A Galloping Flame

I am gifted with a dream of the one place where my Self is fully at home, on the Finca, the farm of my childhood in Colombia. I find myself walking in a verdant field on the mountainside, surrounded by lush forest, reveling in its vibrant energy, when I see a flash of movement among the trees. I don’t have time to think before I see a small, but magnificent horse in the shaggiest burnt-orange coat racing across the field in my direction.

I don’t recognize this creature that makes me think of prehistoric horses, or the  ones from the Tibetan mountains, because of its thick, long coat that waves in the wind like a flame streaking towards me.  I am thrilled by the sight of it, and tremulous.

I know horses. They are like people. Some of them are gentle and kind, warmhearted. And some are ornery, and mean. And I don’t know which of them this one is, I only know it is wild, of a wild species that has never been domesticated. Perhaps I should take cover.

But the flame gallops past me without even acknowledging my presence, and, before my unbelieving eyes, races to the other edge of the field and right up the trunk of a tree, onto a thick, sturdy branch, standing in brilliant splendor among the leaves.  My mind struggles to accommodate what it knows is impossible, but cannot deny is occurring.

When I awake enough to remember that I was dreaming, to feel the joy of having traveled to the place I always miss when I am away, I feel a new thrill. I have written before that horses in my dreams are portentous. When I dream of them, I am left with a solemn sense of awe and bottomless gratitude, a feeling of having been somehow bestowed.

Horses often symbolize my True Self in my dreams, my untamed nature. Only in this dream, that symbol is, in fact, wild and untamed, and doing the impossible!

I welcome this energy into my waking life, keeping my senses alert for signs of it, opportunities to experience it, as I move through my day.

Photo by Funky Tee on Flickr.com

Wild Woman Within

I received a strange dream last night that felt mythic, as if I experienced it through a veil. It had few real images that I can recall, but I was aware of myself among a throng of beings, displaced from our homes and each one rushing to search for a place of our own, among rows and rows, and clusters of rows of dressing room stalls. I found a stall for myself, (the only image I can recall from this dream) metal painted green, with a door that didn’t go all the way to the floor and no distinct ceiling.

In the dream, I was aware that there were other creatures out there, predatory creatures, powerful, creatures that I would have good reason to fear or, at least, avoid. I can’t recall them, but I think of them as wolves. They seemed to be calling to me. At least, I intuited that they wanted me to join them, and, despite reason indicating I should keep away, I really wanted to go to them. But I was reluctant to leave my stall, aware that if I went, it would quickly be occupied by another refugee like myself, urgently wanting one.

I couldn’t make out what the dream could mean until my soul’s friend, Amy, said the stalls remind her of work. I realize that it is about my decision not to renew my certification as a translator. Even though I may do a translation now and then, I am no longer holding onto that work as the floating life preserver I used to consider it.

Amy also said those wolves deserved healthy respect, but I didn’t fear them, instead I decided to run with them.

When she said that, a body memory awoke within me, in my womb, of the first time I felt the primal, physical and spiritual imperative of my True Self to do something very specific. It happened one day, in my early twenties, when I awoke in my bed, crying, knowing that I had to break up with my first and only long-time boyfriend, whom I loved, but with whom I had begun to feel stifled.

This force in my womb— which today’s dream has evoked again, opening wide my second chakra— I thought of as “the Wild Woman Within” (from Women Who Run With The Wolves). It was bigger and more powerful than anything I had ever felt. And I knew, more clearly than I knew anything about the world, that there was a part of me that was greater than anything my consciousness could grasp, and it was driving me. I had no choice but to obey: one way or the other, I would be compelled to obey.

Realizing that, recognizing that I had no choice, I felt forced, but also, for the first time, free to give heed to the Wild Woman Within.