A Party at MoonVooDoo




Last night I went to a party. It was at an old mansion in the countryside which was owned by a polymath of the mysteries of life, death, and everything else. He had turned part of his house into a restaurant called MoonVooDoo. It was not a typical restaurant, it was not a restaurant at all, but the owner called it a restaurant. You couldn’t go there without being invited by the host, but he was a very sociable and welcoming man, who invited all those he felt would enjoy and feel at home in such a place.

It was a beautiful evening, and we dined outside. There was a long table on the lawn, surrounded by an odd assortment of antique chairs. Food and drinks of all sorts, for all tastes and palates, was laid before us. Brightly coloured lanterns were strung between tall trees. It was a whimsical Mad Hatter style of social gathering.

People came dressed as themselves. Some wore pyjamas, beachwear, jeans and t-shirts, elegant finery, fancy costumes, some wore nothing at all, but all wore what expressed their essential self.

There was lots of lively talking. Everyone spoke their truths openly, and no one felt the need to censor themselves or anyone else. There were debates, but no one felt compelled to win, or subdue, or claim power over others. Words bubbled like champagne. Communication flowed, this way and that. Free, wild, and vibrantly alive with energy.

There was listening too. From the heart. With all the senses. And understanding. We were all unique individuals sharing a moment of release from all the constraints of life as it usually is. Free for a night to be real, feel real, and not hide a single drop of the mind, body, and soul.

Then this marching band gate-crashed the party. The cacophony drove many of the diners into the house to seek shelter. The band were asked very politely to leave, but they were insistent that we needed to hear their disharmonious noise. They were Snooty Snoots. Who spoke the language of Faux Poshery. With bellies full of themselves. Ears closed. Mouths open. Eyes trained to only see what they wanted to see. And what they wanted to see was that they were the best, the elite, the perfect ones, and everything they did was what everyone else should be doing, only not as well as them. They carried their sense of entitlement in the form of grotesquely large and shiny instruments, too heavy to bear, yet impossible to put down.

I was outraged at their interruption of such a fabulous party. I rushed into the middle of the Snooty Snoots, and demanded that they leave. They looked down at me from a great height, and sneered with disdain. Who was I to tell them to leave. Did I not know who they were. They did as they pleased. I laughed, and pointed at their gold-embroidered, extravagant uniforms which were melting away as we spoke. I informed them that for every second that they trespassed, their painstakingly engineered false fronts would vanish into the nothingness from which they were created. Soon they would become human beings like the rest of us, but since they were not used to being human, they might find it too sudden and too frightening, and it might cause them to have a complete and utter meltdown.

The Snooty Snoots were suddenly overcome with fear, so much so that they could not remember how they had found their way onto the property. They were rushing around, bumping into each other, panic-stricken, but trying to appear composed, as though they knew what they were doing. I ushered them out through an old and crumbling ivy-covered gate, back into the unreality which was their domain. As each one crossed the threshold, they gasped with relief, once again breathing the rarefied air to which they were accustomed.

Only one looked back before he crossed. There was a silent sadness in his eyes. He was looking wistfully at a beautiful woman in a dress made of Autumn leaves. She was dancing around a bonfire, tempting the flames to set fire to her, but the flames loved her dance too much to harm her. For a moment I thought he might stay, risk the madness of being truly human, but he had sacrificed too much to become a Snooty Snoot. The infection ran deep, the cure would surely kill him. And so he left.

I returned to the party which was once again in full swing. The host came over and sat beside me. He smiled, and thanked me for my intervention. He said that the Snooty Snoots were always crashing his parties, and that he usually just waited for them to melt into the lawn as they made great fertiliser.

Of course this was a dream. But it is one which was very insistent about waking me up to remember it. It had a message for me. I think I know what that message is, as I know what was on my mind when I fell asleep. I was thinking about Twitter and tumblr, and the many people I have encountered through them. And some other bits and pieces. Paths taken, and not taken, and such. I would say more, but I’ve only had two hours sleep, and I feel a bit spaced out.

I would be curious to know what you think.

So, What is your interpretation of this dream, and does it also have a message for you?



*this dream inspired my deviantART name.


35 thoughts on “A Party at MoonVooDoo

  1. lol I knew right away that I too had been invited to this party. I remember it quite well. I remember thinking how lovely it would be to attend a party at MoonVooDoo and then I see my invite in an email πŸ™‚ The Snooty Snoots are always crashing parties. I was somewhere way at the other end of the table so I could not really hear the great noise. It was sort of muffled so less shocking. I was very glad to see such a bold, beautiful, brave soul stand up to them. And equally sad to have also noticed the young man’s yearning and his subsequent denial of something he really needed in favor of being noticed. Thanks for the e-vite dear soul.


  2. Hi,
    What a cool dream! I was wondering for a long time who hosts parties like that and would have loved to attend one. =) U don’t think my feelings about it can tell you anything you don’t already know or couldn’t analyze better than I. Like Lynette said the narcissists feed on us, they need to be very loud and dress up to exist, otherwise they vanish, they melt away. And they love taking up space on social media, as invasively as a marching band crashing a party would take up space. “Here I am, I’m speaking louder than everyone else!” And I admire that you see through them enough to realize that they are children, tiny people in fact: Snooty Snoots! Snooty… snotty… childish. You also said there was listening with all the senses and understanding, which only non narcissists can do. A narcissist can never be completely engaged, right? Too busy thinking of themselves and their image.
    much love,


    1. Thank you πŸ™‚

      Narcissists are caught in their own dream which is always a nightmare behind the facade – they can’t see, hear or feel us, they can’t connect with us, but they want to, they want to be a part of our world, but instead they suck us into theirs and… we escape, but they never can, too much to fear.

