The ReiQueer Pod Episode #7 - My First Prophetic Dream

Dreams are a language that I think I’ll spend my whole life luxuriating in the failure to understand. They are one of humankind’s most delicious mysteries, and further, intangible proof of the magic of the spirit. 

When the 2020 lockdown was announced, I was having a lavender summer. So many glimmering moments of wind on our skin, knees of ache and ash, letting us fly as we biked around the Toronto smog. This was the summer of building fires (only like 4 of them stamped out by the cops), peeing in your swimsuit, and heaving, heavy belly laughs by the water as the sky bled and bled and bled. 

There was an enchantment, a magic that illuminated and eroticised the July of my mid-twenty-something life. I woke up with it, and in the night, with nowhere to go, it coiled itself inside of me, and stained the fabric of my dreamscape. 

2020 was the summer of the night terrors. When I could feel and see too much, and shadows would peel themselves off of the wall to loom over me, when I would ask my angels to stand at the foot of my bed, and would soothe myself to invisible whispers of sleep child, shh by the many hands and many ghosts of my great grandmothers kin.

It was a freaky, ass time, okay?

In episode 7 of the pod, I share about the terrain of my dreams and the sharpness that both scarred and sanctified me. 

I think there’s something to be said here about the divine nature of true happiness, and the concurrent truth that all things must live in tandem with its opposition. Because my capacity for joy extended so much and around me, my energy felt like an unstoppable comet of energy, unable to be redirected and thus attractive to all things - the light and all that tries to consume it. 

We’re all experts, in a way, at time travel. Don’t you think?

Until next time,

Chloe, The ReiQueer