This is so beautiful, Margaret. You draw a wonderful picture of intimacy and connection, leaving and loss. . “But this world was not meant for you…”. That line resonates do clearly in my heart.
A. This is do thoughtful and wise, and resonates so deeply with me. I often just recalled the nightmares, not the other . I have been daydreaming my whole life. And spinning yarns and stories in my head in the waking hours , sometimes I reckoned my subconscious needed a rest!
Kate, this is a lovely and powerful poem. “As though carrying a baby bird with revelations/that must be spoken across the rising stream/ of morning.” What incredible and beautiful lines yo end this special poem.
Kaitlin, I've kept dream journals in the past and used dreams in therapy to help uncover deep areas of hurt, forty years ago. This poem is a beautiful representation of what dreams can do for us. My poem will come much later today.
“That it births the world/anew into a fresh day.” . What a beautiful way to end this poem which starts do magically: “Every night the world end”. A poem song lovely in every way!
A beautiful poem, Christian. I love your use of a consistent word to begin each prayerful line, and your lovely evocation of the natural world yo sweeten each li e.
This morning I awoke with nothing perceptible from my walk in the dreamworld.
Oh I have memories still of the scary dreams from childhood.
I still hold deep memory of the messages and signs that have come through in my dreams over the years.
But most nights I dream - so many dreams - and wake recalling nothing. I wish I could carry my pen and journal with me into the dreamworld. Capturing something to bring forth into the day.
There you are
Close enough to be who I thought you were
Who I wanted you to be
Who you masked yourself as:
The life of the party;
The compassionate carer;
The twin to my flame.
I saw you in this place before you were
And shaped you into being
And so you came to inhabit the daily rituals of my life:
To bring new life;
To walk beside;
To nurture spirit.
But this world was not meant for you.
It’s meant for me alone:
Where new life greets me daily with the dawn;
Where I rise after falling to walk the grassy path;
Where I tend to my spirit with a poem a day.
In those last still moments of my dreamworld night
There you are
And I ask you why.
This place is not for you anymore.
I’ve dreamed you out of being.
And you may go.
I cross the threshold from sleeping to waking
And know that now it’s safe.
Absolutely beautiful.
Thank you!
This is so beautiful, Margaret. You draw a wonderful picture of intimacy and connection, leaving and loss. . “But this world was not meant for you…”. That line resonates do clearly in my heart.
Thank you for your presence. I so deeply appreciate your responses.
Dream Visitors
My grandmothers occasionally visit me
Years after they’ve left this world
As I lay in bed unconsciously sorting out my wild mind
We’re always somewhere familiar–a sense of love palpable
One will hug me with all her strength
And tell me, “you’re doing alright, kid.”
My soul mate–my best friend
My heart is always full of love and tears when I awake
My other Grandma visits to show me how misunderstood she’d been
Her whole life–no one saw her anxiety, no one helped her accept herself
I promise I see her–I promise I will learn from her pain
I promise her I hold no hard feelings for the things she did when scared
They both remind me of my power
The power they rarely got to fully show the world
They took on a world that had no interest in seeing them succeed
Both learned to hold their boundless strength close and quiet
Each of them taking their causes with ruthless diligence
Week after week, they sought the good of others
Both thoroughly uninterested in “causing a fuss”
But refusing to not fuss over others when needed
I always awake from these visits with new insights about me
I see a patchwork of their lives as I look in the mirror
Their love embroidered in the growing number of crow's feet around my eyes
Their wisdom stitched into the laugh lines around my mouth
I tell them to rest well
I tell them I’ll do them proud
In all my imperfections–in all my weaknesses
I’ll embody their strengths as best I can
So powerful. The way you craft this story, the messages you receive and the solace you give them and yourself. 🫶🏼
This is beautiful. What a gift to be visited by your grandmothers in your dreams.
Thank you! It really has been a gift for sure.
For a long time, I didn't remember
most of my dreams - only the bad ones,
really. I have spent so much of my waking life
imagining beautiful things, only to find that
my days didn't quite measure up. I wonder if,
in order to save myself from another
shattered ideality, my mind decided that,
at least upon waking, it would hide away
any good dreams, so they couldn't be
dampened by reality.
Love the last line! Powerful!
A. This is do thoughtful and wise, and resonates so deeply with me. I often just recalled the nightmares, not the other . I have been daydreaming my whole life. And spinning yarns and stories in my head in the waking hours , sometimes I reckoned my subconscious needed a rest!
Dreamworld - A visit with old friends
There was a time when a couple of dreams would visit me with regularity.
I would greet them with recognition and settle my sleeping self into their arms.
In one, I was the driver of my small car, with others along for the ride.
We always travelled the same path, on a high road, narrow, surrounded by lush greenery.
There was always a stream below.
And at some point in this dream, we would always come to a dead end - an alarming break in the roadway.
The dream would end.
A different dream involved an elevator.
I was in an office building, heading somewhere.
I entered the elevator, but could not get to where I needed to go.
The elevator would careen wildly, up and around, would travel horizontally.
I needed to find a way out so I could get to my destination.
The dream would end.
Ah my old friends, how is it that you no longer visit me?
Can I hope that just maybe I got to where I was meant to be?
Musical refrain - "Hello darkness my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping...." - Simon and Garfunkel
Love this line — I would greet them with recognition and settle my sleeping self into their arms.
A dream can land
like a bird -
lightly, as a sign
of hope, or joy.
A dream can land
like a space capsule,
with a big splash
and lots of cheering.
A dream can land
like an Airbus -
fast, loud,
and full of folks
in a hurry to be somewhere else.