      They can never go to parties dressed as themselves, but we can and when we do we are beautiful!

      Take care of yourself, and you’re welcome at MoonVooDoo’s anytime you want to attend πŸ™‚


      1. Thank you. =) I meant to write “I don’t think my feelings” etc. and don’t know if the U is a Freudian typo. If it is I apologize on behalf of my unconscious. Yes, I know what you mean, that they are stuck. I’m actually struggling with a professional phone call I have to make which could just change my professional life forever; but the person I’m supposed to call knows my narc sister and I suspect that she has told him I have mental problems and that she is scared of me and I don’t know how to find the courage to just show up and be relaxed. I don’t think he will ask but I can’t be sure. It feels like I’m hiding in the shade all the time and not speaking to certain people, not showing up at parties because I’m afraid of what I think she has said of me, or insinuated. So exhausting.

        Anyways, thank you for inviting me at MoonVooDoo’s! And hope you take care too.

        much love,



        1. No worries, I know what you meant (and I have lots of affection for the Freudian typos of the unconscious) πŸ™‚

          Re: the phone call/interview.

          Since the person is male, chances are he’ll be logical about what he has been told by your sister, if she has told him anything, and won’t take her at her word about you. He may write it off as a sibling issue and not one which concerns him – if this is his attitude then he will be relieved when you don’t bring it up, and you will score highly for that. If he is classically male then he’ll probably have written off anything she has said as being the territory of ‘all women are crazy/overly emotional’, and he’ll give you kudos for not being like your sister and making the situation a personal and emotional one.

          His focus will be on his impression of you when you interact – he’s interviewing you and considering you for a professional position, he’s interested in you – not your sister and her version of you. Your attention should be on him and the professional matter at hand – make sure you find out as much about him (professional and personal – remember he’s a human being and has everything which goes with that) and the position he is offering as you can, show him how knowledgeable you are about him and the job, and how interested and passionate you are about it. He’ll appreciate that this is an opportunity which means a lot to you. That will be what matters to him.

          If you want to rebalance the power a bit in the situation, keep in mind that you are interviewing him as much as he is interviewing you – you need to find out if he is the right person for you as much as he does. Use your knowledge about him and the job to ask him questions – interview him about the position too. This tactic serves many purposes, one of which is to show him who you are while talking about him and the job.

          If he does ask about the ‘gossip’ your sister may have spread to him about you, keep the reply simple. Don’t mention narcissists or say anything bad about your sister – how you react will reflect on you. He may ask to find out how you handle it, because how you handle this will show how you will handle stressful situations.

          When dealing with the smear campaign of a narcissist it is best to let their poison boomerang back onto them, and one of the more effective ways of doing that is to dismiss what they have said by as though it is irrelevant, rather dull, their usual nonsense. So if someone says to you – you’re sister said she’s scared of you because you have mental issues – you look a bit pained, sigh, shrug, and say something like – My sister says things like that – intimating that she’s a bit unhinged and so you cut her lots of slack, because she’s your sister and you ‘love’ her – others will like that touch, it shows that you’re logical and caring, and it gives them their cue on how to deal with being placed in such a difficult position, they can now side with you, you’re the reasonable one, and see her as being the one with mental issues (without mentioning the NPD – let others draw their own conclusions).

          I know that sounds manipulative, it is to a degree, when dealing with narcissists sometimes you have to stoop to conquer. Narcissists like to place others in difficult positions, if you offer others an easy way out of the difficult position, they’ll side with you without you having to explain the complex history of your family (which will scare the crap out of people and make them frightened of you). You want to place yourself in a position of the one who unravels the knots of confusion which your sister creates, and does it simply – others will appreciate that.

          So if this man mentions your sister, keep it simple, reasonable, calm and offer him a way out which is easy and which he’ll appreciate.

          Hope that makes sense.


          1. You know, I’ve often thought about how much I’ve done for other people, especially narcissists and wondered why I’ve never gotten the same kind of support from anyone at any time. I’m the kind of person who walks out from a job interview I nailed and doesn’t know who to call to say it went super well because I’m afraid I’ll bother someone. I’ve had wonderful friends but none sensitive and intelligent enough to help me on the level someone empathic (and used to narcissists) could. You just did that. For the first time in my life. Your advice is fantastic, thank you sooo much. You’re mesmerizing, your beautiful, vibrant, glittering soul shines through in your writing. You’re strong and sensitive and loving. I don’t know how you ever got like that but again, thank you so much. xx


            1. Thank you very much ❀

              Best way to explain me is… I'm a mess who has accepted my mess and that I'm a mess. It has a relaxing domino effect of sorts. All humans are a mess, embrace your own and you sort of embrace everyone else and everything – life's a beautiful mess, even the ugly in life has a certain beauty, poetry.

              You've hit upon something which those who grow up in a narcissistic family get used to and sometimes find confusing about the world beyond a narcissistic experience of it.

