“She comes from the low land / she’s coming to you / she’s from hiding / waiting for you / waiting for you.”

This morning I dreamed:


I’m at Pacifica, being interviewed by A, my process teacher. We sit face to face. He wears a black shirt. I want to tell him about my two years, my year, Mom, leaving, grief. I have a sense that he likes me, and also that it’s nothing personal. Then, in a nearby office, I do another interview with a woman. Later I find out her name is Linda. She has short dark hair and wears deep blue (a la recurring dream character) and is beautiful. In her small office is a twin bed draped with sienna cloth, perpendicular to the door. We lay on it, she to my left, for the interview. I don’t recall what she says or what I say exactly, but I fall into and speak from a very deep soft place, with soul and with love — when I’m finished is when it feels startling, back to “reality” — I think with wonder how quickly and ably and knowingly she took me deep, how quickly, and how she must be very good at her work.

Shortly after I realize I’ve left my bag in her office and have some frantic time because I can’t find her office \ remember where the office is \ get inside the building. The setting here feels like the bottom of the hill at Bryn Mawr, between the Co-op House where I lived and the Science buildings. I meet and explain my scenario to some men, who are all Join the Club, we’re trying to get in too! It’s difficult cuz the entrance to the building is very very high up. I search and search and eventually find a way in, and it feels like after-hours, which worries me in terms of getting my bag back. I roam the dark office halls, which are still maze-y and not quite familiar.

I finally stumble on a lit place with some big bustly middle-aged women with long curly hair. I ask one to help me and she is surprised but attentive — I am off the schedule of the larger group. She’s already helping someone and I join their small round table. I explain that I left my bag in the interview with the woman with short dark hair and she says Ah, Linda. Linda must have forgotten to file her interview findings on me, and the helpful lady pulls them out to make things right. Looking at the findings, she remarks that I did well, and I can kind of see the marks, a little rubric of handwritten notes and numbers, but I can’t read it well enough to understand. I ask the woman if I can see my marks and she kindly declines, explains that it’s different for everyone, and everyone who conducts interviews has their own way of doing it.

I suddenly notice the other person she’s helping is Cassia! Hey, Cassia! There is also a sense of Katie being just at my right side. Cassia is presented with a litter of puppies, which are brown and very artistically made.

Then an epilogue about moving a river between two high places and a low place, rushing and rocky, and loving the nourishment underneath, and how the nourishment moves up the earth into the high places, and it’s a woman who says how she loves this, and how it both is and isn’t possible.

One in a series the last few nights of clear deep feeling dreams. I immediately wanted to write about it, and there’s a lot I could say — I wanted to write about how the two interviews reflect a lot of thinking and writing in the last several days about my rational and other-than-rational selves. About those two together, and how the high entrance to the school building echoes another high entrance to a school building in a dream, a high entrance easily accessed by a dream-girl who embodies those two knowings fused. About doing well with both knowings yielding a place of getting my bag back — and how in the first dream after Mom died, I lost my same bag. But there’s something else tugging at my mind:

Night before last, I dreamed an Eve with a beautiful, awe-inspiring snake draped round her neck. The snake was a lithe silver-green-gold boa, and its head was the most beautiful of all.

So now I look up Linda, and what:

The name means “pretty one” in spanish. In Greek it is a variant of the name Melania (evolved into “Melinda”) and it means “black haired one”. In Old German it means “serpent”. I’ve also found “pretty serpent.” It also can mean “waiting.”

I’m having trouble finding words for all the feeling. Just doing the waterfall. Yesterday I had an experience of playing waterfall, of being able to move between channels to find the proper one. I wrote about it: my hands mudra instinctively, this new ness and the play of old forms which are only how they did it then, and the how we do it now is for once not such a desperate need but merely now, a doing now. My left hand makes the vitarka, flat and calm at my lap, an anchor. My right moves in exploratory pulses toward the shape it wants, the right kind of waterfall.

Playing waterfall, one finds the form that is wanted for the felt energy to move through. This is what the epilogue with the moving river is all about.

There have been other visitors behind the scenes — many rat dreams in the last two months, in addition to a very real rat who likes to hang around in my heating vent. The snake dream was also a rat dream, what may be the last one for how it felt. Not just cuz the snake likes rats, but because I finally put together that the rats are Let it die. In Mom’s symbol dictionary I casually looked up Rat, and found new information: St. Fina, who knows nothing but Let it die. Shed that skin.

So, so much going on — much at hand, much under foot, much ahead. Yesterday I was remembering how I felt in the weeks after Mom died, the sometimes crazy rush of thought and emotion even from a place so daily steeped in immediate feeling. Because yesterday felt like a similar rush, only it doesn’t quite decimate me now how it used to. Then and now, I feel how it wants form. But now I feel more capable of that work, when it comes it feels less anguished and more creative. It isn’t burning but cooking. I’m not the million myriad falling waters so much as waterfall. Feeling + meaning = knowing, and knowing = holding form.

I didn’t know what the mudra was called until I looked it up just now: vitarka is Reasoning mudra (in short). This is a word I wanted to do, so let’s bring it back here:

Rational:

Agreeable to reason; reasonable; sensible.

Sensible…there are seeds that sprout here, pushing up toward another blog another day about Making Sense

Capable of being expressed exactly by a ratio of two integers.

Here is where something in my understanding breaks down. Reason is supposed to be an evident logical proceeding from a to b. But there is a kind of thinking which has long been called non-rational, but which I experience with the same certainty as I do reason: thoughts which flow to sure conclusion, self-evident in their connectivity from a to b — the key being that self-evident part, not materially demonstrable but clearly true. And this is too a very relational knowing — a knowing that comes of the relation a/b. This confusion is the reason why, at which Chippy expressed surprise, I could have gone through life experiencing these kinds of knowing and not identifying as an “intuitive” but a rational girl.

Inter-views.

Hum.

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~ by Arrrow Marie on December 17, 2009.

One Response to ““She comes from the low land / she’s coming to you / she’s from hiding / waiting for you / waiting for you.””

  1. Hi Kaeti…
    puppies, huh!
    I miss you.

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