Metaphor Dreaming...

4/09/16 - 04:05AM

I woke up with a bubble of crying in my voice.  I was so bewildered that I grabbed my notebook and began to write the entire dream as I remembered - then I went back and filled in the explanations to make it readable to a mind other than my own.  What follows is the most reduced version of self and the need to study and attempt to understand my mind - the matter above the matter.  Sometimes it's maddening - sometimes I'm a simple observer to my own existence just trying to see myself, not in the eyes of now, but in the eyes of what has always been and what will always be while surrendering to the now...

Can you dream in a metaphor?  I believe I just did...

My Godmother Marguerite's house.  This is the house that has held everyone I have ever truly loved without question without provocation.  It was empty and white and hollow - readying for a transfer of ownership - but the ghosts were all there; those dead, those alive.


Cut to my marital home - the one I strove to mimic my Godmother's - complete with yard, lavish parties, orchestrated holidays.  My room was at the top of the stairs - my boys were young, very young and playing outside in the sun - it streamed through my window. then dusk seemed to come suddenly throwing shadows everywhere and my ex-husband (Bill) was walking up the stairs with my Godfather Bill.  They were laughing but only my ex-husband came into the room.  He was there to pick up the boys and we had reached a polite stage of communication - as if we were simple acquaintances and hadn't cosmically collided at any point creating two human beings and enmeshing our lives for a spell in the story of eternity.  We had become strangers - but there was always an unspoken horror between us post divorce.

We had tried a few times to right things - days before the gavel fell and for about a year after -living separately.  It had been an endless game of cat and mouse; when he wanted to reconcile I would resist - bypassing the urge, knowing I loved him but not being able to trust him.  And then I had moments when I wanted to run back to the safety I thought he was, but I would wait it out.  I believe it was the same for him.  At any time we could've fallen back into those patterns- life grooves from a dull needle on a very worn record, and the unspoken horror could've taken up residence in the marriage.

"I wanted to talk to you" I said.

"About what Chris? Marriage?" he laughed 'you want to get remarried?' he chuckled with that small boyish look that begged 'don't reject me,'  'don't leave me like my mother did'... but I had already had, hadn't I?

But it was that little boy look that got me every time.  The hurt little boy that grew into the hurt man - that little boy I see in my own little boys, rejected by his mother and as a result he would preemptively, unconsciously, make certain he would always have an out in any relationship.  He would make certain he fucked them up first - whether the women knew it or not.  And when they did find out (because a pattern is a pattern) he really wasn't that surprised and somehow able to remain solid and table each marriage, each relationship as an acquaintance that never truly got all that close anyway.

In my dream I consciously said 'No, but I am getting married.'  I let that sink in.  He closed his eyes like one that had been dealt a death blow - like someone or something they truly loved just ceased to exist.  On his closed thin eyelids in the shadows of blues from dusk I witnessed all the pain he had lived, he had caused, he had carried - all in one moment.  It was overwhelming, even for someone with a hard heart, such as I had cultured.  So I verbally stumbled on...

"I met someone, I knew him when I was younger - he lives in Oregon and is in conservation engineering, (In my dream this registered true - though in conscious life it is not) 'You know I love that stuff (In dream registered true) He has a little boy (In dream registered true) Our boys will be the big brothers - they love him, it's an easy fit, we are leaving next week.

He looked at me and smiled defeat.  'Well then there's no competition Chris.  I can't compete with that."

"You see' I said 'that's the problem.  He's a great guy ( I was holding a pic of him in my hand) and I do care for him deeply..but...when I tell him I love him it doesn't ring true.  Not really.  It's true that I love him, but not with the depth, the ALL that I loved you with - that I still love you with, that I will ALWAYS love you with.'  He hugged me and I broke a bit.  And in my dream I only saw my own face streaming with tears.  "I loved you so much.  Why did you hurt me?  I still love you but I can't be with you  - yet I want to be sometimes.  This guy deserves someone who loves him like that - someone that can say it with their ALL.  I can't say those words to him, I never will be able to because there is still you.  I miss you.  I miss you so much sometimes - the dumb shit we used to do.  Even if on your side it wasn't ever real - but for me it was!  It was REAL. Regret gathered in my soul with the deafening roar of acceptance.

Then I was standing in my Godmothers kitchen.  It was large and white - a big galley.  I was buying it, or she was giving it to me.  But it was empty.  So very empty.  And so white, and it was just me there all alone.  I thought of all the people I loved that it had held.  The parties, the gatherings, the dinners.  You can never re-create that.  It's not a set.

Your moments must be organic connections - real - spontaneous - and maybe you only get them for a little while.  Maybe true love is like serotonin - when over fired it can deplete, but you're human. You're always gonna chase it but you know it's never as good as the first time.  It's never as good as the real love and moments, and the trickery is you don't always know what the real moments are  until you have a 'set' of engineered ones to compare them with.

There in lies the wistful truth, yes? The knowing. The terror of the knowing.

Best to believe every moment has the potential to be THE moment; the moment of love, of honesty, of truth, of happiness.  Don't worry about the hard moments so much. Believe me, you'll rack those up - but remember that your cosmic DNA dictates that you survive - that you walk exposed, get sliced, bleed, and repair.

