Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths.
— Joseph Campbell
Dreams of knife throwers pinning me to a wall after wandering through a library among a maze of books and being given mysterious boxes full of magical objects.
I dreamt of kayaking last night, of kayaking with friends, and of kayaking alone, at sea. I’ve always felt a special pull toward the ocean. I love being near the ocean, love being able to smell the sea air.
Having said I want to go sea kayaking for years, I finally went for the first time this summer. I loved it; loved the magical feeling of being out on the open sea, gently rocked by waves while seals frolicked around and swam under my kayak.
I woke this morning remembering that feeling, the feeling of being gently rocked by waves, and found myself thinking of Yemaya Olokun, the orisha of the deep sea and quite possibly my mother orisha. Some say that you pray to Yemaya Olokun for dream magic, and it certainly seems to be dream magic that I’m experiencing. My dreams are more plentiful these days, it seems, if not quite as vivid, and I find myself turning the images over and over in my head, appreciating them for the beauty of the images, if not also for the many messages they contain, some of which are more clear, and some less.
There is so much more that can be said about Yemaya, Olokun, and Yemaya’s manifestation as Olokun. For now, however, this prayer to Olokun, spirit of the ocean:
Iba Olokun fe mi lo’re. Iba Olokun omo re wa se fun oyi o.
Olokun nu ni o si o ki e lu re ye toray. B’omi ta’afi. B’emi ta’afi.
Olokun ni’ka le. Mo juba. Ase.
I praise the Spirit of the vast Ocean. I praise the Spirit of the Ocean who is beyond understanding.
Spirit of the Ocean, I will worship you, as long as there is water in the Sea.
Let there be peace in the ocean. Let there be peace in my soul.
The Spirit of the Ocean, the ageless one, I give respect. May it be so.
Our attitude must be like that of the mountain pine…: It does not get annoyed when its growth is obstructed by a stone, nor does it make plans about how to overcome the obstacles. It merely tries to feel whether it should grow more toward the left or the right, toward the slope or away from it. Like the tree, we should give in to this almost imperceptible, yet powerfully dominating impulse — an impulse that comes from the urge toward unique, creative self-realization. And this is a process in which one must repeatedly seek out and find something that is not yet known to anyone. The guiding hints or impulses come, not from the ego, but from the totality of the psyche: the Self.
Marie-Louise von Franz, “The Process of Individuation,” Man and His Symbols
Last night I dreamt of a house, a Victorian house that I was in the midst of rehabbing: creaky, cobwebby, dark, but also beautiful. Someone kept calling to me. My sister, Norrie, came to the door in Louis XIV garb. Still, I hear someone calling. I look out the window and across the street is a bright red house with black trim, and in front is a classic devil girl, all red, with horns, calling to me, and I’m feeling the pull to leave the house and join her.