Sunday Night Dream

I dreamt about my former home, last night. It was a partially melancholy dream, as journeys into the past sometimes are for me.

My old property lies on an almost three acre plot, about ten minutes from the nearest town.

This is the time of year where I would start serious clean-up of the gardens. There would be pruning of the Hedges, overgrown Trees and Shrubs, snow and wind-damaged limbs. Sometimes it took weeks, but that is the gardener's prerogative...gardens are usually a work in progress.

There were many spots in my old garden, where I could easily hide from the world, if I so choose. I lived there many years, and it is effortless to return and visit in a dream, as I did last night.

I know every nook and cranny.

In my dream, I wandered away from my house, towards the East garden. It was shaded by huge old dogwoods, an enormous Laurel hedge, Silver Birches. As I dreamed, it seemed dark, wet and foreboding. There were many fallen branches and leaves amid tangled shrubbery and blackberry vines.

Little light entered this garden, although in an awake state, I remember it very differently.

I wandered on, however, not deterred by the gloomy, dank and tangled area I was about to enter. In my dream, I moved purposefully...yet I still sensed that I was about to face a situation that might entail total awareness. I had a quick flash of the hind end of Grandfather Bear ahead of me...

Instantly, I realized that I had protection and guidance in this place, if I would remember to ask for it. Grandfather Bear, when he appears to me, is a very powerful guide...his energy signature is warm and comforting, with a musky, earthy aroma filling my nostrils. I experience instant knowledge, in a dream, a vision or a meditation, that I am required, now, to stand and face any fear I might be hiding from.

As the shrubbery and broken tree limbs closed behind me, I was enclosed, suddenly, in a dark place, where even darker fingers of brush loomed all around me...

I moved ahead, regardless, very sure now that I was meant to travel this obscure, murky path, traveling on with faith and strength and trust as my companions.

Dank and muddy, the path meandered ahead, large black objects insinuating themselves in my way. I felt wet ooze as I touched one...and realized I was in a very troubled place...a place that had felt little warmth and comfort, or had very rarely seen any gentle fingers of light.

I hear the faint sounds of a Horn ahead, just as quickly cut off. I move Branches aside. I see a still, azure Pool, surrounded by Rock, enclosed in a golden light. Many fern fingers touch the water, trailing their tips through the underground currents in the Pool.

I see a lady sitting by the water, brushing her hair. Her movements mesmerize me...I stare as her hands rhythmically brush and smooth, brush and smooth...her long red hair. She ignores me completely for awhile, continuing with her brushing.

Random thoughts and whispers twirl themselves around my senses. I am sent quick images, as I watch the brushing, glimpses of people and other beings, vistas and water. I am not able to grasp any of the dream within a dream.

As I watch, I am immersed in water, feeling as if I have plunged deep within the Pool, even if I am standing watching the Lady brush her hair. I feel bubbles of water brush my skin...I feel the water entering every part of my being, as I stand and watch.

I am not aware. I become hypnotized by her, the soft golden wash of light that glints off the Pool, like crushed glass, and the distant moan from the Horn playing so eloquently from somewhere...

Unawareness costs me. Quickly, she turns into the Crone, pointing a long trembling finger at me, shrieking with laughter. My heart pounds. I want to flee. She thrusts a branch at me, as I raise my hands in defense. I grasp the end, feeling warm energy enter my hands and traveling up my arm. Just as suddenly, she disappears, and I am once more on the path. I am turned to the West this time, the branch in my hand.

But it is a well traveled path; the Ferns and Salal carefully tended, and no Branches with their attempts to snag my clothing to be fought off. Nurse logs show their babies amidst soft, green moss. The Trees have yet to unfurl their new foliage, and a weak sunny light filters in around me. There is no anxiety present here, only a late Winter garden, a garden I once tended, waiting for word from Spring.

The notes from the Horn still sound...growing fainter now.

I awake and stretch, find my slippers and wander the darkened house, wondering about the dream. It will stay with me, this one, as some dreams will.

During the next few days, I will decipher parts of this dream; some bits have already been revealed to me. Who I call the Crone, an old lady who can fly through the air, has appeared to me before. She usually foreshadows a life changing event. Her visits are rarely pleasant affairs, because this lady is not gentle and kind.

But she usually wakens a part of me that has been sleeping.

She never fails to remind me to be aware.

And she gave me a gift this time...a branch that warmed me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

Not bad for a run of the mill Sunday Night dream.