I brushed my hair backwards after washing it last night. After years of setting the pinch-short afro to orient forward, while discussing certain events with Dter, I brushed it backwards and set it without realizing what I had done.
My hair usually fights back when I brush it counter to the growth pattern I’ve managed to train it to. (We won’t discuss the cowlick/witchlock.) That vigorous resistance melts immediately once I brush with the growth again.
It didn’t resist last night. My hand was confused as muscle memory tried to brush forward but the lack of resistance meant I was going in the right direction, right?
I didn’t realize what I had done until this morning as I donned my winter hat. Normally pulled on in the same direction as the set afro so not to disturb the waves of curls, the hat met resistance as the now backwards pattern assaulted the rows of knitting.
I was immediately reminded of the completely forgotten dream. I was sitting on the edge of a high cliff, watching the sun rise over an expanse of land I have not explored but was soon to enter. Socheniel stood over me in silence. He had been speaking of new patterns of behavior I would have to learn to adapt.
“How will I know when to change?”
“You’ll know after you have begun.”
“I worry I will not be able to adapt, that I have ossified into rigid patterns that will sabotage me.”
“Some will be harder to change, but you are capable.”
“What if the wounds from the past are too deep? I have to actively take hold of shit that has burned me before.”
“Look at me.” It wasn’t a request but it was odd of him to say. I looked up at the giant form. He turned to face me squarely and removed the tattered blindfold covering his empty eye sockets.
No orbs filled the dry caverns of his face, but no maggots homed there either. The blight left stains in his skin like veins, but the flesh was smooth and healed.
I did not recognize him at first. Did not realize how much I associated him with pain and torment. Did not realize I had never considered that he could change even after all the circumstances that made our paths cross.
“You are capable.” His pronouncement was punctuated by a sudden burst of holy flame upon his brow.
The light illumed his eye sockets and filled the shiny smooth interior. His face has healed and he has adapted.
I believed him and was at peace in his confidence.
As the sun strengthened, its rays started to burn my dream body away. The angel tied the blindfold to his face and faced the rising disc.
“You have already begun to adapt. You are more resilient than you are willing to acknowledge.”
I looked up at him in confusion. My cowlick (witchlock) itched. The sun’s heat dissolved my form and the dream ended.
So here I am, realizing I’ve started a thing under the watch of a full moon, that today’s Noxporium “random” post isn’t as random as I thought, and that the very first thing I did in that “new thing” was something I have been afraid of since my apostasy but I did it as if I’ve done it for years.
My hair is backwards.
And I’m okay.