Dreaming of Pan....

Someone this morning sent me a message which said, "Keep calm. Your satyr is coming." I had to laugh and then I remembered this piece which I had written up a while ago, but hadn't posted yet. Today seems a good day for it if you believe in portents and signs the way that I do. And be forewarned, I will be posting these journal entries from time to time. Some of them are very personal and give a little insight into inspirations or where my head space was at while writing the stories. I suppose they're very telling of my own unique psychopathology, but I'll let you be the judge of that.

From the private journal of Scarlett Amaris - April 29th, 2013, Montsegur:

I took a long walk through the forests this morning trying to shake myself from this dream and yet I found myself not wanting to let it go at the same time. Even though it's the end of April, it's started to snow again. I hate the cold and my feet are still frozen as I type this, but there's something pure and magical when the world lies within an unbroken carpet of white. There's a stillness which filters down to nothing, save my frozen breath against the wind. I love these moments when it's so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat and nothing else exists. Not for the moment. For the moment everything is crystal clear and the ghosts of my life give rise within the playground of my mind.

The dream...

I dreamed of you again last night. I was on a bus heading across the border from lands unknown. I fell asleep in the dream, and was jolted awake by the shifting of the gears in the old bus. I looked out the window and saw a dusty, tumbleweed strewn town straight out of a spaghetti western. The bus stopped at a hotel which was a light pink stucco and had cactuses painted on the outside faded from the relentless sun. There was an unseen mariachi band playing an upbeat, yet mournful tune in the distance which said all there was to be said about the place. I walked through a large group of tourists who were milling about the courtyard to the cool inner hallway that led to my room. As I dug in my purse looking for the hotel key, you appeared as dashing as ever. A part of me in the dream knew you were dead and had been so for quite some time and yet, there you were, even though you were much younger than when you passed on. You asked me how I'd been and I couldn't stop staring at your handsome face. The sound of your gravelly voice sent shivers down my spine--reminding me of endless sweaty nights wrapped in your embrace, and what it was like to feel safe again. Your heart may never have been on offer, and you were always your own man, but there was a certain amount of solace to be had from our encounters. Maybe because we both knew they would never last. Standing in the dimly lit hallway I told you about the new book, about 'Saurimonde', and that it was hard and full of sex and you would probably love parts of it. You laughed and said that you always loved hard sex. Then you grabbed from behind, wrapping your arms around me and you growled you were proud of me before biting me on the back of the neck in the secret spot that only you knew. I felt my knees go weak, along with my will. It was as if you knew I'd written the character of Pan based on you. He has all of your sweetness and sexiness, and little of your rock star swagger. I wanted to stay there in your embrace. I wanted it to be real, but even within the dream, I knew it was a dream. I breathed you in and leaned back into your warmth. You whispered against my flesh that I still owed you a naked ritual exorcism. I laughed and protested there hadn't been time yet. And then you were gone. You vanished as quickly as you arrived and without so much as a whisper. I searched for you in the dream. One of the locals told me in broken English you were somewhere hanging with the boys. I hope wherever you are now this is true. I imagine you laughing and telling some ribald tall tale, a cigarette burning between your fingers, and a half drunk tequila resting on the table in front of you. You will always be this man in my memories, and now dreams, along with a internet folder full of lurid messages, are all I have left of you.

End of dream...

The character Pan was partially based upon an old, very charismatic friend of mine who died suddenly quite a few years ago. He was on tour for most of his life with various musical projects and wherever he was in the world he would send me exceptionally naughty fractured fairy tales involving the two of us in uniquely perverse circumstances. He had quite an imagination coupled with a charming British turn of phrase and through the years we accrued an arsenal of personal in jokes between us. I stole the line “maybe the chance to worship at your temple door” directly from him. I miss our banter more than anything else, and I'd like to think with the curious timing of the dream, now the book is finished and due out any day, that my friend was giving his stamp of approval. I always thought of him as Pan; lusty, earthy, sexy, and mischiveous. He was no woman's man and every woman's man if you know what I mean. Great fun while he was around, but you always knew he was just passing through...

All hail the great God Pan and may he make another nocturnal visit sooner than later.

There's nothing like grabbing a man by the... horns...?

End of journal entry.

Much love from the now warm and wild mountains,

S. - xx