I walk towards the town,
following the path ahead,
alone and in labour.
One push is all it takes
to give birth to her that day,
my planetary sized daughter
with her four peace-loving arms.
Lying strong and serene
on the fold of my dress,
there is more than a hint
of Mona Lisa in her smile.
Welcome to the second part of my Journey of Love: The Way of the Dream. For ease of reference I will republish both dreams, however, if you would like to look back over the first part of this article, here’s the link: The Way of the Dream – Part One. In this section I will be exploring each dream in further detail, bringing to light their guiding themes before exploring how, despite being decades apart, both dreams are deeply connected. First, let us return to my recurring childhood dream. Even though there are a number of symbols within each dream I’ve decided to explore the three central images, which for me are the Dragonfly, the Dark Woods and the game of Hide-and-Seek. In the second dream I shall consider the symbolism of Birth, the Goddess Lakshmi and the Queen of Heaven before exploring the powerful connections between both dreams.
In March 2009 during a weekend workshop on the theme of Archetypal Dreamwork, I met Carl Gustav Jung for the second time in my life. This time, as luck would have it, there would be no escape or turning back. Although I had been captivated by the way of the dream throughout my life, dreams weren’t something that I had ever considered working with before within my therapeutic practice. However, deeply intrigued by the workshop particulars, I found my unconscious outperforming my conscious as the registration form seemed to fill itself out without me even noticing. Yes, I had decided from deep within, I wanted to learn more about the dark, mysterious world of dreams.
In the midst of a terrible rainstorm
as lightning starts to strike,
I pull over and park the car.
I observe a small white mirror
lying diagonally on the road.
It shouldn’t be there I’m thinking.
I just have to pick it up!
So out I go, to wage war with the rain
that lashes like hate in my face.
Again and again,
to where the mirror is lying,
face up, on the black toll road.
I came across a pile of clothes
heaped up on Market Square,
just outside the meat shop
where a butcher he did share,
“These once belonged to a Poet
and today they must be sold!”
Clothes although most beautiful
neither daring were they or bold.
They were…quite ordinary,
with no sequin lace or frill,
as I discovered sorting through
armfuls of jersey and chenille.
Into the holding pen one Spring night
did the mythical Bird King arrive.
Outstretched he reached over thirteen feet.
When he didn’t move, courage arose
as a couple of people, no make them idiots,
entered the pen to jump hard on his wings.
I began to shake then, alongside other poets
who were standing, like myself, in awe,
wondering how Aetos Dios had petrified,
(or least that’s what the crowd were saying).
All I knew was that he could no longer fly
and the sadness of that filled me greatly.
Each night in her bed
She would return
Alone in the dark wood
Not because she liked it
But because it was
Strangely peaceful there
The worst had happened
Time had moved on
Yet a breeze still nagged
It is late afternoon
when I decide to slip from the boat
into the living waters beneath me.
I descend until I come face-to-face
with a smiling old man,
sitting on his throne-like
Dressed in ordinary clothes,
he sits with a white cat on his lap.
I know in an instant
he is a father to me
as I connect to his kind smile.
He speaks about having a drink,
telling me I should drink more often!
Somehow I have ended up here
at this old woman’s house.
A hut in the middle of a deep forest,
where all the rooms
are piled high,
floor to ceiling with belongings.
I am to sleep in her daughter’s room
where everything is brown.
On the bed a doll rests
and cries, “Baby!”
every time I pick her up.
We slumber in each other’s arms.
Dante was only four years old
that day I took him to the penny arcade
and gave him four pennies.
He loved it there,
despite all the darkness.
The first penny went
into the slot machine,
the next two into claw machines
where he won armfuls of teddies.
He saved the last
and her prophecies.
We needed a bag
so I walked over to the attendant.
He was dark and beautiful.
I blushed as I asked.
He found one for me
and we chatted a while.
He said he never left the arcade
preferring the darkness,
jumble of music,
flashing neon lights
and the jangle of coins
as they fell noisily into trays.
I was only looking for toilet paper that day
as I wandered along the top landing,
crossing a forbidden path to my lover.
She was happy to see me at first,
long before her shady friends came,
black-as-thunder, round the corner.
She darkened then, my beautiful girl,
while I returned to my rented cell,
ignoring those dirty words and deadly looks.
Had she told them about me and her?
Had I let it slip in the way I looked?
In the way my body turned to hers?