Fifty-Two

There were colourful fish of all shapes floating in the night. They started to pour in one direction, as if carried by a powerful air current. As I followed them, the darkness gently dissipated. We were in a forest, I saw birch trees gliding by. Then I noticed that there was a river below, wild geese swimming in the depths. All were racing ahead: the fish above, the geese below…

I spotted a house in the distance. Maybe that was where we were heading… but we were too fast. The wind drew the river out of its bed and the mass of water was floating in the air, surging ahead with us. I was worried that it would flood and destroy the forest. But the flux did not burst, it slowed down instead. I turned to face it. The water was like a tunnel embracing a void. Its core was invisible, silent and still. I was mesmerised: should I enter?

Save

Fifty-One

It was almost night. At the edge of the forest, I saw a woman dressed in heavy fabric. On top of her head, there was something embellished with pearls, stones and gold. She was climbing a hill. A vast landscape below. Then, like a drawing on the sky, electric lines. She looked at me as if to check whether I noticed.

Suddenly, I was in the kitchen of my childhood home, at the threshold of the room where my father died. It was dark inside. I was small, standing right on the doorsill. Looking at the jambs around me, I noticed knives hanging from the top, suspended by a single, thin thread of rope attached to a nail in the middle, my height.

I noticed the Siberian man next to me, on the kitchen side. He was looking at me and I at him. Then the door turned into a wooden wheel, with the knives facing the middle, towards me. I was holding onto the axle. He told me to keep steady and started to roll the wheel, then let it go, down a slope. I was rolling and rolling…

I ended up in the parking lot of the factory nearby my childhood home. It was deserted, and my wooden wheel turned into that of a bicycle. Then, I was riding the bike, with my father behind me, pushing, helping.

Then we were surrounded by people holding hands around us in a circle. I saw a wolf and got frightened, but he settled near someone. Next came a bear. A gorilla sat behind yet another person. A falcon landed on the shoulder of the Siberian man. And there was the woman I saw at the start, dressed in golden bees. She was luminous.

My father walked to them. Joined them for a second, holding hands, then closed the circle and walked away. Left alone with these people, I was in the middle of the circle, with one foot on the ground and one on the pedal of my bike.

Then the ground opened, and a shapeless form condensed into something like a hand. I wondered whether it was a mole… I decided to follow it, the shape was about my size and constantly changing but never crystallizing into anything concrete.

It was dark in the tunnel, and it smelt of soil. After a few steps, it was not that dark anymore, as if there was some light filtering in after me. I turned back and saw the woman dressed in golden bees following me. And so were all the others.

We kept going and going, tagging after the form through long, dark tunnels.

Suddenly, I was in my childhood kitchen again, just closing the door to the room where my father was sleeping. But then I decided to open it and went into the room. It was dark inside. The light from the kitchen filtered in and I stared at the patterns on the carpet. I almost bumped into the coffee table in the middle of the room. I gripped the top of the large chest with the tv on it to settle myself, and noticed that I had no sensation in my hands. Not even as if I had gloves on. Nor was the carpet soft under my feet. I could see my hands and feet but they could have belonged to someone else, I could not feel them. I couldn’t hear anything, either. Not my father snoring or breathing… not my own steps… not the noises outside… I was numb and deaf. I was eyes, only.

****

Note: the wheel reminds me of Nicholas of Flüe‘s:

von flue wheel

Save

Save

Fifty

I saw locks of hair attached to a line, blowing in the wind, like clothes to dry. There was also hair lying around on the floor in my mother’s kitchen, and outside, all over the yard, half-covered by sand.

Suddenly, they became butterflies and flew towards the cemetery where my father is buried. I wished they had brought him to me alive, instead of visiting his grave.

Then there was a little girl whirling two bowls of fire attached to two strings. She turned around and around herself. Now she transformed into a very small man with a burnt face and now she was a little girl again.

Next, we were surrounded by a herd of paper birds. I was worried that they would get on fire. They did, but with such fragile beauty… they were burning in all colours until the wind carried them away.

The night was approaching fast and the burning paper birds became iridescent, weaving their light into the darkness like northern lights.

Then I saw little girls jump off a cliff, one after the other, spinning in their fall. They floated in the air for a moment before they plunged, as if dancing. The Siberian man stood right under the rock and caught them each, one by one.

