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Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Greek To Me

Keara G. writes:

I'm with my family, and we are floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean. It's nighttime. I look up and the evening sky is AMAZING like I've never seen before in my life. Every constellation is before me at one time, made up of thousands of sparkling stars. Orion! Scorpio! Taurus! The Seven Sisters! Aquarius! Cassiopeia! Pegasus! Wait a second! Pegasus doesn't have a horn! A gleaming horn! That's not a horse! That's a UNICORN! Holy shit! I look around shouting for everyone to look! Look! But I'm alone. I need to get back but can't see shoreline, so I look for the North Star, find it, and swim in the opposite direction. I swim and swim and then finally see the shore. I head for it but have to swim through some serious muck and mire to get there. I feel the ground under my feet and crawl out of the ocean, dirty and covered with mud. I look up, and gaze with wonder at the stars above.


This dream is about the those parts of life that we share collectively with others, as opposed to those parts which are very personal, and about wanting to be like everyone else when, in fact you're not.

You're on an open sea with your family, experiencing the ocean and the night sky. This represents your belief system - and even your hope - that you see things just the way other people do, and experience them in the same way.  But, of course, you DO see things differently. In your mind's eye, the constellation of Pegasus isn't a winged horse, at all, but a unicorn. I'm sure you know that Medieval legend dictates a unicorn (a mythological creature, itself) can only be hunted and captured by a virgin - someone pure of body and mind. Yet, here you are, a married mom who has spotted the elusive creature. What does it mean? It means that you know, in your heart of hearts, that you're really a virgin where it counts, because you have never given in to your true desire: sex with women. 

It's no accident your dream takes place at sea: in life, you have no desire to rock the proverbial boat. What you find, though, is that you're not on a sea-worthy ship, but a raft. Who is ever on a raft on the expansive ocean, but someone who is lost at sea? Your dream is screaming at you that your life as a heterosexual is a virtual Andrea Doria, and that you've reached a point where it's sink or swim.  In other words, this shit is killing you, girl. Luckily, your innate desire to survive, and even to thrive, reminds you that there's a little Diana Nyad inside of all of us, when need be. It's not an easy journey, and finding your way in the dark, murky waters of coming out may seem insurmountable, but the stars are there to guide you. And look at your dream: you not only reach the dry land of Lesbos, but you discover the stars are still there for you to gaze up at and admire.

Swim for your life, girl....your big, old lesbian life. There's dry land once you get there. In fact, there's wall-to-wall carpeting.  And don't be too hard on yourself for taking this long to find out you're actually gay: have you ever really looked at those constellations? They're just crazy, random stars that some Ancient Greek who'd hit the Ouzo pipe once too often decided to assign names and characters to, without real rhyme or reason. Just the way the world decided you were a straight chick, without ever asking you if this was so.  Making heads or tales of that crap ain't easy.


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