Re-awakening Pastel Moons. (Part 1)

…I dreamed of her again last night…
    Who is this raven haired angel in white lace and crimson dress, who persists to haunt my dreams?
So vivid… So intense… She wept over me as she held me in her arms. I was distraught that I could do nothing to ease her sorrow. I could taste the bitterness and resentment of her tears at having to let me go, again… Again?
What is this? I’m not given to these flights of fancy, yet I feel a numbness of being that conflicts with my perceptions of self. This is not me, it’s not who I am.
Who is she? She, who is so familiar, yet never gazed upon by my eyes. This fantasy woman who can bring me such joy and such sorrow in equal abundance? She pains me, she intrigues me, and yet she is unknown to me.
Am I that lonely? That I must create a picture of beauty and perfection within my mind’s eye. A phantasm that feels more real to me than anything else within the confines of my limited physical reality. What is happening to me? I must get a grip or I will surely succumb to the charms of this self-indulgence.


...I saw my psychiatrist today…
      I told him of my dreams and of the intensity with which they hold me captive to my emotions. He laughed at me… the bastard actually laughed at me!
He then persisted to dole out a long string of Freudian clichés to justify his petty interpretation of my night time love. Apparently, I am to believe that she is a sub-conscious representation of my need for companionship, a distraction from my loneliness. Am I truly to believe that she is the key to tearing down the walls and barriers that I have built up around my mind? An expression of my mind state! This Schizophrenia that has long been both my companion and my nemesis, these ‘droplets of insanity’, that seep into my dream-states and now encroach upon my waking mind.
‘No, I will not have it. There is more going on here than I can presently perceive’ I said to him. He told me to start taking my meds or he would institutionalise me and have them force fed to me. I forced a smile and assured him that I would. After all, an ‘Asylum’ by any other name…
I need a way to distract my mind, get me away from my dreams and delusions. And also away from arrogant Doctors who place themselves on pedestals high above us mere mortals and ridicule us when we seek their guidance.
I found such a distraction on a web-site I stumbled upon, while browsing online. I’ve been getting so bored of ‘Myspace’, ‘Facebook’ has become a snooze, despite getting some of my writing up on ‘Poetryshout’. And so quite by accident I discovered ‘Allpoetry.com’. This was just the tonic I needed, although I must confess, I had no idea how addictive it was to become.

        After many days of giving and receiving comments on various works by the many lost souls that inhabit this site, I came across a particular comment on someone’s page. I froze and a shiver played the length of my spine like a skilled pianist. A user ID picture that bore an uncanny resemblance to my dream woman… I sat in stunned silence for a while, unwilling and unable to move for fear of waking up to disappointment and disillusion. Finally, I let go of the breath I didn’t realise I was holding and read aloud her user name ‘Pastel Moons’.  I reached forward, taking the mouse in hand and glided the cursor gracefully to the picture.

...‘See profile’…
        I paused, unsure whether or not I should go on and quickly removed my hand from the mouse.
Dare I?... Should I?... I know I’ll regret it if I don’t, but what will I find if I do?
        Worse case scenario, it’s not her… I feel like an idiot, but nobody knows but me. I like those odds!
        Best case scenario, it is her, I live happily ever after, quell my demons and tell my psychiatrist where to go… get arrested and institutionalised for stalking innocent women on the internet, live out my days, rocking back and forth, dribbling into my lap on lithium or largactyl…
        Note to self ‘Don’t gloat to psychiatrist!’
I reached forward and clicked…
She is a poet, she is a songwriter and she is an artist… Hang on a minute… She could be me… A female reflection of my own psychi…
Okay, stranger things have happened, co-incidence aside, I couldn’t help but feel a moment of trepidation and foreboding at actually viewing her works. I took a deep breath and clicked…


…I had a seizure today…
I roused drowsily from the floor and discovered my nose was bleeding. But something else had happened too, I remember reading her poem ‘If I write’.

'If I write,
willst thou read my adoration
and know that I speak of thee?'

...And I knew, I truly did…
      I continued to read, enthralled by her words, when suddenly I gripped my temples as a searing pain tore through my mind. I tried to stand and collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably as I saw her stood, saying these very words before me. My angel in white lace and crimson dress… and then she was gone. My nose bled as I physically felt a click in my brain, like someone had thrown a switch in my head. The shaking stopped, but the memory had remained and I knew it to be true.

