Into the Light

dreams & memories

Dear You,

I woke up in tears.

In my dream I put my forehead onto the soil and screamed.

The contact and connection with the earth to the area of my third eye felt important, so i re-enacted it on the day I began to write this letter to you. In my flesh and bone form I didn’t scream my pain into the ground, I gently placed my head onto the damp moss and thanked the Great Mother for taking my grief within the dream realm. And because writing isn’t a linear process I recreated this scene after I wrote about it in this letter, as if the writing was a bridge in the process. I added my kiss to the earth and left with tiny crumbs of soil on my lips, my forehead dew kissed.

The dark pain of my dream mirrored the healing energy of the waking morning light. The human world breaks my heart. I hold both in the wholeness of opposites, embodying the balance.

Dreams are a curious thing. They can heal you.

Some people are scared to fall asleep for fear of the nightmares. Some block out dreams and choose to avoid remembering them. I get it, it can be too much. But the dreams and nightmares show you where your psyche is at…a dream can flag up where it is you need to heal or what you need to pay closer attention to in your lived experience, revealing messages with symbolism or exaggeration.

The dream and waking worlds can cross over and entwine, and I’m left asking—— am I awake or sleeping? What is this world in between? The imaginal, a lucid bardo?

I found myself in this place over dinner the other evening with an old friend I’d not seen much since we were at primary school, over thirty five years ago.

When you know someone close in your formative years it doesn’t matter how much time passes, the core of your beings are familiar with one another.

So here we were remarking on how comfortable we felt with each other, reminiscing and visiting places long buried in the library of my memories. Gazing into the void, eyes hazy, out of focus we travelled effortlessly to a dream like landscape neither here nor there, both sharing the same vision of the location where we once played as children.

The pink hawthorne were the flowers of our youth, ready made mini bouquets that fitted perfectly into the arms of our toys. Those gnarly magical trees that lined the boundary of the playground were Guardians we both remembered. Visually rich, conjured up as if we could actually smell and touch the blossom of the cherry tree that stood in the north corner. Memories I didn’t know I had. We mapped the school field remembering the trees. Staring into the projection of the past…

Where were we both that evening? Not here not fully there either. Hyperphantastic?

Spring in the school playing field made a big impression on us.

A new Spring …here’s to the Hawthorne and Cherry Blossom.

I remain most humbly your loyal friend

Erin

X

P.s www.erinmacairt.bigcartel.com