Its a new day of a New Year, and a new week.
I'm musing today. I've had to find a new "home" for my cards i.e. the wardrobe and I miss them. I miss the Medicine Woman deck and the Fairy Oracle particularly.
But at least I'm writing on my blog. I was going to write about something else, it being something I found on Helen Weaver's blog, the lady who wrote "The Daisy Sutra (conversations with my Dog, Daisy)"
But I think I will tell you about my dream. I'm not one really for thinking about dreams but this one has got to me a little. I was with people that I knew, but didn't "recognise" if you know what I mean. There was a little group of us, the youngest a boy about 17. We were talking about having to go over a bridge. In my dream we were shot at and retreated. The next time we tried to go over the bridge, the boy of 17 ran ahead of us, shouting. He got shot at and fell. We were then about half way over the bridge and I remember thinking, there is no going back now, and I went forward, the end of the bridge in sight. Thats when I woke up. Not really liking my dream much.
Thing is I've been asking for some help in looking at any past lives I've lived. Prior to the last two years with Jackory, I've not had any interest in past lives. I've always thought the present is more important. But Jackory telling me in my dream, he was choosing to leave to be a search and rescue dog, has made me think about lives. About our past lives. About the future ones we choose for ourselves. It struck me that even before he passed, he had chosen his future life path. As a search and rescue dog.
So I've been wondering whether my dream of the bridge and the people I was with, and the young 17 year old, whether that dream belonged to a past life.
Guess Jackory's still teaching me.
Back to Rumi. I'm pinching the poem from Helen, who pinched it from another blogger, but Rumi's words seem most beautiful to me today. And seems the right words to close my blog with today. Jackory was indeed an expencted visitor, and such a blessing to me. And I think each time we do a reading, it is much like this poem. Sometimes we find things that we dont want to see or things we've avoided looking at. Sometimes it's a delight. Sometimes a disappointment.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house,
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meaness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows
Who violently sweep your house
Empty of it's furniture,.
Still treat each guest honourably,
He may be clearing you out
For some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice
Meet them at the door, laughing.
And invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.
With love and light,
Gina and Jackoryx