I had an odd dream last night. I dreamt that I looked into my bedroom mirror and instead of seeing a monotonous reflection of my face, I saw a panther instead, with its teeth bared. I felt that I had a tail, which I whipped from side to side subconsciously. My eyes were green emeralds and my pupils were dilated. My black whiskers were thick as rope but sensitive as silk threads. And my fangs were sharp enough to slice through the meaty flesh of a wild animal. It was, in a way, incredibly empowering to see myself as a beast. Imagine being a panther. You have no natural predators (except for man), no need to wear makeup or shave or stress about self-image or compare yourself to the distorted standards of society. A panther is free and powerful (at least, that's what my dream dictionary told me). Maybe, for the first time in a long while, I feel free.
The truth is that, somewhere along the way from adolescence to adulthood, I lost my power. I lost my grip on the power that I possessed and I handed it over to crooks, criminals, backstabbers, and liars. I left my heart out on a pedestal to be butchered by people who were as reckless as tornadoes. My power was not only ripped from the palm of my hands... it was also savagely teased and tormented. It was seduced and cornered into a vase with an opening the size of a pinhole. My power bled and left scabs on the walls of my dignity (am I a good person at all? It left me second-guessing myself, I was never certain, I was never honest). And as a wilted, defeated cripple, I used the tips of my fingernails to move from place to place. Instead of strutting, I crawled. Instead of taking pride in myself, I dragged my knees across the rug and suffered. In the mirror I saw a beautifully miserable shell wrapped around a hollow persona- a rodent in disguise, a pest, a shameful serf not good enough for a life of peasantry. A mop of blonde hair atop a disconnected torso. This is what powerlessness felt like.
As a powerful black panther, I begin to enjoy life. I no longer have a faulty desire for redemption, as I have nothing to be guilty for in the first place. I enjoy midnight walks and passion and the taste of provocation. In my dream, I grabbed power. There is no other way to gain power than to simply take it. I felt it rush through my veins and I woke up with the blissful feeling of complete satisfaction (you know that split second emotion...the one where you forget about your anxiety and paranoia and death and outer space and the job market...and you breathe in and out and you are so happy that you could just fly?). So, here I am. A self-proclaimed panther with the claws of a gargoyle, the heart of a saint, and the pride of a queen. I feel alive and it feels good. Most importantly, I feel again.
The truth is that, somewhere along the way from adolescence to adulthood, I lost my power. I lost my grip on the power that I possessed and I handed it over to crooks, criminals, backstabbers, and liars. I left my heart out on a pedestal to be butchered by people who were as reckless as tornadoes. My power was not only ripped from the palm of my hands... it was also savagely teased and tormented. It was seduced and cornered into a vase with an opening the size of a pinhole. My power bled and left scabs on the walls of my dignity (am I a good person at all? It left me second-guessing myself, I was never certain, I was never honest). And as a wilted, defeated cripple, I used the tips of my fingernails to move from place to place. Instead of strutting, I crawled. Instead of taking pride in myself, I dragged my knees across the rug and suffered. In the mirror I saw a beautifully miserable shell wrapped around a hollow persona- a rodent in disguise, a pest, a shameful serf not good enough for a life of peasantry. A mop of blonde hair atop a disconnected torso. This is what powerlessness felt like.
As a powerful black panther, I begin to enjoy life. I no longer have a faulty desire for redemption, as I have nothing to be guilty for in the first place. I enjoy midnight walks and passion and the taste of provocation. In my dream, I grabbed power. There is no other way to gain power than to simply take it. I felt it rush through my veins and I woke up with the blissful feeling of complete satisfaction (you know that split second emotion...the one where you forget about your anxiety and paranoia and death and outer space and the job market...and you breathe in and out and you are so happy that you could just fly?). So, here I am. A self-proclaimed panther with the claws of a gargoyle, the heart of a saint, and the pride of a queen. I feel alive and it feels good. Most importantly, I feel again.
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