              Growing up in a narcissistic family – it's always about everyone else, never about you unless it's about what you've done wrong for them. So if you do something good, it's a fearful experience because it will trigger the worst of the narcissists.

              Years ago someone my N mom admired expressed, in front of her, admiration for me. My mother tried to take credit for it, redirect this person's admiration onto her. The person refused to do that, they insisted that it was about me and not her. This triggered my mother's NPD issues big time, especially narc envy, and for the next few years I had to deal with her fury that someone had admired me over her and that she had not been allowed to take credit for it. If I was still in direct contact with her, this would still be an issue – once a narcissist gets hold of a bone of contention…

              If you grow up in a narcissistic family, it's never about you – so you get used to deferring credit and other things. You don't ever expect anyone, certainly not you narcissist parents, to be proud of you… and if they are, it's not a joyful experience, it's a dreaded burden.

              So, being unsure of who to call to share your joy, your personal achievement, pride in your self and your abilities, and the thrill of having others acknowledge you and what you can do, who you are, your abilities and talent… it's a tough one, as even people who aren't narcissists aren't always prepared for others to have success, especially if they are having a bit of a personal or professional downer themselves. And if they aren't consciously aware of your history, they won't realise how deeply you may be affected by their reaction.

              It's complicated, intertwined with many tangential threads, which can sometimes creates knots in knots.

              Staying detached is difficult for everyone. But having a certain detachment helps.

              The important thing is to be aware and to celebrate your own achievements – a challenge for those with a narc family background, but one very worth taking and winning – within yourself.

              Others (even narcissists) take their cue from you – make sure you make things clear, as clear as possible. When you nail a job interview, make sure that is what is clear to you for you – then it will be clearer to others. If someone tries to question it to knock you – it's not you they have a problem with, your success has triggered their own issues. Don't make their issues yours. Focus on you – it's a challenge of value.

              Let yourself be, live, do… see what happens. Share it – above all with yourself!

              You're amazing, it's up to you to discover that and appreciate it – others will take their cue form you πŸ™‚


              1. Thank you soooo much for your reply. Again. I really felt like a caring aura following me at times, mere understanding, what that can do… The meeting went well. He looked like he felt really sorry for me, he didn’t bring anything up but promised he would try to help me. Kind of like I’m some sort of broken person in need but honestly, as long as this makes me advance in my work, I’m alright with it. I will rise like a freak. And once I’ll have done that and only then I will be able to reveal that I’m not a freak. But for now it’s a superb protective shield. My feelings today, anyways.

                I just realized, at least I think, why I am so terrified of writing. Writing is my passion. But I get scared when inspiration comes, I used to love it. Could it be that I’ve gotten used to be hated for being good at something that brings me attention? If so I would at least have an explanation. But I think there is another one: I don’t dare to be honest in what I write because I feel absolutely terrified of expressing truth, reality and watch it being torn down by again, so ruthlessly, without giving it even a glance. Watching it be neglected, contradicted, rejected, thrown back in my face like some sort of vile attempt to accuse in order to hurt others. I have never tried to write anything that I would show anyone in order to expose a narcissist. I just want to write stories. But putting honesty in them makes me scared. Once I have a text with something written with honesty I am scared of rereading it. I get afraid of its existence. If I do read, I can’t keep it in mind for long, its existence terrifies me. I skim it through, not daring to really read it, I then suppress it and put it away. Whenever I actually do reread something years later I am always equally stunned with the fact that it’s not complete sh-t. In fact it’s often even pretty good. But when I realize that, I try to convince myself that I could never write like that anymore. That it must have been a phase or temporary and I refuse to identify with the person who wrote it. It feels so pathetic, becoming a writer without ever becoming it. I’ve only had one thing read by an audience, it’s like 15 pages and that was 8 years ago. Sad for someone whose principal aspiration is to write. It’s like right here. I purposely make my text a bit more sh-tty, a bit more lacking in rhythm and harmony in order to sound a little bit less eloquent. Just because. Does this resonate with you?
                Sending you lots of love and gratefulness.


                1. TY πŸ™‚

                  Congratulations on the meeting! I love your attitude. Your words have a strong vibe of personal power. You shone as yourself. Awesome.

                  I can relate to what you’ve said about expressing yourself.

                  Growing up in a narcissistic family creates a certain dynamic whereby everything about you belongs to the narcissists. Narcissists need to be in complete control of everyone and everything to feel safe in the world (yet they rarely achieve this ideal), they are hyper-vigilant of their environment, constantly scanning everyone for possible threats to their fragile ego. They are driven to censor your words, thoughts, feelings, and actions, because by controlling you they can control their fears and keep themselves safe – as you are not an individual but a part of their organism.

                  They are afraid of how what you say or do will impact upon their minutely controlled identity and version of reality. They take everything you say and do personally, and often react to something small which they perceive as a threat as though it was huge, as though every speck of dust can kill them, therefore going OTT in their attempt to get rid of the threat.

                  With narcissists, you are constantly subjected to either being crushed or having your self stolen, or both, the life gets sucked out of you and to protect yourself from the hostile environment you retreat into yourself, deep inside, into silence, and self expression becomes associated with pain and suffering, every time you do it, it hurts. However not doing it hurts too.