Make the choice.  Choose to remain open.  Great hurt is only known while standing next to excruciating JOY.  Great Forgiveness is only achieved when you acknowledge regret and begin the practice of forgiveness within your own heart.

The beauty is not over until it is,  and even then you may not realize your life as the truly magnificent celestial breath that it was.  SO BELIEVE IT IS NOW.

Great Sadness and fear can strike at anytime but if you should find yourself in the throes of it KNOW WITH EVERY FIBER OF YOUR BEING GREAT JOY AND LOVE CAN STRIKE ANYTIME AS WELL. You can never truly know one without the other.  So cry. And wait. And pray the hard stuff down because the good stuff can't be far from you.  Its a balance through the Epochs - through the seed of the dream that everything began with.

I looked a the galley kitchen that was to be mine.  I saw the keys in my little girl hands and put them on the counter.  I took a slow last look, heard the echoes that once were and the stillness that is now.  I turned to the arch way that lead to the door where the sun was so bright I may've been walking into the sky.

Some things we should never see as empty.

Today is here
Namaste

Sacred Spaces

I've been under the weather for about a week now.  Heaviness in the chest, coughing uncontrollably and a low grade fever.  After the initial 'flat on my back' rest I began to climb the walls.  I think I've read 5 books total.  A mind forced down is a chaotic neighborhood for sure.

I dug out some old writing that I did about 3 years ago (much of it on a graveyard shift at a job I no longer work) and I have to say it was like seeing an old friend.  It was a practice in meditation - creating a vision of something, based on nowhere I had ever been - truly creative.  It was a work of solitude both in writing it and the character it reflected.  It could've been considered sexual in some areas but it was tasteful, or at least that's how I reflected upon it.  I also pulled out old journals and read about when I went back to school and all of the hope in which that time frame contained, and it made me smile.  Memories, dreams, and fears in ink.  My favorite.

I seem to be in a holding pattern and beginning to wake up a bit more like me.  Damn you time change - you man made parameter that disrupts my primal clock.  4:30 seems to be the current wake time in that simmering pre dawn hint.  I wake and because of my congestion I pad downstairs to make a cup of very strong Irish Breakfast tea, I feed the animals (more than I'd like to admit right now - well, who am I kidding? we are keeping every animal in this house) and then I take refuge in my room,  It has become my space in that last 2 months and everything in it reflects that from the photos of my boys and kayak photos to the Himalayan salt shards, to lush plants,

to my degrees, to the art I've dabbled with (the site DeviantArt has become an obsession), to hanging scarves, to the hidden poster  (The Walking Dead) nabbed at a Walker Stalker convention after kicking myself for not buying it at Comic-Con the year before (Oh yeah I'm one of those),  It's hidden because when I sit in my chair in the corner the poster is hung on the side of the armoire - so only I can see it.  I love the iconic image - everything went to hell and the only sounds;  a man's thoughts, hopes, and horse hooves.  Yes, yes, and yes.

To the weird thrift jewelry that takes turns on my walls, and let's not forget my totem/spirit animal (fox) which is everywhere.

It's a lovely place and I find the felines under my care prefer this room over all others in this large townhouse.  The windows are always open, at least a crack, I despise stale air and would rather have a cold front come in than settle for stagnant breathing.  The wind sounded like a tide in the dark early this morning and there are snowflakes now dancing in the sun.  My tiny wind chime hangs between the windows that face the swamp and they hang from one of my mothers old rosary beads, the crucifix long lost. The crystal on the end splays bits of concentrated light around the dark walls making the cats stare in wonder.

Another thing I have noticed is that I have relaxed significantly into this space.  I think it has to do with a shift I had regarding the temporary view I've held of my home.  It was spawned of fear.

When you are afraid (or at least when I am) of losing something you tend to disassociate from it a bit. I believe that's what I did for a while.  Money was so tight and I was running with fear that I was afraid to truly love this space or commit to it on an energetic level.  I don't really know what happened, I mean money is still tight and a constant pain in the ass balance sheet in my head, but I've leaned into where I am.  I've owned the place for 11 years now.  Odd, I know, but that's the way it went and once I decided to do what I liked with it as opposed to what I thought it should look like (which is exactly what my magazine worthy marital home was - I see old pics and think it was lovely about as lovely as a nice funeral home) I began to achieve a level of comfort.  I'm a gypsy at heart, a Boho chick by way of druid forest kind of girl, more at home out of a house than in one.

But I finally feel at home.  Oh believe me, I've had different love for this place but never this level of Inner comfort.  It's quite surprising and lovely.  I'm still restless inside, still working for things, still walking through fear most days with my sword  - I don't think that will ever leave me.  So somewhere in the middle, for a few hours here and there, I relax.

This morning found me up, writing, then settling in with my laptop.  I dabbled with my Youtube video subscriptions - Brothers Green Eats, Tiny Home Giant Journey, Relax Shacks, Seeker Stories, River Cottage, Ana White, Exploring Alternatives, Kirsten Dirksen, Peak Moment and Cold Antler - just to name a few.  I have a long day ahead of me as a few things got pushed off until I felt better.  But this morning I had a sacred time, alone with the break of day - cloistered in a space that cradled me - I wish the same for you.

Sacred Spaces
Namaste