Sorting out Dreams. These are an extension of my daily concerns and worries and I can see clearly what issues they relate too and what daily happenings they are born from.
Wake up you have not been listening Dreams. When I first began to ‘wake up’ to Spirit, I had a lot of these dreams which often had common themes. I dreamed of cats or babies that I had put in a cupboard or forgotten to feed or nurture in some way. When I began to consciously work with my spiritual gifts then I had less of these dreams and more waking visions and words that came to me and flowed out through my writing.
Personal Prophetic Dreams.These are ones that have actually come true concerning my own life and that of my family and close friends. I dreamed my granddaughters before their arrival, saw houses that I was to live in and events that were to come and in these dreams I was given dates and shown very clearly places I had not yet been to.
End of the World Dreams. Ever since I can remember I have had these dreams where I have to leave somewhere because of some impending upheaval. I am packing up things I need to take with me, always practical things like camping and survial gear, useful items that will be necessary like food and water and always weapons for hunting and protection. Usually I am having to do this quickly, speed is of the essence and I have to balance the use of an item against its weight and importance. In these dreams I have seen floods and storms and seen the Sun and stars change their positions in the skies as the Earth moved.
Past Life Dreams. The thing I have noticed about these dreams is that there is an absolute clear sharpness about the detail in them and they do not fade like mist if I don’t write them down as soon as I wake up. In these dreams I am me but not me. Often my children, family or close friends are in the dream but again they look nothing like they do now and yet I recognise them.
I have also had several dreams which seem to relate to the most ancient times and in these dreams there is no speach only an awareness of feeling and a visual clarity like even the air itself is new and fresh.
As I travelled the Dark rose up before me. A Dragon, a bird or both. Its wings spread to cover my path and all my sight. And it had sight too, cruel piercing eyes that can see Souls and eat them if desired. I stood small in front of it and marvelled at the beauty of the wings, the patterns, their movements and their power. The Dark settled before me and when I looked once more I could see the eyes had changed. No longer cruel they looked into me and puzzled over what they found.And then the Dark became less dark, as mist it rose, grey it became, then shreds it was before the rising sun.
I blinked and considered the loss of the Dark and what I had found within it.
A journey to return to my people, my place, my life.Waterfalls and rocks. Dark, high mountains. Bears and eagles. Cruel eyes of the Hunter.
“Daughter of the Caldevi, Child of the forgotten ones. Your Soul has blown upon the winds and floated in the seas of time. Your People call to you and sing you home. Gather up the bones of your life and walk to greet them. Stand in the sun of your youth and call back your song. See where you belong, from where you came. Gaze into the pool of Souls and sing yours home to you. Call to us and we will follow across the bridge of time.
Remember now all that you have been. Remember why. Hear the call, the cry of ages. Pull your Soul about you as a cloak, pick up your shield and pull your sword into your hand. Hear it sing. Hear it call. Hold it high. Stand tall and be all that you have forever been. Be again.
It is Winter and the Grandmother sleeps. All about her children creep, hiding from the ice of her cold fingers, fearful lest she wake angry with them, afraid that this time she will not wake and her white hard mantle will lay across the land until the Earth breaks.
But in her sleep the Grandmother turns and dreams. She dreams of warmth to thaw her bones, she dreams of food to fill her belly. She dreams the running water of the streams and the deepness of the wells. She remembers how light are the steps of youth, how fresh the beauty, how full the hope which nothing binds. She recalls the fresh green and gold of the first morning. All these things she dreams and her memories bring to her skin a warm touch unfelt through the long held darkness.
She stretches to free herself from the cold grip of the age. She hears the cry of the newborn and the Grandmother awakes, a smile upon her face. Lightly she rises and dances on the dawn, Grandmother no longer for she has dreamed the Maiden and formed her from her sleep,
“Go Daughter. Dance the Spring from the land, call the energies of the Earth and sing of all that life will bring. Weave new life upon a tired web and dream yourself a new dawn.”
The Maiden knows that all is possible, that life follows death and that we must all dream our future into being. For from her aching limbs and crackling breath did not the Grandmother dream the Maiden who dances for her? As the Maiden will call forth the Mother when the time is right and the Mother will whisper her secrets to the Grandmother when the ages call her. And so they pass from hand to hand, from heart to heart, from breath to breath the Old knowledge, the love and the new hope.
For what reason have I come out of the ground and ceased my wanderings in the eternal halls of the dead?
Why do I fly no longer on the wind?
Why am I bound to this Earth with heavy limbs and slow?
Why are my dreams and thoughts as mists and whisps blown upon a careless wind?
Why has the sleep of ages ended?
For what reason do I walk once more upon this Earth and bind myself to its troubles?
It is strange to be of this world and yet not. The cares of this world assail me but I know them to be but chaff on the wind. We are as nothing against the Endless Ones and no matter how far we travel it is but a step on the treads of time. But travel we must for to stand still is to die.