Before she was…

The draw to the hut was strong. My body ached with the need and desire to go there. 

‘I will come and stay for a month,’ I turned to him and said running my hand across a wooden log, the cabin was made from. I was there, but I was not, not fully, not like I needed or wanted to. 

‘I will stay with you. We can go fishing and berry picking.’ He wiped mosquito off his cheek. The stickiness of the summer evening on my skin felt strange and it smelt strongly of jasmine. That place was ripe with everything nature, just like in my childhood. I wanted to drink it in. 

In the cabin there were people. They looked happy going about their business. I remember being overcome by jealousy for their fortune of being able to stay there. It was like I was there, but I was not. From my dream I observed it all. I was just a visitor in that place, but in my blood, I knew it as my home from long ago. The ache of wanting to live there rose again. 

There were several rooms: a hall, a big lounge, and an attic. Each room had its purpose. A child joined me and began following me everywhere. It was a small boy but had a girl’s name and looks very pretty. I sat on a sofa and a young woman came and covered me with a blanket. A young man, who showed me around appeared to be in charge. The place felt pure, kind, yet it held secrets, codes, treasures to be discovered. I became very curious. 

‘Where can I find her,’ I asked him. 

He turned away fiddling with a piece of wood in his hand. 

‘I should not really tell you. May be just leave it. It has been a long time and you do not know what it will lead to.’ He looked at me with understanding and warmth. 

‘I do know what you are saying. I do. I just wondered if she was around.’

And then he said, ‘She is around, all around. She is right next door.’

‘Left, or right?’ I asked. 

He looked right but meant left. Somehow, I understood that. 

Once outside everything was lush green with rowans lining up the road on both sides. Late summer. Berries were beginning to redden. I took it all in. It smelt like rich soil and home. I was home. And then darkness. I plunged into it suddenly and it felt comforting. The thing about darkness, you might not be able to see anyone, but no one can see you either. I always found that comforting to know. I took my shoes off and walked out of the gate and looked where her house was. It was large and beautiful. Luxurious with big windows. I felt scared. Night summer air intoxicatingly alluring. I took another deep breath. 

‘I could not possible go in that house,’ I thought. So imposing and grand, not what I expected, and it was right there, next to the house I stayed in. 

Next, I walked back through the gate and stood on a bench lined up against the gate to peek into the windows next door. I knew I should not be doing it but could not help it. Curiosity took over. And then I saw cats, lots of back cats. They were the size of dogs. They roamed the boarder scowling. They began moving towards me as soon as they spotted me. I froze in terror. They snarled at me, and one sank her teeth into my leg. I felt sharp pain. They withdrew.

I ran into the house, but someone followed me in. I turned around and there she was. Young and beautiful, simply dressed. Her hair colour I recognised, as my own, when I was a child. Decorative small earrings, nothing out of the ordinary apart from her face. Intensely kind, shining from within she was. I felt her goodness, but also darkness all at the same time. She was both life and death. She took my hand in hers, which felt clammy and cool, but not unpleasant. I froze, fascinated, honoured, and humbled all at the same time. Then she told me her name… It was her, before she was her.

It was one of those significant dreams, which I have not had for some time. I am grateful to receive one last night. Dreams are products of our psyche. They are from us, about us and for us. Over my lifetime I learnt to recognise various categories of dreams. This one belongs to a ‘telling’ dream that contained several messages for me and reflected aspects of my own consciousness that should help me moving forward. It was fairy tale like with vivid landscapes, vibrant colours, and strong smells. I touched objects and people with intent and purpose that remains with me now on waking. I love sensory dreams like this one and it just had to be recorded. She was there, the young version of her, before she became her… 

Happy Yule, everyone!

Advertisement

Do not yearn for summer

Do not yearn for eternal summer

For it will burn your heart empty

When seeking to maintain its peak.

Much stronger is the fire internal

witnessed during the darker days.

As the Earth cycles

So are we.

Nothing stops and nothing stays the same

The rise and fall of life is necessary

For the variety is a tool of awareness.

Decay is transformation just as blooming is.

Without rest in death

There’s no seedling or reaching for the open.

There’s no lessons learnt in expectation of what might be.

There’s no mystery if dwelling in one place and same.

We must go places uncomfortable, dark, cold.

Do not yearn for eternal summer,

As winter is full of shine just as much.

A different kind, mute and murky

Dark but rich

Quiet yet wise.

Immerse in the darkness of each year with surrender

For the only way forward is through.

