, festering with the storm. I can now feel it, smell it, sense it, and I am alone and awake.  

The air then grows so heavy that my body feels static with energy, and although I am still, my mind cannot yield sleep. Wide awake and frustrated, I watch the curtains by the window again. However, unlike before when the curtains were billowing like an eloquent dancer, the raging wind now has them whipping against the windowsill in a chaotic fury. If I wasn’t so terrified, I would find such violence and softness in the throes of a storm to be something romanticized. Like a yearning lover seeking to embrace from the storm, creeping through the window like an invading phantom, translucent and ethereal, soft yet gothic. The lightness of the curtain fabric unyielding from the power of the storm amidst the growing darkness, strength and desire mixed into one.

Transfixed in this wraithlike spell that I have created, my body then stiffens, like a statue. A sleep paralysis is what I have suddenly succumbed to. The only cure is to comfort the mind, coax it into sleep, however, my mind betrays me as ever shuffle, creak and shadow has my anxiety blurring. I cannot ease the tension of my consciousness and therefore am left to be suck in the sleepless purgatory.

Thunder rumbles throughout the sky, shaking the bedroom walls, and if I could, I would have curled my fingers deep into the sheets. Although stuck in paralysis, I am still able to see the night sky from my bed. Not much to add to comfort as it grows as an abyss of complete darkness, yet its nothingness condemns with immense energy. Waiting with bated breath at the unfolding of the storm, I watch the monstrous clouds sheath the world in further obscurity. A prickling sensation courses up my arms, as gooseflesh tickles my skin just as more thunder rolls above, louder now and more terrifying. As thunder grips its stone barrage down upon the house, lightening forks in the sky filling the void of the night, a manic and omniscient display of power.

I feel it, whatever the storm brings, it is coming closer, and soon, it will be coming through the bedroom window, just as I imagined the yearning Specter of the night would. Trying to avoid the building panic of my paralysis, I try to distract my mind by the sudden downpour of rain as it washes down upon the earth. Heavy droplets pleat against the house, like a ticking of a clock, counting down the minutes and then seconds before it comes. I know that it is out there, however, there is so much rain as I stare out in terror that all I can see from my statis on the bed is the blurry shield, a greyish wraithlike hue, like a portal emitting its release through the darkness of the night.

Lighting forks through the sky again followed by thunder and I get another glimpse of the void beyond and its heavy clouds following the raging tempest. The storm is like an entity all its own, it feels unnatural in a way for how dark it truly is. If I could scream, I would.   

My body is still frozen while my mind races, pleading for an escape, and I have nothing else to do but feel trapped.

The earth’s rich moisture fills the room, a strong musk of mirth and grit, but there is another scent, that of moss, cedar….and lavender? It fills the room, suffocating me so I can feel its spores spawn deep into my lungs.

The oak trees outside begin to sway frantically in the wind, cascading menacing shadows against the bedroom walls, and I hear the rain,

“Plunk, Plunk, Plunk…..Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.”

Stuck in my paralysis, my blood chills, as I watch in horror as the shadows from the swaying trees cascading against the wall gather in a murky cloud and manifesting into a darken silhouette. The entity sucks in all the darkness, growing, and forming into a physical presence in the room, and all I can do is silently scream.

Claw like fingertips then begin to poke out from the darkness, then shadowy hands grip the edges of the plaster walls. This Specter of the storm moves slowly out of the void, carefully dragging itself forth from out of the depths of whatever realm from whence it came, like a wraith of the reaper. It enters the room with graceful dominating forcing, shrouded in darkness, it takes shape of a broaden body and standing well over 7 feet. It is of the darkest dark, sucking in all the light, with a chilling fog drifting off its body, it floats towards me, arms sheathed in the sleeves of its cloak, and its face concealed beneath a fogged cowl. I can hear the soft padding of feet, muffled against the carpet as the giant Specter hovers closer over to where I lay on the bed.

“I’m asleep.” I plead, “It is nothing more but a dream.”

