In the empty forest of winter, two Cooper’s Hawks approach a holly tree. The tree is lit by a ribbon of light that has unspooled from a weak winter Sun. The ribbon wraps around the trunk, about to touch the earth. Underneath the leaf litter a red-bellied snake, a ribbon of darkness, awakens.
Several years ago I dreamt I was standing in a field. Above me two hawks were tangled in battle. From them a long ribbon fell to the earth. I reached up to pull on the ribbon, but suddenly there was an older woman standing near me. Don’t pull it, she warned, but I did pull it, and a part of a hawk’s wing dropped to my feet.
A few weeks later, I am walking on my little path, and there, at my feet, amidst the prickly leaves of a holly tree, is the fragment of a Cooper’s Hawk wing.
In my dreamwork practice I keep running into these seams of mystery, where dreaming gets tangled up with waking life. Something is happening, but what does it all mean? My logical, waking mind wants to untangle the dream and apply it to waking life, like a recipe delivered from the unconscious to the kitchen of the psyche. Let’s cook something up! But the dream refuses to be pinned down; slippery as a salamander it eludes my grasp.
I’m beginning to believe, from my own experience, that dreaming, as well as certain creative states, belong to different states of consciousness altogether, and in these states, the world is not at all what we have determined it to be. When we dwell in these different states of consciousness we likewise dwell in different layers of reality.
So what does all this dreamwork all mean? I don’t know, and maybe I don’t need to know. But that doesn’t mean this work is without meaning. Quite the opposite, it has immense impact, value, and resonance in my life. There are other spheres of reality at work here, and I am but a humble explorer, cooking things up in my creative laboratory, filled with wonder and covered in pastel dust, and absolutely guided by unseen forces.
In the empty forest of winter, two Cooper’s Hawks approach a holly tree. The tree is lit by a ribbon of light that has unspooled from a weak winter Sun. The ribbon wraps around the trunk, about to touch the earth. Underneath the leaf litter a red-bellied snake, a ribbon of darkness, awakens.
Several years ago I dreamt I was standing in a field. Above me two hawks were tangled in battle. From them a long ribbon fell to the earth. I reached up to pull on the ribbon, but suddenly there was an older woman standing near me. Don’t pull it, she warned, but I did pull it, and a part of a hawk’s wing dropped to my feet.
A few weeks later, I am walking on my little path, and there, at my feet, amidst the prickly leaves of a holly tree, is the fragment of a Cooper’s Hawk wing.
In my dreamwork practice I keep running into these seams of mystery, where dreaming gets tangled up with waking life. Something is happening, but what does it all mean? My logical, waking mind wants to untangle the dream and apply it to waking life, like a recipe delivered from the unconscious to the kitchen of the psyche. Let’s cook something up! But the dream refuses to be pinned down; slippery as a salamander it eludes my grasp.
I’m beginning to believe, from my own experience, that dreaming, as well as certain creative states, belong to different states of consciousness altogether, and in these states, the world is not at all what we have determined it to be. When we dwell in these different states of consciousness we likewise dwell in different layers of reality.
So what does all this dreamwork all mean? I don’t know, and maybe I don’t need to know. But that doesn’t mean this work is without meaning. Quite the opposite, it has immense impact, value, and resonance in my life. There are other spheres of reality at work here, and I am but a humble explorer, cooking things up in my creative laboratory, filled with wonder and covered in pastel dust, and absolutely guided by unseen forces.