        Over the next couple of days, I continued to read more and more of her works, and although my seizures became less intense, they became more and more frequent. They seemed to be uploading many memories to my mind, that I had previously been unaware of. I felt like I was changing as these new memories battled to intertwine my present memories, and so shift perceptions at the very core of my persona.
Who is she? This Pastle Moons, who writes my dreams in verse?
        Amidst these writes I found a common theme in regard to a character she refers to as the Immortal, this dark creature of the night for whom she longs timelessly. She is awaiting his return and doesn’t even know it. I know with crystal clarity that it is I of whom she writes. I believe she has perceived me as the Immortal to somehow make sense of the half glimpsed memories she feels right at the edge of her sub-conscious mind.
In ‘Lyrical lover’ she writes of desire in a voice of centuries past. In ‘My Immortal’ she calls to me from across the ages. In ‘Transcending death’ she is closer to the truth than she realises.
You see, I have finally realised what is going on, we are known to each other, but not within the confines of this one lifetime. We have met, loved and lost each other so many times over the centuries, that in death we carry a seedling of this love into our next life-time. Forever yearning, but never truly knowing what was. Each time we meet over the ages, we know we are destined to be with one another, but until now, we didn’t know why. The definitive moment I knew this to be true was when I read ‘Abbadon’s Ball’. She writes a fantastical account of a night we shared that I now remember without doubt or abandon. We met at the ball, and a knowing glance passed between us and I knew even then that I must have her. Such flirtatious and uninhibited words passed between us, and I knew that she was the one. So familiar even then, that I knew we had a past history that was unknown to us. That night we made love and it was beautiful.
        The next day, we walked arm in arm through the grounds of the manor that hosted the ball. We picnicked beside the Koi ponds. I rested my head in her lap and she fed me triangular cucumber sandwiches, as made by her own fair hands as we lay beneath the shade of her parousel on a hot summer’s day. I chased her playfully through the long grass and she giggled vivaciously ‘til I caught her and we fell laughing in each other’s arms. We kissed passionately, and were once more consumed with unashamed lust and desire for one another beneath the sun’s gaze. That was three hundred years ago. Oh happy days!

Anyone reading this journal, must by now be thinking ‘Mad man on aisle three’, ‘Go back and see your psychiatrist, you loon’. In any normal circumstances I would agree with you, but things were moving so fast, memories unfolding quicker than I could process and ponder them. You’ve got to remember, nothing like this has ever happened to me before and I need resolution. I mean, it had crossed my mind that maybe I should be fearing for my sanity, so I really should somehow test that which I perceive as truth.
As luck would have it, just such an opportunity presented itself in the form of a contest held by none other than sweet Pastle Moons herself. ‘Unlaced’, basically the concept of the contest was to seduce Pastel with words. I thought on this for a while, when suddenly it hit me like a slap in the face! Why not use the very words I seduced her with, not two hundred years ago? And so I wrote ‘Just one night’ with an ease that even I found eerie. She was overwhelmed and dizzy by it, which in some way lent credence to my sanity. I won gold, and even now wonder if she remembers on some level. ‘Oh Pastel, sweet Pastel, thou art truly my muse’.

I continued to read more of her works including a short story write ‘Love finds a way’. In this piece she not only describes me but calls me by name, Mezziki. And so more memories unfold, not only for me but HER also it seems. I found it interesting to note that on this occasion she perceived me as a ghost. I can only assume that she is also trying to make sense of her visions and dreams. Oh Pastel, if I could but tell you of that which I see… No, it is madness! I need more proof, I need something more tangible than ‘gold in a contest’ and vivid thoughts that I can neither prove nor disprove. I need a challenge…
This challenge presented itself in the form of a ‘Psychic challenge’, as held by sweet Pastel Moons herself once more. It was strange, because on some subliminal level, I felt she had thrown down the gauntlet to me directly. Now I know how egotistical, self-absorbed and self-deluded it may sound, but hear me out. If I’d piqued her interest as I believe I had, would it not follow that she would want me to prove myself? Face a truth that maybe even she was daunted by! And so, I wrote from the heart. I wrote from the thoughts and memories that are even now still processing and intertwining within my mind. I wrote ‘I see you’, in which I speak of her darkness, I speak of past life memory and I speak of our kindred souls. Just enough for her to consider the possibilities, but not too intense as to send her running for the hills. I won gold once more, lending further credence to my sanity.

        I must find a way to help her remember. I must find a way of re-awakening Pastel Moons..................

To be continued........