Unraveling the Moon
23 Tuesday Oct 2012
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Often it seems like things are coming at us randomly and separate, but there are always connections, more legs of the same journey, chapters and segments meant to tell more of our stories, meant to define the legacy we want to leave behind.
I never see dreams as separate vignettes either, they continue, one leads into the other, just like our daily lives. The sun comes up and goes down, the moon rises and falls, our stories continue. Different characters and situations enter, but our days and dreams connect, one room empties into the next.
We are connected. All things are connected.
Unraveling the Moon was a ‘connecting the threads’ post I recently wrote in my Dream-Speak Journal/Blog and here I have taken that post, embellished and corrected my typos (I hope).
But hey, don’t read this if you are in hurry. Please sit down and have some tea. I have stories to tell about connections, threads and synchronicity.
Unraveling the Moon
All things connect. There are no singularly separate incidents.
Yesterday we intended to go to Athens, to the bookstore and out to eat. We ended up leaving too late so instead we visited the Rock Eagle Effigy at the Rock Eagle 4-H Center in Eatonton, Georgia.
There is so much pondering and conjecturing about what the monument is about. Why is it there? Why did they create it?
Why? We always want to know why.
There is a thread going on in the CCS Group (coach creative space/Dan James) about having no electricity for a month. What would you do? What would you create? The last I looked the thread was
12 16 pages long.
Why? Why such an interest in a life without electricity? My answer is simply this; we all want to know what matters most in our lives. We want to get back to the basics, our essence, our truth. Stripping ourselves of electricity is a good way to find it. A good way to remove distractions.
What would your life be like?
What would you create?
What would you do and what would matter most?
I was awake the morning before I wrote this at 12:30 AM so I started reading emails on my phone. I started clicking links and going deeper and deeper into internet space. I ended up on this amazing site called Unicorns for Socialism. Sounds crazy! But check it out sometime.
I arrived there twice from totally separate emails. One was forwarded to me from Alisha Sommer and the other from Satya Colombo through a link from Dyana Valentine. So I concluded it was where I was meant to be. Like arriving at the Rock Eagle Effigy. Like being in a long internet thread about turning the lights out to find meaning.
So here is the most amazing post I found at 12:30 AM on the Unicorns for Socialism site; Tell Us Who You Are; No Seriously.
After I read this and finally fell asleep, I had a dream about not being able to call myself a writer. I woke up waiting for my change at a ticket booth. Waiting and waiting… Was I having an identity crisis or an awakening of my essence? If writer wasn’t a name I felt comfortable with what was?
The post, Tell Us Who You Are, is all about defining what you do. What I do? Picking out juicy names like muse, scribe, poet or mystic. It takes me back to another dream I had where I was Learning to Speak My Name.
There is power in the word.
Whatever the word may be.
Whether it is your name or your title -
Learning to ‘Speak Clearly from the Front of Your Neck’ is vitally important.
The power and energy behind the integrity to speak it clearly is connected tightly to money and the active, assertive energy of the masculine.
I hear a voice singing to me, ‘So now you know how to write? Good. You’ve taken every step, read every blog, now let’s see what you have to give. Let’s see what you’ve got inside that magic pen.’
The masculine energy is that sort of thing. Show us what you have.
I feel as though I am a bit closer. Closer to what it is I need or want to say. But also, I feel as though I have unraveled the moon again. I do this sometimes. It never goes back quite the same way – I don’t recommend it to everyone as a pastime.
This was something I came up with after reading the post on Unicorns for Socialism, after I turned out the lights to find my essence, after we visited the effigy;
I am a muse. I am a scribe. I write to people who want to connect to the essence of life. I don’t write to readers. I write to ‘people’ who want to connect to their lives. I write about the mystical and the magic I find in everyday life. I follow threads. I count chickens. I search for clues. I unravel the moon. I rake colors into big piles and jump in – because I can. I write to the ones who want to feel alive again! I believe that we are connected by our stories and our dreams. I believe we should be building spiritual communities, warm fires and dream circles that speak of humanity and the mythos of the night.
I would build a monument, an effigy, in the shape of a bird.
Each person in the community would bring a rock.
A rock to represent their dream.
The head would rest in the east – the place of arrival.
The feet would point west – the place of leaving.
Because if we arrive with our heads – we must leave with our feet.
And the north and south would rest on the tips of the wings.
The balancing directions.
Back when we had no electricity, before science demystified the sun and turned it into particles of swirling gas, we worshiped the sun, we listened to the messages of the birds. We bowed down to the moon on our knees!
And lastly, the morning I wrote this, so much was revealed as I scolded my chicken for hiding her eggs. (What good is a hen if she won’t share her eggs)
She put her tail feathers in the air and simply said, ‘Follow Me.’
I followed her through thicket and tumbling leaves, we traveled to lands far, far away, on horse back, on swan, on the wings of the bat. There were caves in the oak trees that only she knew, holes in the barbed wire that led to magical towns. We had tea and she told me wild tales of Baba Yaga, the Ugly Duckling…
We talked until 10:00 AM and then she waddled away with stories tucked in her feathers. Her pockets are deep, I know, because she is gifted with sleep and moonlit cycles. But here is the greatest gift of all. A pile of twelve eggs! The secret stash! I’ve been searching for weeks! And if you don’t believe me – I have the eggs to prove it all.
An eagle effigy made of rocks, a forum about finding creativity in the dark, a post about defining what I do, a tale-telling chicken who hides her eggs?
Rocks! Quartz! They brought them to honor their dreams.
In the dark I find dreams.
And what do I do? Before I write? Before I brush my teeth? I dream.
And if I listen very closely to the mistress of dreams, to my feathery hen, if I grace her with a bent ear she bestows myths upon me and then her bounty, a pile of twelve golden eggs!
I believe that we are connected by our stories and our dreams.
What do you believe?
What is your truth?
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