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Dreamt of death last night/this morning/whenever-it-was, which never means what it seems to mean, of course. And transformation, too. The death was not mine, though often in my dreams it has been. But the transformation was.

Been thinking about that for a while, coz I’ve got this working theory that all these crazy-seeming things I’m interested in are actually about that, too. Vampires for certain. It’s not the blood or the sexiness or even the immortality thing that I like (I suspect like many, that would get a little old eventually, harhar!). Nope, it’s the transmutation from one thing to another. Same reason I like sharks and crocodiles, too, although in a different way. I mean, they’re time-travelers, aren’t they? From an aeon when we were little more than food for dinosaurs. Yeah…

So in this dream I became something but not someone else. I was still me, and having a hard time explaining all the outward signs of change to my family – suddenly taller, different coloured hair (pink) and skin (ochre), new abilities (strength, flying), although the inward signs were way more significant. They couldn’t see those of course, and there in the midst of dealing with the death scenes in my dream, I was once again not what I should be according to those whom I’m related to by blood!

And then this morning, reading something else I laughed out loud. Because I remembered.

Those who seek labels for others (or label themselves) are missing the point. Not in a new age-y dude, don’t stick your labels on me kinda way. Not like that at all. The only way for us to describe what we see is to use words, but what we forget to remember is how those descriptors are all so very temporary.

We’re always changing, transmuting, decomposing and reforming, even if we don’t know it. And mostly we don’t.

And in the tradition of transmutation, we need to snip those labels loose, tear them into tiny pieces and send them flying ten miles out to sea, remembering that in the end they’re just words, words, words…

Someone might have said it to us once (or even many times over), but it is our fear, shame, sadness, embarrassment, guilt and pain that empowers the labels, those places where we hurt. We hide words and labels in our bodies like wounds we need to defend and in doing so, regenerate our pain points.

But all we need to do is set them free.

They don’t mean anything.

They aren’t personal.

I have to remember this, too. That’s why I’m writing this here. To remind myself when I forget, because I do forget and often.