Save

Forty-Eight

I was sitting cross-legged in the sand in the desert, my breath circulating around my body like golden strings. There was a big storm coming, and I was worried. But the Siberian man came and sat down behind me, with his back touching mine. Our breaths joined, golden threads brushing our skin. “That is not our storm”, he said. I felt calm, centered. All was raging around us but we were not touched. I raised my head to look at the blue sky above me, the clouds were gently wandering about. No signs of upheaval up there.

When it calmed down, we were still sitting there. Suddenly, I started to see in a different way, like staring into the Sun with eyes closed. It felt as if I was watching with my skin or through my skin, from the inside. At first, it was dark, then very blurred. Slowly, I could make out a huge eye, of somebody very old, somebody very ancient. She was so close to my face that I could feel her breath. And she was looking at me.

Forty-Six

I dreamt that a boy and a girl – maybe twelve or so – fell into a parallel universe very much like my mother’s garden in the summer: fruit trees, vegetables and flowers everywhere. And in their fall, they crushed a bird. Here, birds were a conscious species who could take the form of bird-men: they were as big as humans, had human eyes, feathers and beaks.

The Birds were infuriated by the accident and wanted to hunt the kids down and kill them. But there was a human child in that world who was interested in hearing their story and decided to help and hide them.

As they were talking, they noticed a big bird up in the air, so the one from this world told the other two to go and take shelter in the wooden shed on the other side of the fence. It was the leader of the bird-men who landed in the garden, and the boy tried to explain what had happened. After a short conversation, he signalled the other two kids to come out.

When they did, they found themselves surrounded by bird-men. The girl started to talk, and in that moment, I became her. I recounted everything as it had happened, how we had dropped from another world and how we killed the bird by accident. The bird-men listened intently, in silence, and I became an observer again. They finally decided not to harm the children.

*

The next morning, I went to visit the leader of the bird-men.

“Why were you so angry with the children? They didn’t kill the bird on purpose”.

“They fell into this world – they entered unconsciously. That’s why they caused death. They were supposed to become bird-men. But their unconsciousness killed an aspect of themselves. You are one of us, you are a bird-woman. We cannot fall like that. We fly, we flow, we glide on currents of air. We let go of our control, not our consciousness. Or else we cause death.”

Forty

I was on a rope between two cliffs. There was a village deep below. A group of people were standing on the rocks behind me and the Siberian man was in front. They were holding the rope I was walking, heading towards him. I had a pole in my hand for balance, but it was not easy.

Then two eagles descended onto the two ends of the bar. They were heavy. Suddenly, they grabbed the pole with their claws and took me for a flight. At first, I was just holding onto it, hanging, like a piece of cloth, but then I pulled myself up to sit, one leg in front and one behind, stabilising myself. I started to enjoy the journey. The eagles made a few circles with me, high up in the cold air before we landed on the rope again, exactly on the same spot I had been before, right in the middle.

One eagle pressed the end of the bar downwards, and pushed me into a spin, up and down, up and down, while my feet stayed fixed onto the rope. When I was upside down, the colours around me changed into their reverse, as if on a negative, but as soon as I was upright, they changed back to normal.

When we stopped spinning, I was upside down. It felt as if there was water between my feet and the rope. I could feel some kind of surface tension that kept me in place. The cold was getting sharper, but I started to go forward anyway. My flesh was freezing solid.

As I arrived to the cliff, I tried to flip back upright, but I couldn’t. I had to bend so that I could reach up for the rope and pull myself up to sit first, and then stood up. And all the while, I didn’t let go of the pole.

I went on walking towards the Siberian man, and handed him the bar. When I looked at my hands, I saw that there was nothing but bones left on my left side. He reached out for my hand. For a moment, I thought he would somehow put the flesh back. Instead, he splattered the bones of my left hand with a sudden gesture, as if sowing seeds. My whole body went with this movement. I turned into small pieces of bones falling into the depths like rain.

In a million bits, I was still aware of myself, aware of falling and falling. And there came such a torrent that I could hardly make out the Siberian man or the people, high up, in the distance. But I could see the fire arrow he shot into the dark. And the people on the other side did the same. Another fire arrow, followed by a cluster of flames. Again and again.

They were helping. I tried to gather the splattered me-s and drift towards the fire arrows, and we slowly started to ascend. The Siberian man and his friends were always shooting at the same spot, and I wanted to be exactly where they were aiming at.

