Lucid Therapy

Submerged: sinking deeper beneath the surface.

Engulfed by a raging sea of lukewarm tides rapidly on the rise,

Disoriented by the illusion of a sky moving further from reach

As a ceiling begins a rumbling collapse- showering years of debris;

In limbo, the subconscious floats between lucid and asleep.

Traveling between time and space converts water into a breathable gas

Enhancing the euphoria of flickering kaleidoscope scenes.

Half a second pirouettes consciousness into a velvet-lined, unfamiliar room,

Stark dry as an ode to the fire crackling, parallel to the ocean wall,

Which now rises even higher, in the south, as a translucent portal.

Who is this woman so stoically turned away, with hair-pinned vocals

Rambling lines of poetry as if she were already expecting me?

Nausea, churned by whitewash and the smell of burning wood,

Rejects the undefined truth this faceless woman continues to spew.

Urgently, widened eyes innately scan for the nearest escape

Landing east of the ever-growing flame, upon a door shapeshifting from an old bookcase;

Entirely lucid in this bodysuit, one blink sparks a sudden movement

As awkward fresh, land legs dash toward and through an unknown exit.

Humid, thick air chokes my lungs with the nostalgia of long ago

As the door behind dissipates, and rises southbound, ajar with the clouds

Revealing an empty, late-night street that is victorian yet lacking cobblestone.

Suddenly the random prior settings seem primal to the restored view

Of a run-down childhood forced into tattered leotards and stiff tap shoes;

The spinning within distorts my vision as I blindly gravitate west.

Restored vision reveals Island Dance Academy: the ‘place where it all began.’

It seems to have defied both time and a facelift, looking no more dreamy,

Despite the pale moonlight piercing through a ceiling of absent beams-

Reflecting spectacular rays of light off polished metal, bordered by a white frame.

Heel to toe, no longer timid, I follow the urge to shadow dance fore the mirror

Turning my gaze north I am astonished that my reflection is not my present appearance.

A caged bird; simultaneously my four year old replica, dulled and weak.

Neither fence bound nor grounded, only muzzled by a prolonged, clenched frown.

With dark brown eyes that yearned silently yet pleaded loudly to be set free,

Suddenly the stoic lady's voice echoed long delayed; words sounding like a drum beat.

A rhythm, which only made sense to me and my shadow, pounded from heart to toes

Replacing tension with freedom of expression I danced like I never could,

Energy flowing upward, pulsating nerves enamored with love

Slowly loosen the tightened gates that so long imprisoned the smile of my sweet, inner child.

As the crescent moon began waxing visibly through the dark of night

Boldy, the flinch took flight flickering to and fro, leading little me into the Light.