| The Dream Maker has changed the way she speaks to me. She sends messages that are more difficult to bring back across the border into images and language. When I wake I am still somewhat in the other world where knowledge has no form, so I look for the nearest approximation to life as I know it. My psyche knows the message, but not the words. She also sends me dreams of five or six words. I write them in the night, and don’t remember waking to do so. |  |
I’ve asked for this, of course – deepen my understanding, I say. So, she is.
She, the Dream Maker, talks about universal principles; she mentioned types into which people fall. I remember another dream about the latter. I was shown packets of DNA, that some packets were different arrangements of the same substance; that other packets had an altogether different foundation. High on a mountainside she showed me this.
She knows what I want to know. I am patiently insistent. Spiraling towards me, she sends out filaments of information. I contemplate her offerings, think I understand, then suddenly the whole message opens. Or so I think until the meaning opens further.
But that is how she is, isn’t it? She has her roots in mystery that can never altogether be known. To try to nail her down is to uproot her, to kill or diminish the rich gift of her coming. I like this change in how the Dream Maker speaks to me – more to the heart of my desire. In addition, she’s let me know where I am in the length of my days, the work yet to be done. Not the exact days, but still...
Something else comes with this old friend – the house is a little noisier at night, the property dense with unseen life. This reminds me of when my parents lived here with me, movement at the edge of vision, night visitors. Nothing to be afraid of, just life letting me know the complexity and beauty of being, what's important, how to feed soul.
She, the Dream Maker, talks about universal principles; she mentioned types into which people fall. I remember another dream about the latter. I was shown packets of DNA, that some packets were different arrangements of the same substance; that other packets had an altogether different foundation. High on a mountainside she showed me this.
She knows what I want to know. I am patiently insistent. Spiraling towards me, she sends out filaments of information. I contemplate her offerings, think I understand, then suddenly the whole message opens. Or so I think until the meaning opens further.
But that is how she is, isn’t it? She has her roots in mystery that can never altogether be known. To try to nail her down is to uproot her, to kill or diminish the rich gift of her coming. I like this change in how the Dream Maker speaks to me – more to the heart of my desire. In addition, she’s let me know where I am in the length of my days, the work yet to be done. Not the exact days, but still...
Something else comes with this old friend – the house is a little noisier at night, the property dense with unseen life. This reminds me of when my parents lived here with me, movement at the edge of vision, night visitors. Nothing to be afraid of, just life letting me know the complexity and beauty of being, what's important, how to feed soul.
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