Sweat beads across my brows the clouded wraith glides closer. The closer it gets the more I can clearly see the viscosity of its clouded form. A solid mass, but if I were able to reach out a hand I would not be surprised if my hand was sucked into its depths.  I can smell moss, cedar and lavender again, and my sub-consciousness claws frantically at the inside of my mind, desperate to flee in escape from the vessel of my body.

The wraith apparition is before me now, the room growing eerily still as the storm flees in abandon. Suddenly, my whole body feels as if it has just been draped in a cold mist, the chill seeping down into my bones with the scent of moss, cedar and lavender sinking deep into my pores.

Silence crackles in the room as pure terror pulses up my spine as the Specter smiles down at me. Terror evokes me as all I can see are white perilous fangs, almost feline like and glowing beneath the shrouded cowl of the mist.

The Specter kneels next to the bed, and I can feel the weight of its presence dip in the mattress next to me.

“Plunk, Plunk, Plunk…..Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.”

“I’m asleep.” I scream, “I’m asleep. I’m asleep. I’m asleep.”

The Specter’s body ripples, leering now inches away from my face, those feline-like fangs smirking in too large of a smile…..

I jolt up in bed, screaming. My legs and arms are frantically thrashing against the sheets, as I fight to push the Specter away. Lightning ruptures through the sky as thunder shakes down upon the house, and I let out another murderous scream as I flay out of bed, falling hard onto the floor with a cracking thud. Heart pounding in the throat, I scramble onto my hand and knees and scurry over to the corner of the room, furthest away from the bed and the Wraith. However, as soon as my back collides to the solidness of the wall and I am forced to look back at what terror awaits me, I give a gasp of surprise when all I see is an empty room, a tussle of sheets on the floor, and curtains billowing softly in the wind.

Once I have managed to calm myself, splashing cold water on my face and a few deep meditative breaths, I rest back into bed. Welcoming the warmth of my bed with fresh sheets, do I finally feel my body ease, the dream of the Specter now a distant memory. Listening to the low chirping of crickets and frogs with the soft rumbles of the storm, I turn my back to the window and finally allow sleep sooth my consciousness.  

Then I am awake. The bed sheets have slipped off my shoulder, but before I have a chance to readjust, I feel a sudden chill and smell the familiar scent of moss, cedar and lavender. I freeze, feeling the gentle caress of tiny little fox trot fingertips gliding against the bare skin of my shoulder.

It’s back.

Ignoring the pulling force against my back, curling myself further away, I refuse to acknowledge what I know is there watching me. The cooling mist tickles down my arm as I feel the Specter’s presence once again fill the room.

I wait. It watches.

“Go away!” I silently plead as I feel it tugging on the comforter of my bed, “Please, just go away.”

I hear a hushed breath and suddenly my panic dissipates and feel a sense of calm. Although I can still sense this entity, I no longer feel afraid of it. Then there is pressure of a large hand against my back, and I can feel the sheets being pull over above me and tucking in over my shoulder.  

The room starts to feel like it is vibrating as I sense the Specter watching waiting, yet I still refuse to look, then suddenly, everything goes still.

There is silence for a few moments before I start to hear the frogs and the crickets again. However, just when I feel everything has settled, I feel a breath against my ear and a whisper of my name.

The sudden call of my name has me jerking out of bed, frantically reaching for the nightstand lamp. Once my eyes adjust to the yellow glow of the room, I see that I am once again alone. There are no misting shadows, ominous vibrations or 7-foot-tall brooding Specter waiting to greet me with a glowing feline smile. The only thing out of the ordinary that has my senses tingling with a knowing quirk is the alarm clock, flashing 3:33 am; the witching hour.

I slept with the lamp on for the rest of the night after that, didn’t want any more interruptions from Spector fox-trotting caresses.

I woke a few hours later to begin my morning routine of coffee and contemplation. Resting on the patio, listening to the early rise of birdsong, with an oversized throw blanket cocooned around me, I think back to the dream that I had, about a mysterious shrouded Specter, its foggy cowl, feline smile, and tucking me in goodnight. Watching the orange moon fade as the sun slowly began to rise, the sky dusty in pink and grey, I decided to journal my dream. I haven’t written in my journal since we moved back to the Midwest, it was like rekindling with an old friend.  As I wrote about my experience with the Specter a thought suddenly bubbled in my mind,

“Don’t be shrouded by the fear of the unknown…”

My pen hovered over the paper when I realized that I was somehow blocking myself.  