Breakdown

A wild something screams out of the flesh, released for all to see
The fear, horror, hopelessness 
With only one desire – not to exist

The uncontrollable despair comparable only to deep dark sorrow
Once you experience sorrow, someone said, the depth is done, for it is sorrow that defines the darkest of darkness
How does one continue after such exposure, sorrow repeated over and over?

But it continues… how, I don’t know
What saves one?
Logic, sense, love, meaning of some sort; all the things that can not be grasped at in moments of being stripped of all flesh 

But it subsides, comes back into itself beaten, broken and bare yet somewhat whole
Pierced with holes and stained with blood of a battle just passed
But living, catching breath, continuing 

I heard a whisper between sobs and spiky mess of the ravaged mind
‘Keep looking out’
For I was surrounded by mountains on one side and by a forest of the other
Keep looking, seeing, let it be in elemental presence
Oh how I tried to see with no vision and feel through the cracks of broken flesh. I tried yet failed

Another day came and the whisper persisted
‘Keep trying,’ it said and like a mother the vast landscape filled with light opened its arms 
To which it drew me in embrace 
And I was home again
The fog lifted off my senses as mist released the water off its hold
Revealing space, an openness, hope, a chance to take flight again, to take another breath 

The forest on my doorstep

Pine fragrance invigorates all my senses allowing me to breathe the fresh essence of the forest. It is the most pleasant sensation, which spreads through my whole body simultaneously grounding me in and letting me fly.

When I found this place, I knew little about where it was and what it looked like. On arrival the overwhelm of it all took over leading me to a breakdown. That’s the power of the elements in the wilderness and its effect on me. I am no longer surprised by it, as it happens every year, but I do continue to marvel at its power. There is forest on one side within a few meters from where I stand and the mountains on the other with an open view of a loch in front. The house itself is like something I have dreamt about for what feels like eternity, one that you read in fairy tales about.

It took me a total of six days to come back into myself with each day settling that little bit more into this remote and wild place. I took long walks through the forest and up into the hills and day by day it wove me into its tapestry with carefully placed stitches, so eventually I felt a part of it.

If arriving here causes such profound response in me, you can only imagine what leaving is like. It is the hardest thing I have to do every year. I am so tired of this repetitive cycle. The sorrow’s return is unbearable, and it takes me weeks to settle back in on the other side.

Every morning, I wake up and greet the forest with a bow. It feels like the most natural thing to do for my body and everything that I am. It is like a constant companion that is always there. I can only imagine what it might be like to lose it. For now, it stands in its silent composure and greets me back with reassurance that there is another day to make adventure of. I bow once more to let it know I appreciate it being there. I could live with such a friend by my side. Pine’s perfume sits on a gentle breeze, as I stare in peace at a view ahead. It offers possibilities and adventure. A sense of space here is luxurious. ‘Take your pick, it says. Go here, go there, it is all available and alive and in offering.

I put my boots on and walk into the forest. Immediately a feeling of peace envelopes me. I feel found and lost all; held and spread out; delighted and watchful all at the same time. Most of all I feel at home. If I was to perish to the world in the moment of being immersed into the richest earth element of the forest, I would be glad, only glad. I find it hard to walk out of the forest, as its pull and hold are strong. Branches scrape at my legs and arms as if wanting to join my skin and I respond in lifting and holding them close. Moss under my feet is inviting. I put my hands into it lightly and take in the feeling of the earth rich and warm. There are big stones and boulders in this forest here and there. They lie in silence in emerald mossy coats guarding the forest’s treasures. It is as if any minute they would break open or rise up to speak or fight or show themselves to someone either in friendship or a threat. To me they feel alive on the inside and the casing around them is just an armour, a pretence, like a game of playing dead.

Next, I take a walk into the hills. It is slow as I stop often to take it all in. There are views as far as the eye can see; variety of angles and perspectives are immensely rich. There are rivers, giant mountains, lochs, blankets of thick forest, paths weaving themselves up and down hills. I must consciously take a breath in after walking for some time. It is too much and not enough at the same time – a feeling I often experience here.

Walking for me is essential to who I am. It is what it means being fully alive. I love its physical, emotional, spiritual, cognitive and creative aspects. It has a lot to offer to someone, who might struggle with their thoughts. It is a heavenly activity for anyone creative – a writer, painter, film maker, photographer. It offers a full body workout where at the end of it everything screams with pleasure. It does for me. I love to be aware of my aching legs, hot flesh and stiff back. It signals to me that I am alive and my body works its mechanism just fine. It often feels ecstatic to me when I return from a walk. My mind is always clutter free and there is a creative idea or two born out of my wanderings.