                  Speaking one tiny truth really quietly can feel as though you have a megaphone shouting at the world something which the world doesn’t want to hear (because your view of the world and everyone in it is coloured by the view of the narcissistic family), and any reaction, or a non-reaction, to your self expression can feel overwhelming and painful.

                  The choice is between doing it or not doing it – both are painful, which one is greater and which one is lesser?

                  The more you retreat from doing it, the harder it becomes to do – so when you want to do it, it can feel like a mammoth task, and if you do it, you have a reflex to delete it, delete yourself, as soon as you do – the more real, true and meaningful to you that it is, the stronger the inner reflex to delete, crush it, because you learned that even a natural honest sneeze may be perceived as a threat to a narcissist. And if the narcissist thinks you’re a threat, they bring their inner hell to bear on you because they can’t see a boundary between you and them, you are them, everything about you is all about them.

                  My suggestion, based on having struggled (and still struggling) with something similar myself – don’t pressure yourself. Focus on what you are doing rather than on what you’re not doing.

                  Focus on your achievements in the here and now. Celebrate what you have accomplished and give yourself kudos and credit. Enjoy the fact that you aced the interview and are in possession of personal power to guide your life where you want it to go. Focus on advancing your career, remind yourself of the importance that has for you. Direct your energy there, on supporting yourself and what you’re doing.

                  Respect your rhythms.

                  The writing can wait – your writing ability will improve with waiting, as it will get richer from everything that you experience in life and do, think, feel. When the time is right, the flood barrier will give way and your words will flow, naturally and freely. For now that ability is still simmering within – don’t worry about it. Creativity grows with friction. Don’t worry about the inner conflict, let that be, it is all a part of the writing talent within you. Time is not a problem where writing is concerned, it’s sometimes the solution.

                  Focus on the here and now, on you here and now – don’t use the writing issue as a detractor for what you have achieved and what you are working towards in the here and now.

                  Celebrate what you have, don’t worry about what you don’t have. The path ahead has many beautiful adventures, wait and see. πŸ™‚


                  1. Thank you so much for taking your time. This is so incredibly precious to me. You would have laughed, seeing me in front of my screen going: “Omg! Yes! Exactly!” paragraph after paragraph!! How do you find your words like that? I’ve read “Boundaries, when to say yes and how to say no” as well as “The trauma of the gifted child” that you recommended to me. It helped HUGELY.

                    I can’t believe I’ve had so many of them so close to me for so long. No wonder I’ve wondered about “a profound misunderstanding between the rest of humanity and myself” and have just wanted to die. The funny thing is this also reminds me of my best friend from age 13 to 19 (I moved to another country after that). We were like siamese twins but she would always abandon me if I was in trouble, but never put me down and never show up if she couldn’t be her absolutely best/most charming/most beautiful/most intelligent/wonderful, etc. She was not aggressive in crossing borders like a narcissist though. She would paint me beautiful pictures and give me beautiful jewelry and cry with me and hold my hand and we loved each other to death. I always felt and still do that she would leave when things got difficult because she herself was so fragile and weak and because, as she once put it, had a natural and sad propensity for being selfish. But she would never try to put me down in front of other people, or need to overshine me if I was doing well. I know she had a lot of complexes towards me and admired me and I felt the exactly same thing towards her. She must have been borderline, right? And doesn’t that mean that I have necessarily also been borderline, narcissistic, etc.? Is it even possible that I’m just sane and have had these people around me all my life until age 34?

                    I thought through what I’ve achieved like you said and that felt really good. The trouble with creative writing is that I’ve basically just gotten my first assignment and I’m completely – not stuck – just terrified, like you describe it so incredibly well. And it’s going to be my job. And the guy I met is a huge deal to me and basically told me he’d be my coach. Now I’m going to have to write – as a job – which is what I’ve always wanted but… I’m just so scared. Point is, it’s work. So I have to make it work. =/

                    Sending you so much love and gratefulness again. You’ve done so much more than you can possibly understand.

                    take care,



                    1. TY πŸ™‚

                      Being terrified of having a dream come true is normal, natural and part of the process. Getting something we want can be overwhelming, here you are holding a prize you have been deeply desiring to hold. Now what!?! It’s a thrilling kind of fear, and for a writer being scared of writing is part of the contract with the muse. Many authors have expressed that their relationship with writing is a passionate love/hate one. A few of the great writers hated writing, and said so, yet as much as they hated it, they loved it, felt compelled to do it.

                      Perhaps the trick to it is to treat writing not as a thing, an action, but as a person, a living breathing being. Your writing is you, so how would you coax yourself out of silence, how would you open yourself up, what steps would you take to get to know yourself and encourage your words to flow? Your relationship with your writing intertwines with your relationship with yourself, get to know your writing as you would get to know yourself. Talk to it and let it answer.

                      Or perhaps you could view your writing as a friend, maybe as the best friend from your youth whom you mentioned. She sounds like a muse. The muse is a generous giver, but also demands a lot, many authors have pointed this out. Perhaps the vivid memory of her can be your muse of writing, of art, of inspiration. To get the flow going. When you spoke about her, your words shimmered with energy… and that’s partly what writing is, giving form to energy.

                      Don’t pressure yourself, don’t expect perfection, don’t be hard on yourself, let your writing unfold and evolve. It’s shy at the moment and is as scared of you as you are of it, it’s afraid of its own sound just as much as you are, of expressing itself and of what will happen once it allows itself to express, once the flow is unleashed. Be gentle with it and with yourself.