I thought back to my paralysis, and how I was so constricted by my own fear, however, it had occurred before the Specter came into my room. In fact, I could argue that the arrival of the Specter is what broke me out of the immobility. I then began to think of intuitive blocks and how sometimes that can occur when we are battling intense anxiety.

Whatever the Specter was, either a result of a fevered dream or from a vivid nightmare induced by the storm, I felt that its presence benevolent. Why else would it come back to tuck me in and in a way to provide comfort?  Perhaps what I was truly afraid of was not the phantom in the room but my lack of control. My body was in complete paralysis and instantly I panicked. I didn’t give myself time to trust in the instinct in my own body. I was the factor getting in my own way.

Curled up on the patio chair with my coffee, ruminating of this new founding epiphany, I suddenly wished that last night’s vision could have been more direct, when out of the shadows out leaped a black cat. Instantly, I became hyper focused on the cat as it strolled across the parking lot. I could feel something inside of me pulling towards the cat when suddenly the black cat stopped back on its paws and stealthily turned its head, lazily looking up at me on the patio.

Its bright and yellow eyes seemed to glow as it gazed up at me. Gooseflesh prickled across my skin as I felt that familiar sensation of fingers brushing against my bare skin, along with the fresh scent of moss, cedar and lavender. Then as quickly as the cat came, it just as quickly picked itself up and walked away. However, before it turned, I could have sworn I saw it smirk, as if it knew.

That’s when I realized that I now knew too…

If the storm could be visualized of my own intuitive power, then the Specter, was like a spiritual guide to help break me out of paralysis perpetuated by my own fear and anxieties. I looked down at my journal, the same journal that I have used to manifest my dreams and desires, and wondered, why did I stop. Perhaps it’s time I started journaling again, manifesting my dreams into realities again.

As powerful as our intuitive capabilities are, they can sometimes be just as counterproductive in blocking us from reaching our goals. Sometimes anxiety can be misplaced for intuition and if we are not completely in control of a situation become trapped in our own barriers, like stuck in a spiritual paralysis.

There is comfort in knowing what lies ahead. Especially if you are like me and like to plan and prepare for everything. However, it is a valuable life lesson to learn that we cannot plan and prepare for everything that comes our way. I realize this need to control can be crippling. We cannot just go rigid and fear that the things that happen outside our control. In this regard, it falls easy to misplace anxiety for intuition.  However, if we fall into the trap of obsessing over what we fear that we could very manifest that very fear into our realities; as within so without, as above so below, so mote it be.

To help avoid this easy yet difficult trap of the mind, is to be cognitive of replacing those anxious thoughts with more positive ones. Instead of saying, “I can’t do this.” Replace with, “I can do this.” or, “I am doing it.” Like sleep paralysis, once we ease our mind then everything relaxes, and sleep. Once you start providing yourself with positive affirmations, the more positivity you will receive. Think of it as a karmic intuition meter rather than an anxious dissociation fixation.

As I sit and watch the sun rise I revere in the stillness of the morning after the storm, and think to gain true clarity we must find the stillness of our minds, bodies and souls. Wait for what is yet to come, and rest, for what happens will, because whatever is meant for you will always find its way to you.

Like the power of a storm, mysterious auras of Specter’s and black cats, there is the same magic in our hearts. Waiting to be awaken, waiting to be freed. Like the crackling of thunder and the eruption of lightning, this realization can be just as chaotic, but in a good way. Remember, one must learn to take down to rebuild, like the tower.

Whatever the intent of this Specter I believe it was of a good omen, like a guarding shifter for those who cannot contend with the stillness of the night and whom may need encouragement to embrace the fear of the unknown and all its dark mysteries.

I started journaling in the morning, along with my coffee and contemplation, and haven’t suffered from paralysis since.

As within, so without, so mote it be. Remember, you have the power to manifest your reality – portal 88.