the dream oracle sessions: Mountain Peace

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session 10: Mountain Peace

Cead mile failte. A hundred thousand welcomes, and thank you for your Dreams.

I don’t have a dream for you this week, or maybe I do…but it’s not a nighttime dream. It’s a dream from waking life, a dream for peace, inspired by the mountains and the mists and the lake…

Yesterday, I sat outside by a pond in a sweet little mountain town called Graeagle, an hour or so from Tahoe. As I closed my eyes to meditate, I overheard a couple men talking about wild horses, a band of a hundred wild horses. And in my mind, I heard a country song by the Dixie Chicks, a song from my high school days… “Cowboy, take me away…fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue…” and off I went into that deep peace of the West and the North…

Last night, my husband and I stayed at the Blackbird Inn in Clio, a short drive from Graeagle. The moment we walked through the front door, I felt like I stepped out of time…We were welcomed by the young couple who own the place, a five room bed and breakfast that was once the town’s General Store. At night they make pizza and serve wine and beer. She takes the orders, while he spins the dough behind the bar, each pizza pie made fresh. I was utterly delighted by the sweetness and familiarity of the place, so very different from the buzz of San Francisco.

Here, mindfulness is not a practice that we hone on the meditation cushion, but a way of life. Just the very act of living in a small mountain community is mindfulintentional. Yes, I’m a Dreamer, Pisces rules my chart, I idealize places and people and possibilities…but I could sense this shift in my consciousness, through and through.

So, we sat and drank our beer (me, a 21st Amendment Come Hell or High Watermelon, yum), ate homemade pizza, laughed with friends, and shared a common dream: Wouldn’t it be nice if we lived close to the Land again…turning off the phones for a while and having direct contact with the Land and each other…learning again how to listen to the signs of Nature, how to feel and trust and be with each other, with the Earth and all sentient beings? People stop by to say hello and share a story or three. That’s the dream that filled my being as I fell asleep last night.

I sit here now, on a misty morning, writing to you, sharing this dream with you. I watch as the mist rolls across the pond, and am visited by one of the locals. He stands for a while, sipping coffee and gazing off into the mists with me. He asks me: “What lies beyond?”

“It begs the question: Is it real, or is this a dream?” he says…He tells me a story of the blue heron who stands perfectly still, tall and regal, the color of sky and water, framed by a cottonwood tree…he laughs at himself, a man speaking about the colors and rhythms of Nature.

I laugh, and say, “no, please go on, I feel I have conjured you up out of the mists!” So he sips his coffee and continues…

See that apple tree, there are three around this pond. When the apples are ripe, the bears come and climb the trees…you hear a rustling and you let them be. The apples and branches fall to the ground, and soon the deer come to enjoy their treats.

He tells me about the cottonwood trees and the seasons…they’re going to sleep now, their leaves falling to the ground. Come Winter, they will be completely barren. In the Spring, green leaves will cover their branches, followed by little white puffs. In the Summer, the cottony puffs cover the ground, a time out of time, as if a piece of Winter has descended onto a hot Summer day. In the Fall, the leaves turn red and gold and brown…falling back to sleep for the Winter.

Oh, the Winters here…he laughs again and pauses to look around…the locals predict snow by the thickness of pine needles on the ground, or the grey squirrels collecting nuts, or the beavers moving up to higher water.

How perfectly Celtic, how perfectly Otherwordly and absolutely Real!

“In the mountains, you make do or you don’t do at all,” says he, acknowledging himself as the untendered philosopher, or the fool on the hill…

Day after day alone on the hill, the man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still, But nobody wants to know him, they can see that he’s just a fool, and he never gives an answer, but the fool on the hill sees the sun going down, and the eyes in his head, see the world spinning around. Well on his way his head in a cloud, the man of a thousand voices talking perfectly loud, but nobody ever hears him, or the sound he appears to make…

I hear him. I hear. Deep sigh…Fall is here…Magic is in the air…Find peace, Know peace, Be peace…

a Gaelic blessing

Deep Peace of the running wave to you

Deep Peace of the flowing air to you

Deep Peace of the quiet earth to you

Deep Peace of the shining stars to you

Deep Peace of the gentle night to you

Moon and stars pour their healing light on you

Deep Peace, Deep Peace, Deep Peace make you whole,

Deep Peace, Deep Peace, Deep Peace fill your soul.

blessed be.

sweet dreams…

JML

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