                      And since this man has offered his help, accept it, let him coach you – maybe being your coach is a huge deal to him, perhaps he sees himself as a patron of the art of writing and for him nurturing your talent is his gift to you and to the world. Who knows… we find things out as we experiment and experience life and interactions.

                      Many WordPress bloggers are writers who use their blog as a way to explore writing, their posts are their way to oil their talent, try things out which they may not be able to do in their professional writing, keep the flow flowing and fluid, to remember the fun of writing.

                      Trust yourself, let your nature guide you. You’ll figure it out, the ability is in your blood.

                      β€œLet everything happen to you
                      Beauty and terror
                      Just keep going
                      No feeling is final”

                      ― Rainer Maria Rilke

                      Best wishes.


                    2. Thank you again! I don’t know why I can’t reply to your comment below here. You are so right in so many ways, again. I just feel like I lost it. Slightly. I’m not very good with good news and things working out in a good and joyful way, such new territory – so I guess my mind is looking for ways to f–k this up in order to fit my initial feeling of “everything is cr-p”. But I’m working on it. And it’s incredible to be able to write to you and have you answer like this. I really hope you don’t suddenly stop blogging like you recently said you might. There is so much beauty and grace in you and reading you, the quotes you pick out and the pictures you feel inspired to take and post, is such a beautiful experience. You share so much, you’ve spread so much beauty in my life, so much love and you are such an inspiration because you are so unafraid of being as beautiful as you are.

                      The insight that I feel blocked in so many ways, scared of so many things is due to the fact that in the back of my mind I’m expecting my ex or my sister to jump in and have piece of it or ruin it or get incredibly angry about it is such a powerful, precious one. I didn’t know that that was it.

                      Much, much, much love.



                    3. TY πŸ™‚

                      The comment-thread thing is a limited and often glitchy blog settings thing, don’t worry about it.

                      We discover new facets of ourselves and facets of facets of ourselves all the time. The more we explore, the more we see, understand, know, and figure out. You are the one who knows you better than anyone else, let yourself unfold and reveal as you are ready and willing to do so.

                      Sometimes the things we find out about ourselves are contradictory – we want to succeed and then find out we may set ourselves up to fail – because part of us wants to fail. It’s normal, natural, weirdly human. Why would we want ourselves to fail – because there is a safety there which success threatens, and humans like safety perhaps because we’re living on a spinning crazy planet hurtling through a helluva dangerous space. Macrocosm/microcosm.

                      I won’t stop blogging, unless I do. My life is punctuated by suddenness, whether I want it or not. However I won’t do it deliberately, not anymore, as writing posts and keeping going with this strange experience has taught me a lot. I’ve learned that self expression, letting it all out… online… has a magical effect on life, offline. And I’m not particularly prone to believing in magic – that’s narc territory, so I try to avoid it. But sometimes it’s not narc territory, it’s just life… being weirdly weird and rather wow… wtf!?!

                      What you’re facing now… with your writing, your career and life quest… you can handle it, you’re ready even when you feel out of your depth. Let things unfold and let yourself unfold with it. You’re smart, talented and an amazing being… time to face the consequences of such wonderful things. A hard challenge, but one worth taking and seeing what happens when you do.

                      As they say – feel the fear and do it anyway.

                      You know what you’re doing even when you don’t… trust yourself, even when you don’t – learn and grow and see what happens!


                    4. Hi Ursula!

                      Thank you so much, again!!! I’m breathing your advice. And I’m keeping it close to my heart, which is why I have also taken the liberty to relax and answer in my own rhythm. I’m very happy you’re going to keep blogging for some time – I love the way you write and what you do on here. It’s a rare mixture of literature, advice, poetry, thoughts, analysis, therapy, utility mixing with creativity and it’s just so incredibly full of insights of so many kinds.

                      I’m at the stage (I guess it’s a stage) where I am really understanding that I’ve been used, that I’ve thought I was being loved but wasn’t being loved at all by the people who have been the closest to me all my life. I do think they thought they loved me. I’m sure they did and still do believe that, you know, to keep a positive idea about themselves but I was not really being loved. I thought I was being appreciated but it was never for me, and I thought I was told to change to improve in some way or to adapt to something but I was really just being told to change over and over and over again because just being me or advancing was problematic and simply and plainly disliked. Which is why the shaping of my identity has been a pathetic, anxious, awkward, never ending experimentative road that has taken me around in circles (and I’m going to turn 36). It’s still early in the process and I can’t believe it’s such a huge part of the story of my life. Literally, the people I have been the closest to all my life, my sister and my ex who I spent 7 years with (and my mother although I never felt close to her), they were all narcissists. But I’m trying to flatter myself and tell myself I must have been damn attractive as some sort of prototypical idea for what a human should be. At least I hope.

                      Sending you lots of love and best, best, best wishes.



                    5. Thank you πŸ™‚

                      My blog is a mess of things and I love it that way, it’s me, messy and loving it… finally! I’m expressing myself now in life in a way that I never have, it all just kind of happened about the time I turned 40. Something inside snapped in a good way and I had some very loving and friendly pushes to just go for it.

