Broken Hearted
Spent a quiet weekend remembering Jenny and Gus, remembering all of the good times, and appreciating how far I’ve come since their deaths. It was our first really gorgeous spring day yesterday, and spent a wonderful day out enjoying the sunshine. I went to the farmers’ market, and picked up a few things. Then I headed to the nursery to pick up a few plants for the garden.
It was such a wonderful day to dig in the dirt, to turn the soil, and plant seedlings. There’s so much more work to do in the yard, but it seems less insurmountable than it has these last few years.
Having had such a peaceful weekend, and such a lovely day, I was surprised by the dream I had last night.
I was in Norrie’s house. Jenny had disappeared again, as she used to do so often in her 20s. Not run away or anything like that. She’d be busily involved in whatever caught her fancy, and not call, get her phone cut off, and perhaps move to a new apartment, and then suddenly we wouldn’t know where she was. That’s when my mom would call and ask me to “find” Jenny. And off I’d go to her favorite haunts, asking her friends to tell her to call her mother.
In this dream, it was much the same situation, but for some reason I’d gone to Norrie’s and we were going to look for Jenny together. Norrie’s house was flooding — which it has just recently, with all the precipitation in North Dakota. I don’t know if it was a reflection of current events, or a symbol of some kind. The image of being overcome with water is so full of meaning on its own.
We took some pipes to a house down the street, and it was there we found Jenny. Suddenly, my perspective changed. I went from standing and walking to a reclining position, as though I were lying in a hospital bed with my head and shoulders slightly raised. And Jenny turned to look at me and stared at me intently with a look of grave concern on her face. I remember that look from when she’d come to see me in the hospital after being rushed to the emergency room — fear, love, concern, all rolled into one.
She came close, talking to me, saying words I don’t entirely remember until she said, quite clearly, “Are you broken-hearted?”
I felt the emotion swell up inside me, and I awoke with tears in my eyes. I didn’t feel sad at all, but suprised, and comforted by her presence.
Public Dreams and Private Myths
Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths.
— Joseph Campbell
Circus Dreams
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.
Kayak Dreams
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.
The Mountain Pine
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
Musings & Meditations 
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