When I got there, I was hit by the fire arrows and lit up for a second. The bits and pieces of me drifting around merged again, and I was floating in the night sky. Then I started to descend gently, arriving right in front of the Siberian man. “Welcome”, he said.

I sat on my heels, and he put his hand on my head. I was filled with warmth. The people from the other side walked across the abyss to greet me, too. They all put their hands on my head, hand on hand on hand, and started to circle slowly. I could feel my whole body pulsating.

Save

Thirty-Two

We were in a cave, the walls were lit by an unknown source, or maybe they were glowing by themselves. The Siberian man was behind me, and we were following a row of figures, enrobed in white, semi-transparent cloth. I asked him who they were, but he didn’t reply. “Is this some kind of procession? of whom?”

No reply.

Then I looked up at the ceiling of the cave, and to my surprise, I saw the stars.

“How can this be? How can we be down in the belly of the earth, in a cave, and see the stars at the same time?”

The Siberian man didn’t reply. The starry sky above was so vast, so beautiful, so alive, it took my breath away. We started to float, both the translucent beings and I. The Siberian man got hold of me by the ankles, and while we were flying higher and higher, he climbed up on my legs, until he was hugging my waist. I could feel his breath on my nape. We were floating among the stars, feathery, iridescent, luminous. Merging with the infinite.

“This is amazing. I want to stay here.” – I told the Siberian man.

“Like hell you will. We’re going down… gently, gently.”

“Do we have to? Why?”

“Because we are going down.”

And he was becoming heavier and heavier, weighing us down, until we arrived, feet on the ground, down in the cave. It was empty, and I felt sad.

“Did we really have to come back here?”

“Yes, we did”

Then the old woman dressed in white descended from one of the paths of the cave.

“Oh, look at you” she smiled at me “oh, the flight of the soul, beautiful, isn’t it?”

I didn’t reply. I felt sad. They exchanged looks with the Siberian man. The old woman nodded:

“Let’s sit down a bit, shall we?”

We did.

“Who were they? The beings? Did they just die, or something like that?”

“Well, they were never actually alive, you know, not the way you mean it.”

“You mean not in a body?”

“Oh” she sighed, with a little shake of the head, smiling. I understood she meant it was complicated.

Suddenly, I was in a winter forest. It was night. Snow everywhere. And wind. I saw a fox, chewing the bark of a tree. Then I saw a pack of wolves, and they started to run together, all like one, swift and quiet.

They were running through the forest, among the trees, from a hill or mountain, down into the valley. I saw an owl on a tree branch, turning its head around and around. Then I was with the wolves, running, and the Siberian man was with me. Suddenly all stopped. No animal moved, no wind stirred. The world stood still.

And then I knew why. Now I could hear it, too. A baby, crying. As if we all rushed there for this child.

The wolves gathered in a circle, and in the middle, there was a basket. The Siberian man went there and lifted it up, checking if the baby was alright. He smiled at me.

Twenty-Nine

I was by the frozen lake with the Siberian man. We were just standing there, staring into each other’s eyes. Suddenly, he seemed familiar. At that instant, I flashed back to the Asian man in my childhood – had they known about him, adults would have called him an “imaginary friend”. At the time, I thought he might be Chinese or Inuit. He taught me lots of things, helped me through a lot.

“Is it really you?” – I asked the Siberian man.

He bent his head down slightly and didn’t reply.

Out of a sudden, he was different, he lost his human form, and became a dark light playing in complex, fascinating colours, like the aurora borealis. It felt as if I was perceiving him with a different organ. It was the same kind of perception as when I saw myself from the outside, or when I looked with the eye in my navel

I got scared. Our safe, inner place became an opening of some kind, to something else, maybe a crossroad between the worlds. The abruptness of this change frightened me. I felt vulnerable.

“Are you… real?” – I asked.

“What do you mean “real”?”

“Do you exist only within, or are you… who are you?”

He didn’t reply. He changed back to his human form. But I was still scared, breathing rapidly.

“It’s okay, everything’s okay. slow down your breathing, slow, slow, slow”

We waited until I felt calm again.

“Where have you been all this time, where did you disappear?” – I asked. I couldn’t remember how I lost my “imaginary friend”…

“I was here, with you, the whole time.”

“Why?” – Why would he do that? Stick around?

“None of us are on our own, little bee, you know that. We are all connected” – he said, stroking my face.

“Yes… yes, I know.”

Twenty-Eight

I was in the water, ice above me. I could vaguely perceive some kind of commotion above me: people or animals running all over the place.