                      I don’t think life is supposed to be tidy. Just look at history – humans have been causing chaos for centuries. Or look at geology, the very fabric of this planet is made of friction, combustion, and all sorts of chemical reactions, some of which explode and may create new life while doing it. And nature, what a wonderful teacher of how to embrace the adventure of being and experiencing life.

                      At (almost) 36 you’ve reached a ‘stage’ where you have a history which has shaped you – you’re a gem created out of the friction of living and experiencing living, and now you’re looking back at it to look forward, choosing how the shape of things to come for you will be – you’re designing the framework for the gem.

                      The understanding you’re finding for yourself, of yourself and your life, that is personal power in active motion, and it’s when the adventure of life becomes yours and not just something which happens to you. Sure, things will still just happen because life is like that, however you now have the focus and knowledge, the personal experience to investigate and take the reins on what you do, where you go, with what happens.

                      This – “the shaping of my identity has been a pathetic, anxious, awkward, never ending experimentative road that has taken me around in circles” – will one day be something which you look back on fondly and see the part it played in you finding you and being you. There’s a strength which that kind of journey gives which is invaluable. I think you’re seeing it now and feeling it.

                      Narcissists often try to crush the living daylights out of people who have a certain spark that shines a bit too naturally bright. You’re a treasure and they want to keep you in a jar, not share you with anyone, and never let you go, and you must never know how beautiful you are, so they bury you. When you escape you’re so dirty from digging your way out of the ground they buried you in, that you don’t realise you’re shiny…your tears wash the dirt away drop by drop and one day, you notice this radiance coming from within you… and that’s the beginning of the next adventure, your adventure written by you!


                    6. Dear Ursula,

                      The jar they want to keep us in… It had made me think of this thing that happened. It’s ridiculous, weird, icky and pathetic. But to me it was a truly gruesome experience.

                      On the day I turned 30 I was miserable. I think deep down my ex knew how miserable I felt, even though he pretended it was the happiest day ever. I knew I would spend it with him, just like every single other day of my life, have to read any card and open any present with him, take every peace of breath with him and go through the feelings that day would give me, while having him watch it and somehow dogmatically label and interpret it, put a stamp on it, an indelible, certain one from his own special, monopolized reality. I felt like a prisoner but could not put my finger on what it was, I could never extricate myself from the never ending arguments he would give me and no one could be as verbal, eloquent and good at arguing as he was. (He was so bright.) I was far away from any friend, did not have a full time job or anything else that had counted to me. All of that was gone, as if by miracle, it was just HIM, everywhere.

                      He gave me presents. Although I kept telling him sugar makes me feel bad and shaky (I don’t know why) and I try avoiding it for many reasons, he gave me pastries as usual. He also made me breakfast and gave me flowers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you – thank you- I’m sorry – Thank you so much, sorry – thanks. I don’t deserve this.” We went for a walk in the sun, we went for lunch and he was perfect, goodlooking, charming, well dressed, as always and I wanted to puke on myself because I just felt ungrateful and couldn’t explain why I didn’t want everything I was getting. In the afternoon we went for a walk in a park. We heard a strange squeak and in seconds he had jumped across the lawn to intervene. It turned out a raven had been attacking a bat that had been sleeping, getting it to fall down from inside a tree trunk, apparently waking it from hibernation. The raven was pecking at it and was saved by my ex who chased it away. He knew so well how my mind works, knew that I would love him for saving an animal in distress, he knew I would see a symbol in something so strange happening, because it happened on my birthday (and nothing felt real). He was the hero. We looked at the little bat, there was blood on it but it was still breathing, although it couldn’t move. After a little bit we picked it up on a little napkin and very carefully walked home with it.

                      We started to check the internet for info on where to turn it. There were centers for the preservation of bats(!) but not a single phone number answered. (Yes, you CAN get dangerous diseases if they bite you but for some reason I can’t remember, we were safe.) We figured out how to build a little home for it, they like hanging upside down. We also read that one can feed them the same little worms you get in pet stores for other animals. The woman who sold them to us warned us though. She said you can never feed them to an animal while they’re eating newspapers, which is what they eat in the shop. The newspaper is poisonous to animals but not to the worms. We first had to give the worms food and then feed them to the bat. A few days went by, I was mostly freaking out because we had a f-ing bat in our home and worms we had to feed, but I couldn’t just throw it out. It would have died. So I gave it a name and tried to do my best. My ex got even more involved than I did. Because I was involved in making it survive first (I think you know what I mean by that). I named it Malcolm, it got better.

                      Malcolm slowly grew stronger and his scared wing seemed to start healing. We had other things to do of course, so not all time could be spent taking care of it. My ex knew how strongly my wish for it to survive was, because we had found it on my birthday, which made it feel like its survival was a symbol for hope. He knew how I think. Malcolm’s surviving was like my soul being saved, or something. My ex could feel it and showed how much more involved and unafraid and good he was with it. One day we hadn’t had time to feed the worms, they had kept eating the newspaper that was in the box in which we kept them. I told him not to feed Malcolm the newspaper worms and had been super consistent with that and still, at some point when I was not in the room he fed him, I think mostly because he thought it was so much fun that he had learned how to. This was the completely and sudden unempathetic side he would have in the middle of his demonstrative extreme “love for the world”. Those small details like this one, suddenly feeding it newspaper worms because he was getting good and the feeding technique. Those things about him always gave me chills. Malcolm got really bad and couldn’t move anymore, he seemed sick and although I couldn’t swear what made him feel so weak, he died within less than 24 hours.

