How can dreams contribute to healing… and to one’s creativity? For fifty years, I’ve written down my dreams and pondered their significance in my daily life. Having collected so much material over five decades, I have learned to discriminate and differentiate the kind of dreams, whether useful, garbage, archetypal, or healing. Subjects come and go, connections arise. I don’t know how such clusters occur.
Shifting images scumble
paint, thin layer on layer, dimly
shading, softening the apparent
Three Mother letters—
Fire, River, Water.
I find you in speaking
tree, pond eye
Bees are sadly far fewer now, dear Emily Dickinson, but
these days it will take more than revery to save our planet,
our province, our town. What is right action? What follows
hope? We write protest letters to ban roundup. We march.
Blessed be here. Blessed be finches
who vary their song in language only
other birds interpret. Blessed be squirrels
who scold all intruders into submission.