Then I was on my feet, the Siberian man behind me, holding my shoulders. I was staring into my belly, it looked frozen: turquoise and light purple.

Next, I was lying on my back, on the ice and two polar bears tore my belly open and started to feast on my guts. I couldn’t move. I didn’t feel pain, but it was strange, watching them eat me. The Siberian man knelt down at my head. “It’s okay” he said. The bears transformed into people and they were looking for something in my belly, searching around with their hands.

Out of a sudden, I was in my childhood home, in the kitchen, at the entry of the room, staring at the colourful fly blind.

Then we were outside, and I saw our pine tree decorated with naked, shabby dolls, hanging by the hair. There were also two people unearthing dolls buried in the yard. I started to feel dread.

We were inside again, and the dolls were now tied by the hair to the strips of the bug blind… then they all disappeared. The strips started to move, as if there was a draft, and I wondered if somebody had left the kitchen door open. I turned to check, and I saw a group of dolls marching in.

The Siberian man hugged me from behind. “It’s alright” he said.

I wanted to run away but I didn’t move. I needed to understand what was happening. A dark cloud entered the kitchen, like a thick smoke, like a huge, black cotton candy. I was afraid. The Siberian man kept on whispering in my ear “it’s okay, it’s alright, you are doing well”. The darkness was filling the room, and I was close to panic.

“Breathe. slow. And now, we’ll walk out”

“But it’s in the way, it’s blocking our way.”

“We will walk right through it. Ready, steady, go.”

And on we moved, slowly, step by step. The Siberian man was gently pushing me. The darkness felt like a huge, thick, sticky spiderweb.

“is the spider around? is it a black widow?”

But the Siberian man didn’t reply, just kept saying “one more step, one more step, we go, we go, we keep going”. And we were outside, in the yard. The whole house was swallowed by this dark cloud, this thick spiderweb.

“is he inside? my father?” I asked the Siberian man.

“not now, now we walk away”, was all he replied, gently grabbing my arm, pulling me towards the gate, onto the street.

“But maybe he’s inside, we should go back for him.”

“no, not now.” he said, closing the gate. I wanted to go back and search for my father, but the Siberian man blocked my way. “Not now. really not now. you’ve had enough” he said, in a soft but firm voice. He hugged me, and gently pushed me until I started to walk away with him.

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

The Classical Astrologer

Ancient and Traditional Astrology

When Timber Makes One Still

"Everyone needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to the soul" -John Muir

Mundus Volubilis

Reality has no form, no walls, no edges - a journey in altered states of consciousness

The Art of Enchantment

Dr Sharon Blackie: writer, psychologist, mythologist

The Beauty Along the Road

Discovering Beauty in the small details of our lives

A collection determined by chance

A fine WordPress.com site

The Invisible Scar

raising awareness of emotional child abuse, its effects on adult survivors & the power of words on children

Vic DiCara's Astrology

Authentic Modern Astrology from the Ancient and Classical World

SAGITTARIAN MIND CONSULTING™

"ASTROLOGY FOR THE HIGHER MIND"

word and silence

poetry & prose by Tim Miller

Lee Lehman's Astro Blog

Reality has no form, no walls, no edges - a journey in altered states of consciousness

Nina Gryphon

Your questions answered.

AstroAinslie

Reality has no form, no walls, no edges - a journey in altered states of consciousness

Kannon McAfee - the declinations guy

Herbalist, Astrologer | Portland, OR

Through a Jungian Lens

Blending Jungian Psychology and Photography

Dreaming the World

On the Arts and Healing in Difficult Times

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Compass Dreamwork

Dreamwork as Spiritual Practice

Free Association on the ego and the self

just another recalcitrant ego looking for peace

Outre monde

The Blog of Neel Burton - Psychiatrist, Philosopher, Writer, and Wine Lover

Loving Psychoanalysis

Exploring the continual becoming of a psychotherapist.

Anthony Louis - Astrology & Tarot Blog

Musings on astrology and tarot by author Anthony Louis

A. Venefica's Weblog: Symbolic Meanings

Devoted to Uncommon Symbolic Meanings and other Esoteric Topics

Sky Writer

Donna Cunningham's Blog on astrology, healing, and writing.

synchronicityjournaling

synchroncitiyjournaling.com site

The Robert Moss BLOG

Reality has no form, no walls, no edges - a journey in altered states of consciousness