                      I looked that sad little animal in the eyes and thought I could feel how confused it was. It had once been a proud animal out in nature, chasing for survival, battling the darkness, howling in its mind at the full moon and scaring other animals with its big wings and its little teeth must have felt like strong razors on things it would eat. And it was so confused at having been saved, saved from certain death while waking from a winter long sleep, but saved against its will. I thought I had felt tiny vibrations of the minusculous little mammal being moved, like fragmentary reminscensces of having once been cared for itself, a vague gratefulness and wish to feel that way again. But in the last moments, in what to me seemed like such a cold gesture, it had been killed by the hand that had been feeding and protecting it, swearing it would be its protector, slowly dying in agony on that little sheet of paper it was unhappily lying on, because it was too weak to still hang upside down, the way it would have needed to in order to keep the dignity of its own species.

                      When Malcolm died I was numb for a second but very quickly my ex started sobbing loudly and before I had the time to feel my own emotions, he swore that this was the worse thing that had even happened and was very certain that we could never be sure what had killed him; he made me feel that it would be too much a blow for his sensitive mind, if I would ever utter what I thought the cause of death might have been and so we never even said it.

                      I said I wanted to bury it. And he said of course, he cared even more. So he found a little wooden case and prepared everything. But when we were ready, I realized he wanted to put the body in a metallic case, inside the wooden box. I was horrified and we argued for hours during which I explained that if the body would lie in a case, it would take so much longer for it to return to nature. The solace of a dead body to me, is that the energy contained in it returns to the earth, that it is reclaimed, recycled in the Huge cycle and returning to Everything. And it did not matter how long I fought, how I did everything I could, I cried and pleaded, I REALLY did, for several days. In a little metallic box, the body would have to wait for years and years for the box to decompose and then for the little soul to fight its way back to the world it loved, become its own again, regain the freedom we had taken from him. If it had been wrong for us to try to save it (which is a question one can also ask, bringing it into our homes against its will, seeing it be terrified), and if it had been wrong for us to cause its death by being LAZY, then what would it be, if we didn’t even allow its body to return to nature. It didn’t matter what I said or did. He was so forceful and he berried that bat, found on my birthday – in the metal box, inside a wooden one, into a hole in the ground in the forest close to our house. And I sometimes still think of Malcolm, I do. Lying there in the cold darkness, I imagine how its soul wakes up and wonders where it is, feels how its scratching echoes and finds that it cant get out, because a good samaritan saved it. I cannot explain enough, how horrible this experience was and I remember giving up hope that day that I would even be able to exit that relationship and find my way back to other people. Sensing how I felt about it, my ex started loosing it and said that he would never forget that day, forget that animal, what it had meant to him and that one day he would write a long poem in verse about the bat that fought a raven and have a statue made in his home to represent the battles of the weak against the strong, the insane courage of weaklings who fight the monsters for survival. I never got to feel what I felt, to even word my interpretation. So I’m sorry to post it like this on here and don’t know if you read until the end. But I have had a need to share this forever. I know how strange it sounds, I’m sorry about that.

                      Love – m


                    7. Thank you very much for sharing, truly and deeply ❀

                      I did read it all, was compelled by how you told it to do so.

                      No need to apologise for or worry about posting it, that's what blogging is all about, that's the 'magic' of it. Share yourself, see what happens.

                      It doesn't sound strange at all. This is the stuff that turns into myths, legends, fairytales, novels, films and other wonderful stories. The real things which happen to us, and how they affect us, how they connect to other things and weave together imagination and reality, and so much more than that. Our psyche is not bound by the same rules as our rational mind tries to impose on it. By exploring the reality through ourselves, we give it body, breadth, depth and meaning.

                      This would make an absolutely stunning novel. And the way you tell it, my goodness what a beautiful talent you have!

                      Considering that it was a bat, and… what is a most popular and beloved figment of our collective conscious imagination at the moment – vampires. So many ways to go with that, so many stories within one story, both from a deeply personal view and relatable from an interpersonal one. And what do narcissists sometimes get called – psychological vampires.

                      Perhaps Malcolm is a muse, and that's why he couldn't go gently into that good night. Nature sometimes suffers to awaken our suffering and show us how to turn it into something else.

                      Would you mind if I shared this as an actual post on my blog? Think about it, there's no rush. Answer as you want to and not as you think I want you to – I want you to answer as you really want to. Think about it… see where it leads.

                      You have an amazing gift… it's yours.


                  2. Hi!

                    Thank you so much. I took your advice when you said a lot of people use blogging to train their writing. I would never dare to have a blog, not even anonymously because I find it too scary. And just writing and then posting this means a lot to me. But I’m realizing so much about myself here. I keep suspecting you of secretly hating me for writing this thing and trying to overshine you on your blog, I’m expecting people to be really mean about “how I tried to make it sound good” and how that’s so pathetic and narcissistic (in the sense of self loving, not referring to the diagnosis) and I realize that’s one of the reasons I don’t work well with people these days. Social interaction is just horrible, I can’t stand myself and some people cannot stand me, especially empathetic people I really like. This is a typical way in which I’ve been accusing people, usually not openly but enough for them to feel that I expect them to be jealous and assume that they think I’m great – which makes me so dislikable. I realize I keep insulting people and thinking they have hidden agendas, which is exactly how narcissists are.

