Dancing in the Storm

Before my tired eyes open, I feel a rumbling beneath me, shaking me, disturbing my fitful dream. It sounds like heavy hammering, God pounding on the Earth’s foundations, beating the stubborn core into correction.

After the rumbling, I listen to the silence, straining my ears to hear, to listen, in a vain attempt to gauge distance. Does the storm come or go?  Will it build or evaporate?  Have I already felt the brunt?  Or is the storm coming and I have yet to experience the wind, the rain, brilliant flashes of lightning and pounding peals of thunder?

There’s a thrill in the storm, an excitement of the unknown, and an erotic flirtation with danger. The natural instinct is to seek shelter, to hide in a place of safety and warmth until the storm passes.  But I find myself drawn to it like a magnet.  Something inside; something beaten, broken, and bent stirs from her slumber.  She’s a wretched thing, almost unrecognizable, covered in the black filth of despair and dejection.  She awakens, lifts her pitiful head and stares at me with haunted eyes. 

I try to fight her.  I try to keep her submissive.  I try to stop her from taking control, because she’s pure rage, pure anger and pure destruction.  Many times she has wreaked havoc, destroying what I’ve worked so hard to build, causing many of the beautiful dreams I’ve created to evaporate in a swirling mist of chaos.

A flash of lightning fills the room, causing even my closed eyes to see.  I hold my breath.  I wait.  I know the boom of thunder is soon to follow.  My inner wraith stands, holds out her arms and waits to embrace its roar.  I feel it coming. It starts out in a low grumble, then builds and grows and increases until it’s so loud, so strong and so close the bed shakes, the windows vibrate in their panes, and the walls shudder. 

But my wraith, oh, my wraith dances.  She lifts her arms above her head and begins bending her wrists, extending her fingers, rolling her shoulders, swaying her back, moving her hips, and stomping her feet in the puddles, spinning in circles.  She feeds off the storm, letting its energy fill her and surge through her body.

The rain falls.  First a small tapping, followed by a pounding deluge.  My wraith screams as the cool water washes over her and rivers of black snake away from her, diluting and fading as it mixes with pooling water.  Various shades of gray emerge beneath the outer filth, yet she continues to dance, continues to scream, and continues to shake in fear. 

The storm rages, the wind howls, the rain beats upon the side of the house and against the window pane, lightning strikes and the thunder roars while my wraith dances. I want her stop and seek refuge, yet I’m also excited by her lack of fear in the face of the storm, her ability to dance amongst the elements that destroy her.  She fades.  Each drop of rain carries another part of her away, diluting her, yet she continues to dance.

I cannot watch any longer, yet I cannot stop.  Instead, I curl into a ball, place my hands over my ears to muffle as much of the storm as possible, and then allow myself to drift back into another dream. I know she will return again.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray