But the dream images that have truly informed my life are very simple. Once, many years ago, when I was recovering from depression, this: An armoire. Some sunlight. Two hands moving a plant from the dark and into the light. Nothing more.
This simple image has transformed my relationship with the Mystery of Life. After that dream, I stopped believing that I needed to work harder to find the meaning of life or to force that meaning on myself or others.
There was such a profound gentleness in that dream invitation to nurture the growth of my tender inner world. I discovered the kindness that grows from self-love and awareness. Forever after that dream, when I’m lost or in the dark, I imagine those hands moving me gently to a new way of being or seeing.
No bells and whistles. One simple image, remembered in a twilight state, a gift of Life. A gift for life itself.
Last week I woke up from dreaming with another powerful lingering image. I am with other people who come and go and then return to the altars they tend. There’s some visual recollection of a variety of altars, draped and decorated, each different than the next.
These images have been stalking me since then. On first thought, the dream seemed to represent the people I mentor from day to day. We talk. They return to their lives. I see that there’s a growing awareness of what brings them light. The flower of the dream has developed buds. With light and attention, the buds grow.
Then, as I have learned to do, I turn the dream around to my life. Where are the altars of my life? The blossom gradually opens: My home has many little altars everywhere.
I often see nature’s offerings as little altars when I walk in the woods, communing in silence.
My body. How do I treat my body as a sacred vessel, placed on the altar of Life Itself? This is a fertile ground for inquiry.
And then the last big question: What if my life itself is an altar? Now there’s an image that can bloom and slowly unfold. An altar for a Lifetime.
The amazing altar in this photograph was designed by Beth Tweedell and Jan Dymond
The early warning signs are so subtle at first… a swelling of the limbs, a softness of the breeze/breath, a whiff of possibility. I’ve usually been so busy DOING, strategizing and reacting to the demands of winter, that I barely notice the change around me. After all, my inner Drama Queen insists, we’ve been under siege, and Important Things must be done. Click for Full Article