                    I don’t really want you to post it as a post. I mean I do, but I don’t. Does it resonate with you as my ex being a narcissist? Does my suffocation get through to you?

                    Like you said, maybe we could wait a little bit, there’s no rush, right?

                    By the way, you keep mentioning muses. I think you’re a muse. =) β™₯β™₯β™₯




                    1. It was a spontaneous offer inspired by reading your story and really liking it. What you decide is up to you, I’m fine either way. So, no worries πŸ™‚

                      As for you suspecting me of secretly hating you for trying to outshine me on my blog, etc – that’s an interesting insight into how you feel about your writing, and may explain why you feel blocked in some ways, afraid of sharing your gift and letting it flow. That kind of thinking can paralyse you, however it can be used to spur you on too as everything which works one way can work in an opposite way too. You just need to understand how it works and then tweak it so it works for you rather than against you.

                      So you could view your need to have me secretly hate you for trying to outshine me here as simply one way that your belief in your ability is expressing itself within you. With a few adjustments you can turn that into a personally powerful incentive.

                      You could view it as a projection of sorts. Your ability wants to shine, but you’re holding it in shadow. This may cause it to be jealous of those who are doing what it wants to do but isn’t allowed to do, and this may be magnified if it thinks it can do so much better than them but it isn’t allowed to prove it and show it. You feel safe in shadow, but your ability does not like to be in shadow and at some point the shadow is going to be the least safe place to be because your need to shine is going hound you until you let yourself shine.

                      Of course allowing yourself to shine openly means you’re open to haterz, but they are a small fraction of the world, and you will also open yourself up to people who will love your work and will love you for sharing it. And most people want to love rather than hate because loving makes them feel good. Those who will be mean are fewer than those who will be loving.

                      Blogging is a good way to learn about that, it’s a supportive community. It kind of has to be supportive because so many non-bloggers look down on blogging and bloggers, and may think we’re all a bunch of narcissistic twats, and maybe we are but it’s a fun way of being that. But it’s mainly supportive because… that is the good side of people, of social interaction, of sharing. There is room for everyone to shine in their own way, and when you let yourself shine you feel inspired to encourage others to shine too. Life is brighter that way.

                      Those who don’t let themselves shine end up finding the shine of others to be something which gives them a headache and heartache. How we see other people, that helps us to come to a better understanding of how we see ourselves, and of how we are relating to the world around us based on the world within. Nothing is set in stone, it’s fluid.

                      Everyone can behave narcissistically. It’s normal and natural. It takes us a while to figure ourselves out and to get to know our darkness, sometimes we can get trapped inside, stuck in our dark, and see our darkness in everyone else. As we figure ourselves out and learn about our dark side, then we gradually shift into exploring other areas and ways. Everything we learn, helps us to understand ourselves and others.

                      Many artists use their need to have others be jealous of them as a challenge to push them to create, and not just to create but improve and succeed. Artists are a seething storm of contradictions. Some even hate the people who buy their work, and dislike their fans. Some are afraid of being a fraud, and this often rears its head after they become celebrated for their work. They are at times very antisocial.

                      I think it was Brett Easton Ellis who spoke about something along these lines after the success of American Psycho. Many artists have discussed similar experiences.

                      It’s all part of the learning curve of life and being.

                      It’s up to you what you do.


                    2. It’s so difficult to know where to begin to thank you. I got this picture of you from this text being like a fighter wearing swimfins and a scuba mask who takes a knife and dives down into a dark and dangerous space where no dares to go, where there is no sunlight, where the water is cold, where sharp rocks provide narrow passages and who fearlessly and with unbelievable skillfulness and dexterity, passes swaying and threatening algae, maps, detects and fixes in the most amazing way, what seemed to be unfixable. So much love!!



                    3. What!?! Why do I have to make a male hero into a female one? Gender has nothing to do with inspiration for the most part, especially of the role model kind.

                      And why does whomever have to be a superhero? Can’t it just be a human? After all, I’m just an ordinary human who finds inspiration in other ordinary humans (who sometimes do extraordinary things).

                      Besides, superheroes are rather tedious, real humans who do interesting things, now that is always inspiring.

                      There’s a man – Ji Seong-ho – look him up. His story is both ordinary and extraordinary.


                    4. Hi,

                      I’m sorry, I didn’t see this. I completely agree, I just meant that the vision I had of you in my head when you answered was one of a superhero, I guess I had more of Bond chick kind of person in mind, the diver with the knife who courageously goes down into dark places under water… and when you said you had wanted to be Cousteau I took it as a: “You mean kind of like him?” and answered well okay but a female superhero… But you’re right, humans are interesting, when you’ve got that light on in your head, which enables you too see them in all their dimensions and see as many things as you do. I marvel at your fascination. If you don’t mind. =)


  3. The faux poshery – what a great description! πŸ™‚

    I can see why your conscious mind was insistent about waking you and making you remember that the narcissist only has the power we give him. πŸ™‚


  4. Reblogged this on An Upturned Soul and commented:

    Since I am completely spaced out at the moment and can’t hold a thought in my mind long enough to think it, I’m sharing an old post about a different kind of spaced and space – a dream I had which was vivid, fun and insightful.


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