Frederick Carl Frieseke, Portrait of Madame Gely, ca. 1907 — Source.
Welcome to Dream Interpretation for Dummies, where Dear Abby meets Native Americana. Come to the campfire, peer into the yawning grave, and take a dive into the collective subconscious… or maybe just explore some weird clown imagery. We’ll wait for you here.
Howdy Note: A SPECIAL EDITION! Please enjoy this mini essay and mini ~reading~.
I am going to tell you a story, whether you believe it or not. This story is about a little girl. Aren’t they always?
The little girl, once, was one of my paternal great-grandmothers. She was very, very sick. In the middle of the night, she was led into the woods, alone. A path opened before her, one that wasn’t there before. She went. She met the Yunwi Tsunsdi, which your people might call the Fae. Many things happened to her there, though I cannot tell you what. When she found her way back home, she knew healing songs and words, she knew secrets. It was like she had never been sick at all. She passed this gift down, down, down, until the last one who knew died. No one was willing to take on what comes with such a burden. I would have been, of course, I would have. I weep, sometimes, for the loss of such wonder. Then I grow angry, then —
No matter. I have secrets of my own.
On the other side of time, I am a child raised by my maternal line, shunned and forgotten by my father, and all those tied to him by blood.
I am an only child, a lonely one, though my mother and her parents fill me to the brim with their love. Instead of seeking out my peers (for I am a morbid, strange child, ill-suited for play), I make friends with the F— F—. There is no one to warn me. There is no one to guide me. Children like me are thought to need a Teacher, lest we grow into our power sideways, pick up bad habits. It’s laughable, now, all the things I did, that I might still do given another opportunity.
My saving grace is that I gave my regard, my affection, away freely. This endeared a princeling to me, and I had his favor. This protected me from offending. Only sometimes could I see my friends, out of the corner of my eye, but that did not stop me from making silly bargains with them, letting them braid my hair into intricate styles which I would untangle with chubby, untrained hands, making my grandmother cluck her tongue and wonder how on earth I could get so tangled in a day. I wondered often how they found themselves here, in my foothills, so far from where I imagined they must want to be.
My princeling would pinch my cheek and laugh. We are always where those like you are, he would say. Also – don’t you know by now that this place is everywhere and nowhere, my little doe?
I did not, not yet, but I nodded anyway.
Time passed. My beloved friends said I could come to the Summerland with them, but that if I did, I could never, ever come back. Not in a form my family could recognize, could understand. I thought of my mother, her soft hands, her smell like perfume and lipstick and hairspray. I thought about how my grandfather peeled my apples for me, cored them in a way that gave me a handhold. I thought about my grandmother combing my hair, never brushing, and the way her bony legs would clink against my own broader ones when we shared a bed.
I loved them. I loved them so much it felt like something living inside of me. And yet, and yet. It was hard for me to live in their world. It still is. But I made my choice, and have made it again and again. I’m here with you, now. I won’t leave you in the dark.
So, then, this upcoming year, like all of them, will be defined by choices. The ones we aren’t allowed to make, the ones that we shun, the ones that we seize by the rosy throat. What choices lie ahead for us, together, as a collective?
Let’s see:
What work brings you joy? What work do you delight in? This does not have to be the work you think you should enjoy, especially if it is in the realm of the financial, but the special thing(s) you do for yourself, for your Spirit. Approach this work with fascination, with a want to learn, and you cannot go wrong.
That which lies inward is fascinating, and important, but it is not the only thing we must balance on our path. Take the coming months to evaluate how those in your life bring you levity and grace and extend the same to them. This is a warning not to isolate yourself, especially when your darker desires say you should.
You can balance the mundane and your creative or actionable pursuits. One does not have to choose, in this case. Though it may seem like a basic message, BALANCE IS THE KEY. Open yourself up to love, physically and spiritually. It is not a silly pursuit, it is the root of all things.
My suggestion is to use these messages as journaling prompts, or a meditation guide. Light a candle, let everything else fade away. Most importantly, do not judge what comes forward. Receive with an open hand and discard that which is not tenable. You would not drag a canoe through the woods once you reach the lake shore, would you? No. No you wouldn’t.
Holding your hand into this new year,
Howdy
Thank you for the gift of your story and these beautiful prompts. I’m putting the canoe down.
this this this !!!
"You would not drag a canoe through the woods once you reach the lake shore, would you?"
thank you Autumn ~~~~