Dreamed 2018/1/8 by Wayan
I work on three furry dreams for the World Dream Bank: first Werecat Syndrome, then two mystical dreams apparently inspired by the kids' TV show "My Little Pony": Equestrian Nunavut and Friend-Ring.
All three dreams seem to be mulling over my family's funny mix of autism, giftedness and second sight. Tell my friend Cory "This gets as confusing as the interplay between, say, race, gender & sexual orientation."
Cory objects to one of the three. "I wish you wouldn't call yourself autistic. On the spectrum maybe, but you're not AUTISTIC..." Last week my friend Catshall said much the same. Trouble is... the DSM-IV's formal definition of the syndrome disagrees! I'm well past the clinical threshold. Surprised me just how profound my sensory & cognitive differences are. I think the dreams explain why my friends are so skeptical--a freak IQ and strong intuition helped mask the severity of my autism. It's nice (I guess) they see me as a non-mess. Still, getting this reaction from friends... imagine coming out of the closet only to hear your friends say "Oh you're not QUEER, you're just sensitive..."
I get drafted into a college class by a woman with such an aura of kind intelligence I just can't say no. She's small, and awfully young to be teaching advanced magic, but she knows her stuff, and man, you can feel the power.
Her pitch to me was simple. "I'm assembling a class of magic students. Mostly grads; they'll have degrees, training, structures, spells, and names for it that you don't. But you have just as much power--it's just wild magic, uncontrollable by spells. I want you and one or two others not just for yourselves but to represent that other magic."
"Well... I'm skeptical I have much magic--just a trace of second sight that runs in the family. But sensing isn't DOING; eyes aren't hands."
She says "I can prove you belong! Here we are at a henge-gate..." So we are. A looming dolmen leads into a roofless stone pavilion with a circular floor and rising ring-bleachers--not large, seating maybe fifty, tops. No one else here yet. "Try this test. Will the circle welcome you? Poke at it without preparing, NOW." I do. Between the standing stones, the air goes rubbery, resisting. I can't walk in.
"Now greet the gate. Hands up, palms to me and the gate; separate 'em as if pulling a horizonal thread between 'em; that'll create a glowing fuchsia or magenta line midair. Then pull down as if unrolling a windowblind. Wild magic will manifest a sort of sheet shining magenta on its outer face, even if you can't see it, and if the gate likes your magic, it'll let you in."
I try it. She's right. I can't see any resulting glow directly, except a hint around the edges of a transparent rectangle, but I can see the rosy light reflect on HER. It worked! A sheet of light!
And the air relaxes. The gate lets me in. I CAN do magic.
The class assembles on a street curb, straggling along for yards. I'm excited to be in the group, even if I'm different. Not just magically--I'm naked, shivering, my only blankets some rubbery kitchen pads/trivets with swiss-cheese holes. Not enough in winter. And embarrassing since, despite the cold, I have an erection.
Why? Well, I'm seated by two cute witches, one in her twenties, one in her teens. Surprisingly, they don't seem to mind that I'm naked, erect, or radiating wild magic without the slightest control (like smoking without permission!) Still, I feel shy, like I don't deserve to be here. I don't talk much.
Finally the teacher comes along and says, amused but impatient, "Chris, quit hiding. You four, work together!" Me, the two girls I like and a black guy with the open aura of a werewolf, not a wizard. His magic's not totally wild/unpredictable like mine, but at least it's furry nature-magic; I trust him more than the other guys here with their spells (and notions of control). I'm relieved; the teacher put me in the right group.
The others brought gifts, it's a tradition I didn't know. Twentyish Girl brought more kitchen ware--more rubbery swiss-cheesy mats! She noticed I use them as blankets and thought more'd be useful! Kind of her. I drape them on... Still not warm but better.
Our first group exercise: assemble a suite of old sepia drawings--wolves, witches, weird wizardy glyphs and sigils--into a scroll that'll come alive magically, be a script that'll lure US into its plot... of fusing in a half-sexual, half-magical orgy! Not just fun--we'll come out with bits of our lovers' mojo; a little witch, a little werewolf...
Maybe even those wizard boys will learn a bit of wildness.
The other groups sketch away. From their talk, they're focusing on plot and character and magical technology; I don't worry about those. I don't think we need to; the drawings are so lively I just aim for a good overall pattern and feel. To fit together on a scroll, the sketches must flow together mostly vertically, without 'ears' sticking too far to either side. Arranged right, they'll work both as a paper scroll--the traditional wizard way--AND online, as one big web page you just scroll down, like my recent dream-comix.
At last, I think I get all the scenes to fit and flow...
I feel a rush of joy. This scroll, this orgy, this class--things are WORKING. Working at last.
NOTES IN THE MORNING
That'd be silly.
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