The Dream Battles of Shadows and Betrayals

I could feel and hear the wind whistling past my ears as I hurtled through the wind, a familiar voice called out to me. The woman with wavy blonde hair stood at the top of the marble stairs, the same stairs and layout were reminiscent of the temple from the post The Light Bearers’ Burden: A Spiritual Odyssey, from a vantage point, there she stood. Her crown of wavy blonde curls reminded me of a woman from my past, a woman who once guided me towards a lone, alabaster wolf. This woman, a surreal manifestation in my dreams, seemed to bear cryptic messages, messages that held profound truths that were yet to unravel, her question was in the air, “Do you have your knife?” she asked, her voice a comforting melody. My hand instinctively reached for the knife’s familiar hilt, this lady’s demeanour sparked synchronicity, a delicate link connecting her with my earthly mother. A resemblance, not in appearance, but in essence, and in the conflicting emotions they stirred within me.

Her presence triggered a poignant memory. As a child, I traded my Star Wars battleship for a harmless switchblade comb and a golden harmonica. Despite my mother’s unusual affinity for the dark side, unaware she stood towering over me on the porchway with the golden sun enlightening the backdrop of her hair, whilst surprisingly supporting my decision, “Make sure you don’t lose that“.

The switchblade comb was a fond symbol of my rebellious youth, a beacon amid the confusion sowed by my mother’s unpredictable nature. But the knife I reached, for now, was different. It wasn’t a novelty item, but a symbol of self-defence, an extension of my resolve, it was a knife, an elegant pearl-handled hand knife with gold trimmings and a gleaming platinum blade.

The woman’s mysterious knowledge of my knife, her kindness, and the golden sunlight that illuminated her brought back memories of that summer day with my mother. Was this a coincidence or a piece of a larger puzzle? The woman resonated with my understanding of a light bearer, a supporter. My journey continued with her question echoing in my mind.

Soon, I stood before a rocky cavern housing four white plinths, There were two males and two females in total, each adorned in white tunics. The man from the dream hoodwinked in the night was also on one of the plinths. His betrayal had not been a random act of deceit; it was a forewarning, a coded message that was now starting to make sense. He had spoken of the perils of my chosen path, hinting at the trials and tribulations I would face. His prediction had come to fruition, the dream realm had manifested those trials and tribulations, and his disguise was no more. His facade had been stripped bare, revealing the agent of negativity he was.

The same man who had warned me of the path I was treading, “If you continue down this path, they will use everything against you.” His words, once cryptic, now made sense. His betrayal was a manifestation of his warning – a construct of negativity that he himself had created.

Each of these individuals was trapped on their pedestals with nowhere to run, a mere step off their plinth would send them plummeting into an abyss. I approached, to reach them I instinctively jumped whilst empowered by flight, as I hovered above them the laughter of the betrayer echoed around me, a desperate attempt to belittle me. His laughter fuelled my resolve; it was my turn to act.

I now realised why I had been furnished with a knife, with swift precision, I drew upon the power of my knife, cutting through their pretence and arrogance. The satisfaction didn’t lie in the act itself but in the justice, it delivered, a catharsis from the root of the corruption that had infected me. But this was just one of many battles I was destined to face.

Another adversary appeared, not as an angelic being, but as a regular human, albeit corrupted. As I faced him, I felt the balance of fairness should be maintained. With a long sword raised, I offered him time to prepare, wishing for an honourable fight. He refused, charging at me with ignorance for armour. I disarmed him with one swift sweep of my sword severing his right hand, an act echoing an ancient ritual of power removal, disarming his ignorance just as he had once stripped me of my dignity. He was left clutching his bleeding wrist, repeating in shock, “My hand, my hand.” I withheld my blade, allowing him a moment of realisation, a mirror reflecting his wrongdoings.

Lastly, I found myself embroiled in an unexpected confrontation with a shadow figure resembling my biological brother. Encircled by an audience in the darkness, I was left to fend off his aggressive advances. I tried to dissuade him, saying, “You don’t have to do this!” but he was relentless.

Anticipating his charge, I spun, executing a 360-degree turn and delivered a powerful backhand punch that connected with a resounding thud. The force was so potent that it felt like the world turning on its axis and with the momentum behind it. The punch sent him crashing to the ground with a sickening crack, a sight so disturbing that a woman beside me exclaimed, “Ewwwww, look at his head, bits of brains are on the floor.” Although this wasn’t a fight for revenge, it was a battle for my own defence, a necessity against the betrayal embodied by the shadowy figure of my brother.

The dream realms are a vast ocean of uncharted territory, where a different kind of truth unfolds, a truth that stems from the depths of my subconscious. My dreams are battlegrounds where I grapple with the spectres of my past, those that wear the faces of loved ones and those who cloak themselves in false righteousness.

The dream battles served as arenas where I confronted the manifestations of my problems. The white-clad figures, the man with the severed hand, the shadowy version of my brother – they were all different facets of the issues that plagued me. I fought them one by one, with the symbolic knife of my resolve and the long sword of justice. The battlegrounds shifted, but my resolve remained unwavering.

Each confrontation had its own lessons. They were an integral part of the healing process, allowing me to channel my anger and disappointment towards resolution rather than regret. The actions of the man who forewarned me, who then betrayed me, held a mirror to the dichotomy of human nature, the potential for kindness and deceit. His transformation from a guide to a detractor was a harsh reminder of the ever-present duality in my life.

The battles were not for vengeance but for justice, a way to rectify the wrongs that had been inflicted upon me, to cleanse the corruption that had seeped into my life. I was slowly cutting away at the problems, dealing with them in person, at the root, no longer allowing them to fester and grow.

My earthly mother’s random acts of kindness, the confusing duality of her nature, mirrored the experiences in the dream realm. These experiences added another dimension to my understanding of her. She resembled, for a short while, the woman on the stairs – a beacon of support and positivity.

Even as the battles raged on, I couldn’t help but wonder about the interconnection of these dreams with my waking life. Were these dreams isolated phenomena, or were they interwoven with my reality? Could dreams be shared consciously? These questions hung in the air, adding to the enigma that is the human subconscious. Only time would tell if these battles remained within the realm of dreams, or if they would transition into my waking reality, bringing me face-to-face with those I had once called loved ones.

Further Reading:

Severed Hands Discovered in Ancient Egypt Palace

How Writing Changed the World

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