I dreamed this dream of wooded Wilds

I dreamed this dream of wooded wilds, dripping moisture in the grey air. The Earth’s many scents release when the rain drops onto pine needles and oak leaves. The pat-pat sound of the rain on the palmetto fronds is familiar in my mind.

I rise from my bed, surrounded by quiet and the familiar hum of the ceiling fan. It is early morning, the hour of in between twilight just before dawn, and I hear a voice. A man’s voice outside. From deep inside the dark cool trees, his voice travels out to me. I know that voice.

I wander out of the house, at odd morning hours. My bare feet padding down the lawn leading to the edge of the woods. I hear a crow, the rain, and his voice calling to me.

So I enter that wild realm of insects, birds, spirits. The wild god who waits for me.

He calls to me again, his voice warm and dark as fertile soil. My pulse thickens inside my skin. Shivers tremble up and down my spine, but still I long to find him.

I wander with soft steps on sacred ground. The smells inundate me, decay and life and rain. I weave through the thick trunks of ancient trees, winding thickets of brush and bole, over roots jutting out on my path.

And then I find him. He waits for me by a stream. The sounds of pipe and drum hit me then, though he holds no instrument in his hands.

His face is unmistakable, though I only ever see it in dreams. He whispers my name, and I approach his perch above the swirling water.

“Look,” he tells me. “Your strength is in this shadow, buried beneath the birch tree.” He smiles a cryptic smile, as a teacher might to his student who is working out the solution to something in her own mind. There are no birch trees here.

He reaches his hands out to me, and I take them in mine. His hands are warm and rough, mine cold and unsure.

He pulls me to his body, his warmth, his earthly knowledge. He smells of pine and soil and the decay of leaves.

His mouth covers my own, and I suck him in, all the scents and senses, the knowledge and heat.

Then I wake. I’ve had this dream before. It’s as if this vision, this dream message and messenger are begging for clarification. And I can’t seem to (or I’m not meant to) decipher it yet. But it’s always the same, always ends before the best part.

I like these dreams though, when I have them. They’re comforting and mysterious, as if my fate can be divined by some dream Being’s mood swings in the ephemeral world.

 

 

[Featured photo found on Pinterest]

The Juxtaposition of a Warrior’s Way

I am a Warrior.

That much I know for sure.

I have not lived this life without conflict, resistance, or chaos. I have lived with peace, joy, love, and harmony. Yes. But the darker shades of being are always present. Always sliding in rippling music underneath my skin.

My blood carries songs of days long past, and I welcome openly all the senses these musings gift to me. Even those of nightmares.

Fear is a gateway to transcendence. It makes us aware of the unwants along our strands of the Web. Fear calls our instincts to action.

Do we fight or run the other way?

I prefer to fight. This can take many forms: fighting through the negative fears and doubts to get to the positivity; fighting through a personal dilemma to come to a solution; fighting through a tragedy to heal emotional (and sometimes physical) wounds. There are countless ways in which we fight every day. Sometimes we run away from it all.

But the key to fear is that we should not fight against it (usually the thought of fighting against something bigger than ourselves is what causes us to run from our problems), but rather fight through it. Fighting through rather than against is what helps us become more of ourselves. Fighting through that which we fear rather than against it is opening up to the possibilities of strength and growth. Fighting against something is futile.

Change is ever constant, we can always count on it, and change offers ways to evolve and become stronger, better versions of ourselves. Fighting against change is pointless; fighting through that change and attendant fear is where we give ourselves the opportunity to come out the other side…changed.

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Fear awakens our senses, our darker reptilian instincts that, in my spirituality, should be conquered. Fought through. Our base selves will call out to us: fight or run; and we must call on our higher selves to fight. To wage a war through the resistance that we don’t want. Fight to find the solutions, fight to overcome the fear of change, to fight through emotional doubts and challenges so we can become stronger and more ingrained in who we are, what morals we hold, and how we handle ourselves in future circumstances.

Never fight against change or challenge, but fight through it, and the obstacles will fall away.

 

 

[Featured image found on Pinterest]

Clearing a Path

Clearing a path through the brambles (truth)

A midst all the chaos and catharsis is an ultimate truth. A dissolution of an inferior way, a past recollection in which dreams will die. I had reached this place of perplexed peace, a new beginning of sorts, just as the moon came full. Lunar and water elements gliding around me. The death and rebirth of another astrological year.

It’s led me to where my path must cross a threshold of tiring and disjointed debris cluttered in piles along my desired way.

