Pull of the moon
For the longest time I’ve had a picture of a sunrise as the background on my computer. Orange and gold pouring over choppy sea. I put that up about the time I had a surge of things to write–on my blog, and in the fiction I’m working on this summer. I felt bold and full of words. Active and free. A healthy dose of yang, you might say.
Just after finishing up that series on bodies, I had a dream. I was in a building with a group of some kind, and I thought we all were leaving. A swarm of crows was attacking us, and I knew it would only get worse outside. Feeling like Harry Potter, or some other child-on-a-mission, I quickly ran ahead to distract that swarm with some sweets I had made. To save the group.
But when I got outside, there were no crows. In fact, the group that I was with wasn’t there either. Turning back inside, disappointed that my grand aspirations weren’t required, I discovered another group of folks rehearsing for some play. They were dancing. And it was beautiful. I recognized dear friends among them, and after a moment of feeling way out of place, way underdressed, I realized I fit perfectly in. The dream ended with some shady, unkind characters telling me I had bad breath and me determining I wouldn’t say one more word until I could brush my teeth.
My therapist would be all over this one.
But here’s the thing: I think she would be right if she said it was calling me back inside, back to the dance. And by dance, I think I mean something archetypal, something about expressing the self–not because one has to, or because one is trying to set anything right or look good in anyone’s eyes, but because one can. Or must. I think the dream is calling me back away from taking my external life too seriously, back from trying to address my own demons everywhere else but where they actually reside: inside.
So I had this dream, and I slowly grew more quiet. Not because I’m afraid my breath stinks, because I think the characters who said that were "demons", and precisely the kind of crows I must confront inside. But because I feel drawn inward, to listen again, to wait. And to practice the dance. I wonder how many of us on an inner path of healing get right to the point where we’re learninig our authentic dance, right to the point where things are coming together inside, clicking, falling into place, and then move outward. Move quickly on to extrovert the things we’ve learned, not realizing we haven’t yet mastered our dance, and that all our outside doing might actually make us forget the few steps that we’ve learned.
I have a night scene on my computer screen now. A hillside watched by the moon. As I drifted to sleep last night I pictured myself dancing on it, moonlight soft against my skin. I pictured dancing long and gracefully, round and round, arms up and down. And I finally rested on that hilltop, alone, my heart calm and also full with the memory of the dance. Full with knowing I’m here, and, here is good, and there is day and there is night on this day of creation.
August 16th, 2006 at 3:22 pm
This really resonated with me and what I have been reflecting on these days. I am feeling this incredible pull to dive deep into the darkness, exploring my dreams and other wild places, embracing the wisdom of my body in a much more profoud way. But I am also experiencing some resistance because I know in this journey I will be asked to let go of some things I am not sure I am ready to let go of, some of the doing. Yet the pull of the moon and the invitation to go inside and dance is so strong I almost can’t breathe. Back down I go. . . Thanks for this and all of your wonderful reflection on embodiment! I am still chewing on them. Blessings, Christine
August 16th, 2006 at 4:32 pm
Thank you, Christine. Your words resonate much with me, too–the resistance to letting go of doing-things (I guess I’m using that as a noun here). I think I’m being called to let go of a certain way of looking at my doing-things, maybe more than stopping doing them altogether, and this is what I don’t want to do. It’s much safer to assign value to things that lots of other people assign value to (i.e. to look at the doing-things a certain way)…much less safe to learn one’s dance and dance it well.
Much courage to you in your diving. And joy.
August 17th, 2006 at 10:18 am
Doing vs. Being. One of the perpetual struggles of my life. Someday, someday we’ll find the place where doing is being, I’d like to think. Love the imagery of day/night and outer/inner worlds. Some of us, I believe, take much longer to fully internalize things than do others. We also seem to learn in much deeper, more thorough ways, I think. With this kind of preference in our learning, we’re in the minority, since about 75% of the US population are breadth and outer world people.
But, hey, what would they do without us? :)
August 17th, 2006 at 5:31 pm
Cindy– Indeed! :)
August 17th, 2006 at 6:33 pm
i love your dream explanation…i sure hope your therapist agrees..after all, YOU are the one that should know…right? Those dreams are really intense and so full of symbols, so rich. Doesn’t that indicate that you are going thru some major conflict! Altho the attacking birds are not attacking you..hmmmm…i had some weird dreams this week, started to blog them and decided someone might figure out how strange i am…just kidding…but, still, it’s nice to figure them out….i’m glad you did that…
August 19th, 2006 at 9:10 am
What a timely post! I was just noticing how exactly beautiful the moon is lately. In TX, the only nice time of the day is before the sun makes his appearance, or long after it is gone. As I was going to bed the other night, I was struck by the amazing shadows in our back yard being cast by a nearly full moon. I turned off all the lights in our house, and then went outside and laid down on our driveway and just stared at it. It was incredible. I think I laid there for nearly an hour, just enjoying the gentle night breezes, the soft night noises, and the radiance of the moon. The night is the time for contemplation and reflection; this is why the moon was given to us, I think. To remind us to reflect on our day.
Thank you for sharing this!
August 20th, 2006 at 9:39 pm
Atticus, yes, the intensity of my dreams lately is definitely saying I need to pay attention to something. Still trying to listen to figure out what. And Hannah, the image of gazing at the moon for an hour like that is so wonderful. I absolutely love moonlit nights. I wish it wasn’t dangerous to be out in them alone more.