A dream can land
like a glass
that slips from your hand,
shattering itself
and your nerves.
no matter the gleaming fangs, the deep blue river,
the worst-feared consequence,
the ungraspable, terrible beloved, you know
you have glimpsed a herd of wild truths flying,
so real and so mandatory,
you stride across that still thin sill
of waking, slip back into a soft sheath
of body, leave behind the starry rootlets,
the hints of lightning emerged
from your crown in the night,
to walk forth, thoughtfully,
as though carrying a baby bird, with revelations
that must be spoken across the rising steam
of morning.
"A herd of wild truths flying" ❤️❤️❤️
Kate, this is a lovely and powerful poem. “As though carrying a baby bird with revelations/that must be spoken across the rising stream/ of morning.” What incredible and beautiful lines yo end this special poem.
The ungraspable, terrible beloved. This is all so rich and alive Kate!
Kaitlin, I've kept dream journals in the past and used dreams in therapy to help uncover deep areas of hurt, forty years ago. This poem is a beautiful representation of what dreams can do for us. My poem will come much later today.
Can’t wait to read it!
Shenandoah
^
Dispatches from the dream world,
Wide open valley
And magical rivers.
Connecting dreams, threading mystery,
Quiet gentle land of deep beauty,
Whispers in the wind;
Of battles fought, won and lost,
Sacred pacts broken by greed and power,
Love’s song carried on autumn winds.
^
Precious daughter of the stars,
Creator of dreams and mystical magic,
I hear you spirit music on the wind,
Smell your sweet grass in my dreams,
Walk again among your deep green forests,
Hold your stories deep in my soul.
^
Swimming through the last moments of sleep,
unspoken prayer healing the broken,
Stars set in motion all that will be;
I sense that yearning call:
When will you come home,
again?
Every night the world ends
I sink into the ether
Let my spirit fly to
The waiting stars
Where darkness sows
So much possibility
That it births the world
Anew into a fresh day
“That it births the world/anew into a fresh day.” . What a beautiful way to end this poem which starts do magically: “Every night the world end”. A poem song lovely in every way!
Day #4: Dreamworld
wherein we find the endless beginning of all things
wherein the old ones and the new ones create ceremonies
wherein the piercing light and the immense shadows live
wherein you and I are one
wherein time is always also a place
wherein the echo of the Great Mystery moves,
cradling the wide expanse of galaxies
wherein the ocean has no bottom, and
the sky is her extension
wherein the edge is the starting point
wherein heaven is also Earth,
wherein we find each other in between
wherein we are also always every-when
wherein the magnetic night can be a beacon
wherein we live within the story, and
in the dreaming body of the ancient cosmos
wherein the hours hum us into rhythm, and
we mirror the movement of the land
wherein the hawk is our healer
wherein the geese are our griots
wherein strawberry is our sweet-singing sister
wherein the keen listening ear of corn is our elder.
wherein the boundary of here and there is an illusion
wherein the border of my heart and yours is an epic myth
wherein we retell the stories of creation
wherein we un-silo our silences and start speaking
wherein we surrender into the wave of resonance
wherein deep calls unto deep, and
we breathe inside the unfolding miracle.
A beautiful poem, Christian. I love your use of a consistent word to begin each prayerful line, and your lovely evocation of the natural world yo sweeten each li e.
“A lion and a child and a worrisome woman all in one tight cage of my own being.” I love that ❤️
♥️♥️♥️♥️
This morning I awoke with nothing perceptible from my walk in the dreamworld.
Oh I have memories still of the scary dreams from childhood.
I still hold deep memory of the messages and signs that have come through in my dreams over the years.
But most nights I dream - so many dreams - and wake recalling nothing. I wish I could carry my pen and journal with me into the dreamworld. Capturing something to bring forth into the day.
this wish is so tender, so honest… it feels like a prayer to the dream maker.
Thank you. Indeed a prayer.
Beautiful poem, Kaitlin. It reminds me of the Strength card in Tarot.
Thank you 🥹♥️♥️
Thanks for this poem, Kaitlin. It brings tears to my eyes. I especially love the last 3 lines.
In my dreamworld
Little is known to me
Yet all is familiar to
The person I am *there*
However random and confounding,
The dreamworld Me believes her
Purpose is to figure out the mission,
To go where she is going.
In my dreamworld
The locations are seldom those of
My so-called real one
They are seldom static, always evolving
One premises melding into another
A dark corridor becomes a field of
Tall grasses that yields a group of
Passengers boarding an elevator
That requires a key
Do I have it? I’m supposed to have it
I’m the one in charge, after all,
In my dreamworld, or am I?
Where am I going, who are these people
Leading me — or am I leading us
To the circular parking garage to nowhere that
Lifts us all into the airplane/spacecraft
Hybrid to an unknown destination?
But the dreamworld doesn’t reveal
The answers I seek, the secret
Of the mission my unconscious mind
Has created for my consideration
For once my energies and strategies
Have all run. out, and I awaken,
The night’s images linger briefly
Then dissolve into
Nothingness…or so I believe, until
The next night, or the night after,
When I revisit the dreamworld
And embark upon that night’s
Obstacle Course of dream terrains
Then awaken again, I am left
Not just with the memories of the
Newest journey, but the other nights’ Ruminations as well,
My mind a growing library, of secret
Literature, an atlas of dreamworld
Landscapes, the scope of which is Yet to be revealed.
Love those last three lines
In the dreamworld
People have no faces,
Or more precisely
No eyes to look into
Nor to recognize…
In the dreamworld
We are all the same,
Not exteriors but
Interior beings defined
By what we speak or do…
In the dreamworld
People are known
By their character,
And the waking world
Would do well to follow.