Some nights, at the edge of sleep. I picture myself approaching the roots of a great tree – the oak that once called me to a country home, or a beech, or an ash –
singing the chorus of the song that was given to me as a key to a place of regeneration
and creation.
Praise and serve the Mother
and let her grace unfold
Praise and serve the mother
and reenchant the world
and let her grace unfold
Praise and serve the mother
and reenchant the world
An opening appears for me among the roots, and I go down
into the breathing dark of a warm and cozy space. I snuggle with a family of
bears. We are family. I am welcome.
Then I am called into the embrace of a primal form of Earth Mother, and am nourished and loved and replenished.
I can now go down to a cave deep in the world of the tree. It is light-filled and full of creative tools and toys, especially art supplies. There is a long wooden pointer there. It points unerringly, like a huge compass needle, in the direction I need to take. Sighting along it, or with it, I can see scenes of possible and desirable futures in the outer world.
I can go from here along paths where other adventures await. I may start following the flow of an underground river to a waterfall, where I can enter a place of the ancestors by going through and under the falls, or leap up over the falls into a different kind of experience.
I can picture myself rising up through the tree, as through a library from a Borgesian dream, with countless levels filled with bookcases and galleries. I can make it my intention to read in these books and bring back a few pages in the morning.
I always hope that the pages I’ll bring back will be from books of my own that are not yet written or published in this world, but can be.
Then I am called into the embrace of a primal form of Earth Mother, and am nourished and loved and replenished.
I can now go down to a cave deep in the world of the tree. It is light-filled and full of creative tools and toys, especially art supplies. There is a long wooden pointer there. It points unerringly, like a huge compass needle, in the direction I need to take. Sighting along it, or with it, I can see scenes of possible and desirable futures in the outer world.
I can go from here along paths where other adventures await. I may start following the flow of an underground river to a waterfall, where I can enter a place of the ancestors by going through and under the falls, or leap up over the falls into a different kind of experience.
I can picture myself rising up through the tree, as through a library from a Borgesian dream, with countless levels filled with bookcases and galleries. I can make it my intention to read in these books and bring back a few pages in the morning.
I always hope that the pages I’ll bring back will be from books of my own that are not yet written or published in this world, but can be.
I am launching my new online video course.The School of Imaginal Healing, for The Shift Network this week by leading a journey to the Cave of the Dreaming Bear.
Art by Tracy Cunningham
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