Disturbing Dreamsâ€” the Human Witch Bottle
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree Ebb and Flow.
I donâ€™t have bad dreams often. Not any more. I used to, all the time. But in the past couple of years, since Iâ€™ve been on my own, I can think of Â only 2 of 3 times Iâ€™ve awakened Â from Â a Â dream Â that Â would Â not
let Â me Â sleep again. Â When Â they Â happens, Â they Â tend Â to Â be warning dreams.
Mostly about dating. Hah.
As in, donâ€™t bother with this man or that man because heâ€™ll silence you or heâ€™ll hurt you when youâ€™re not looking. Those men tend to be more wolf-life and dominant.
I always listen to those dreams. And I donâ€™t explain to any man that the answer is no because in my dream, he had blood on his lips and chin.
Last night, I woke from a dream that kept me fretful for the rest of Â the night. I wonâ€™t be terribly specific be- cause it was…disturbing. Â But Iâ€™ll Â probably be more specific than will allow me to sleep well tonight.
I wasâ€”more or lessâ€”a human witch bottle. A witch bottle is used to make someone go away. A witch fills a small bottle with rusty nails, pins, urine, blood, etc. Then itâ€™s placed near the person you want to go away. (If thatâ€™s a husband who watches TV all the time, put it under his TV chairâ€”not under his bed!) In my dream, I was turned into a witch bottle to make people I care for or may one day care for go away.
In my dream, I had befriendedâ€”or allowed myself to become Â friends Â withâ€”severalÂ Â women Â and Â their Â male friends. I didnâ€™t know any of them in my waking world. They were all like caricatures of TV stars. People I knew from my past, but in some other form I didnâ€™t recognize. But they didnâ€™t look the same as when theyâ€™d been adversaries, so I let them into my life and immediately Â their
covert activities started. At some point, they got a little too close physically, Â on a very personal Â level that would never happen in real life. I decided to grit my teeth and allow it in this dream, though. In the name of friendship.
On a metaphysical Â level, I allowed them to get way too close to me. Yet, they assured me all was well and I was fine and they were my Â friends. Â The proximity Â was unbearable but Â I dealtÂ with their up-close Â analysis Â and questions and prodding as if it were torture and it eventually seemed to be over and I broke away and I went along on my way.
One of their associates cornered me later and gleefully informed me Â of what theyâ€™d done, of how I hadnâ€™t left them unscathed. Hadnâ€™t I noticed?
Then, for the first time, I did notice. Not nails stuck into my skin, but coming out of my pours like porcupine quills.
Alarmed, I began to pull them carefully out. They didnâ€™t hurt me but I was aware that if anyone got too close, theyâ€™d be in danger of being harmed by these sharp nails.
The Â man Â who Â frequents Â my Â dreamsâ€”theÂ Â oh-so- fascinating oneâ€”appeared Â at my side and I shoved him away, fearing an innocent and friendly hug would do him harm. But he understood. Â He was there to help, wanted to help. He had a little black satchel with herbs inside and salves and medical tools. He insisted on helping me and I kept shoving him away with his black bag.
It wasnâ€™t that I didnâ€™t want his help or that I thought he couldnâ€™t tend my wounds, but I didnâ€™t want him to get hurt in the process. And I knew that one way or another, he would. He regarded me as a booby trap but worth the risk to help. I was the one who refused to let him come to Â harm. So he left his satchel Â for my use and backed away a little and let me tend my own wounds.
I worked the rusty nails out, one at a time, very carefully. Letting them penetrate my skin from the inside and work their way out until I could twist the nail heads just so and remove the offending shards.
The people whoâ€™d done this to me were long gone by this time, and I was actually less concerned Â with finding them and bringing them to justice or wreaking vengeance than I was with the surprise that these sharpnesses Â were just under my skin and waiting to tear apart the first man to touch me. I was intent on ridding myself of them, no matter how much it hurt. So that I could be loved again.
I woke Â several Â times Â during Â this Â dream-process. Â At some point, I dozed, sensing myself in a dream where I was napping, recuperating from my wounds, and the man in Â my Â dreams, Â while Â not Â touching Â me Â orÂ Â using Â his satchelâ€™s contents to help me, stayed by my side, simply watching and concerned.
Even through the course of other dreams last night, I still felt him there, watching.