Emerald Dreams And Surrender.
Waking up from a multitude of dreams arouses the inner child in me first, then the adulthood pistons get fired up, helping me process all that I remember, to finally deduce the meaning of each symbol and where it all leads.
I have been a dream-weaver long since I can remember, furiously looking up each symbol, the why’s and the how’s and where’s. If it is some sort of raw ritual for the morning sunrise, I embrace it and magnify each segment until I understand.
Often, I have no clue as to the meaning of my widely scoped dreams, yet they rattle me, they objectify me, and they force me to surrender to the daily occurrences and possibilities presented the minute I step out of the door.
The color emerald has been appearing for several nights now. It began as a hillside, Wizard of Oz type of metaphor, then landed me smack dab in a calm sea with large black rocks underneath. In both instances, the scenery was as green and beautiful as Ireland herself.
I’ve never been, but can only fathom the vastness of how lush and rich the land is with emerald-coated earth everywhere. When the ocean appeared, I was floating. There was minimal sea life that I could see, and the water had variegated patterns from shallow to deep.
If I was snoring during that episode of my dream state, surely I woke up to a puddle of drool on my pillow. It was that epic.
The surrender happens when my pen hits the paper next to the teapot, post-dream-state. Writing down the images with questions and thoughts is an elixir to me. It sets the tone for a day of anything goes. And I surely need the serenity of emptying out my mind and preparing it for what the sun and trees and creatures bring.
Emerald is a powerful color and hue in life. The stone alone opens up the heart. Its richness brings forth successful love and great vision. I adopted a rather large chunk of untreated emerald about a year ago. It sits on an altar, bedside, and during any full or new moon, that precious stone gets a purified water cleanse.
Once it returns to its cocoon, nestled inside the abalone shell with various other poignant stones, the emerald emits the graces of her inspiration and bliss, creating dreams in my psyche that are able to reveal things to come. She has become somewhat of a fortune-teller.
Her deep forest color, mixed with etches of natural ebony and ivory, begins its magic when the lights go out. And I let it all go once my eyes close for the night.
I revere the emerald color and am fascinated with her grace and might. She has been guiding my dreams for the past several weeks, and as the allowance and letting-go phase of my heart succumb to her power, I have nowhere to hide but in the depths of my soul.
There is something terribly profound about the nature of our dreams. With each one, a waking step moves us forward, and launches us into an abyss of known and unknown territory. I can’t remember the last time I had such a multitude of dreams.
The only haven for this life I’m leading is solely in the hands of the Universe, for she brought us these treasures. She is the light and the love. She sends her messages in dreams, and I’ll surrender to them for as long as I have a beating heart.
And I thank her profusely, every single second of every single moment.