Jan Lotto Curls was a glorious girl. She was friendly, kind, and knew much of the world. From years of travelling, and lifetimes of studying, she was well above her peers in lifestyle, life and emotional understanding. Jan Lotto Curls had lived many lives, she had reincarnated almost every night, dreaming of being a different individual, entity or being, why, when she ‘became them’ at night in her dreams, she felt their knowledge was her calling.
So she absorbed what she could learn and knew that with this skill she was so very blessed, to be able procure beings’ intelligence. When the method was so uncertain, so unsure, she knew to appreciate the confounded method even more. For all she knew of commencing this learning process was to shut her eyes, relax, and think of nothing more. Then the creatures or people or things would come to her, in her mind’s eye they’d swim, into her eye they’d fill, right to the brim, and if she focused clearly, quite near enough, she could view their inner morals, their character, of which during their own living lives they did share.
Soon, Jan Lotto Curls became well known to the spirit world, for her eager attachments to the passing, fleeting spirits of their world. She did have a distinctive look to be seen, pale complexion, and about her face and upon her head flaming red curls, coiled and healthily gleaming. Thus, it was not hard for the spirits to notice her worldly view, and they understood that she meant no harm, was only, in and of their former lives, passing through, and what their understanding meant to their world, was that she was a curious, intelligent, talented and growing girl. But they prayed she would only retrieve good spirits, for there were many lurking for a specific release date, but currently hiding away.
One night, Jan Lotto Curls was exhausted, and she did not feel like connecting with another spirit, another beautiful soul. She simply wished to fall into sleep, tumbling, tumbling, into the black hole of unconsciousness down she would go. But because she was so exhausted, so very, very tired, her protective guards were not up and as she tumbled she collected something dark on the way on her rolling slumber. It was frightening to experience that feeling, the latching onto her very being, the shuddering that was felt and also to be seen, the crunch as something began gnawing, chewing, biting.
Terrified beyond belief, she tried to swim to the surface of consciousness but she was being held beneath too deeply. She floundered this way and that, frantic arms splashing in the dark murky water of the depths of her distress, and now she heard a booming, low cackling, she shuddered to herself, how could this spirit have make itself aware? To her, she needed to escape as quickly as she possibly could, of this darkened insipid world she needed to disappear, and so she would.
She most felt the spirit tugging at her left leg and right foot, she kicked and kicked and kicked, she needn’t have a closer look, because who would want to view a captor that sounded so dangerously frightening and menacing, she knew the image would be either equally or more than frightening. She slapped his wet face – she assumed it was his face – with her backhand, then gouged his eyes and finally she was free. She kicked to the surface, gladly, so swimmingly, eager to escape, to silence this warped thought of a dream.
And when she reached the fresh air of consciousness she gasped, so lucky she felt she was to be out of there, that down below, that from now on she vowed not to dance with the spirits anymore, to not consort with the spirit world. After all, she had learned much, more than enough, from spirits who were geniuses, writers, engineers, scientists, artists and so on and so forth, she did not need her mind exploding with so many thoughts and understandings of topics presented from spirits such as these. Instead, she would enjoy her nightly sleep, no longer calling upon spirits to alter herself into becoming them for a night so freely, transformation of this method is so special indeed, but she had best leave it in her past and simply enjoy her pleasant nightly dreams.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.