Dreamworld (day four)

a poem a day in the month of may

Good morning friends,

Once again I am so overcome with gratitude for how you’re showing up to this space. Whether you’re sharing your poetry here or not, whether you’re reading my poetry or not, I can feel the depth and care of this community, and I am so grateful.

We’re having deep discussions in the writing world about whether social media is necessary for us—that’s not a discussion I’m getting deeply into here today, but I want to point to it because so many of us are trying to build a community, a community like this one. Just yesterday I received two different emails from women thanking me for my writing, for how it’s changing and shaping their lives, and I am so humbled and grateful to be any small part in the healing journey of another human.

That’s why I am here.

That’s why I write poetry.

I think that’s why you’re here, too, so thank you.

Today’s word is dreamworld, and my poem is a long one, so please lean in and bear with me! Ask what the dreamworld speaks to you, how it gives you something in this chaotic world we inhabit.

Photo by Javardh on Unsplash

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I met myself once,
in the dreamworld,
but I didn’t know it
until a few days later.

In the dream, I
came across a 
small child in a
field, there inside
a fenced-in area
with a playful lion.

The lion kept trying
to jump the fence,
and I, adult that I am,
wanted to intervene, to
help the child manage
an unmanageable 
Situation.

But the child smiled,
kept the lion in line
with tender words and
her own ferocious smile,
and at one point, when
the child wasn’t looking,
the lion bounded from
their cage, and still,
once the child noticed,
they smiled, knowing
the lion would return
when they were ready.

I asked myself what
the dreamworld wanted
to say to me there, what I
maybe wanted to say to
myself, and there was
nothing at first except
my own worries
at the sight of this
child and lion in total
kinship.

But there, days later
while practicing
my own form of
embodiment, it came
to me, stunningly clear:
I am the lion.
I am the woman.
I am the child.

The dreamworld is
there for us, a reminder
that beyond the veil
of chaos we know
there is something deep
tethering us to the
unknowable, eternal
realities that exist
within us.

Isn’t that a glorious
thing in itself, that we
are so deeply connected
to The Sacred even
in our time of rest?

Isn’t it glorious
that somehow I can
be a lion, a child, and
a worrisome woman 
all in the same tight
cage of my own being?

Isn’t it glorious
that somehow we
are never left alone
and also that we are
always alone with ourselves
to plunge the depths
and find out what waits there?

May we build altars to the
dreamworlds that hold
and tether us, altars
buried under sheets
and blankets and sleep
masks, altars beneath
the dark of our eyelids
where we wait to discover
who we’ve been
waiting to become.