Truth must serve, now. Truth even in its ugliest moments. I must cut through the thicket. This beast within whose ferocity no longer serves me must die and rise from the ashes of an inferno not yet ready and frightened to be quenched. But the truth calls for a reckoning, a wandering eye to still and open, and a move into action all of the choices that have already been made.

I have to make a new path.

The Law & right action (justice)

The Law governs me, keeps me in check. Not modern society’s laws, though there is that–which honestly, I break those too– the law by which my very own nature cannot turn against. I make judgments and decisions based on as much knowledge as I have about myself and the world around me.

I must live by right action: if it does not serve me, I must cut it out. If it harms me or those I hold dear, I must cut it out. The truth in all things must never be broken. At least from me. I am a loyal person, a steadfast soul, sometimes to a fault. I cannot waver from the truth. It drives my actions. It is my Law.

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“According to the legend of the Salmon of Knowledge, the Salmon ate hazelnuts, which were full of concentrated knowledge. Hazel is the tree of hidden knowledge and learning, of authority and justice. It brings the ability to discover truth.” -Taken from The Celtic Oracle

Learning & challenging (Understanding & Wisdom)

It’s painful and it’s raw, the surrender to unseen forces. It’s consuming and comforting and terrible inside a stormy mind and heart. A fiery being who hides in Earth. But I’m learning. I draw inward to reflect on past and present and future.

Multiple strands intersect and part and cross throughout the Web, and I can feel it growing within my hair. The challenges these Sights bring are their interpretive messes that bind themselves as riddles to my heart.

But the general nature of navigating this Life is something of a comfort, a pleasurable experience, if indeed dappled with pain. We have so much at our fingertips, and I’m learning how to cope with that. I’m learning how to pause and understand before judgment. To understand there is no judgment.

We must return to the highest Source, for our Divinity is in the Stars, in the Sea, in the Soil. We must learn to govern our inner selves, to work outward with what we learn from doing so and use it to approach all things with love and understanding in our hearts.

But we must hurt in this learning. Transformation is nothing short of painful.

Though in this, as in all new cycles, is a cleansing burn that will open the way and make clear a path that, before, was hidden from view.

So we must learn to be as the Salmon and delve deeper into divine knowledge. We must travel the currents of life’s River, always seeking Truth through higher knowledge and learning. We must eat the proverbial hazelnut as often as it presents itself, and like the Salmon, be reborn through truth and justice.

So I will find that path. And I will clear it.

A Chance Meeting

The feel of the world that surrounds me is ever oppressive in its summer heat… the slow drowning of sticky, humid air. I can still feel what’s left of the pleasantness in the slow, soft breeze–balmy, lingering within the leaves as they’re rustled by its whisper.

I think of poetry, of prose, of a narrative told in an ancient tongue. I don’t quite know the story, but the visceral feel of emotions and the scant pictures painted within my mind are ever present, needing in some way to release themselves.

There are stories I have, stories to tell. I watch and observe all I see around me and I am not without modes of inspiration. I come upon magic in all there is in the world, some vehement and sour, while other experiences promise hope, joy, and love.

A chance meeting is something a writer can always hope for; with a pleasant stranger discussing the weather, with an animal along a wooded trail, and with the Spirits in the land. Inspiration is divine, and divinity is all around us. Learn to see from within, and watch the secret places of the earth.

Keep a look out for these chance meetings because even the smallest bit of knowledge can be gained, giving the proper inspiration for a story to unfold.

The Woods

A flame still burns,
upon the hidden altar of transformation
Mortal eyes cannot see
what spirit sees or she places before me
I can perceive figures in the muted light
Shadows on guard
protecting relics of a world we have yet to know
But our knowing grows
And I cannot blanket the terrors of
A dimming wood
A forest of souls and stones and bones
Calling me to tread on down this well hidden trail
An arch of solid granite shrouded in vines and roots of ancient trees
Shows my spirit the way
And my feet lead me
Down the steps
Of disdain and quickened pain
Through shadows of my Self
Evolving to this moment
Trivial longings fade into the distance
And this one true desire beckons my heart to soar
On ravens wings to strike out the clout
Of disillusion
And I kneel in the fog
This astral mist of blooded memories
And I believe
We hold the key
To the womb of the earth
Where pain and peace do not turn so easily
From one to the other
The hater to the lover
My mother whispers my destiny
And I can see
The way before me
And I’ve come home

 

*LJ