You are Mine.
And I take Care of what is Mine.
|John Jude Palencar|
There have been many unpleasant dreams these past weeks, involving angry people, anxious feelings, and confused outcomes that leave me psychologically shaken in the morning. They all seemed to culminate last night into one long, tedious dream of endless labor that showed no sign of relief.
Then, when I finally escaped the nonstop serving (I was managing a packed restaurant by myself), I ended up collapsing on the ground in front of several acquaintances, utterly exhausted.
The pair before me, a husband and wife, stared at me suspiciously, but I was too tired to care. Then the man placed his hand on my face and began telling the wild beast within me to speak its name to him.I recoiled, both horrified and furious. My fatigue was being used against me, and a wild thing inside reared back in protest at the attempted betrayal.
I woke this morning still angry over the images, and clearer in my gut than I’ve been since these conflicting dreams began last month.
After some housecleaning, I got on the mat, moving into a gentle rhythm of yoga, without formality, just moving with the breath, easing into poses that felt good, nurturing and right. I lingered in prayer pose, sending my own inner words of gratitude and petition upward, down into the earth, and swirling around my body as a breeze blew white curtains across my arm. I leaned, seated and cross-legged, forward until my head touched the ground, my hands spread out before me in open and willing trust.
I receive… I receive… I receive…
The mantra said itself, came bubbling up from some depth I was unaware of until the words uttered themselves.
The image of the dream-man ordering the wild beast within came unbidden to my mind. I felt a cold slither inside, as though something vital was being threatened.
A holy response glowed menacingly, up from below my toes, traveling electricity into my sacrum:
You are mine.
And I take Care of what is Mine.
This wildish instinct-self, the one who orders me to LEAP, try, risk- she is unconcerned with my petty fears or others’ petty opinions. She rises up at precisely the perfect moment and says precisely the perfect words needing to be said when I begin shivering inside my skin.
Those words flood me when I am alone, an inner dialogue that builds me up to a courage needed for new feet treading wild land.
They’re raw, unapologetic; red and smoke and salt. They look me square in the eye, daring me to look away, holding my shoulders in a vise grip, commanding my attention. And like the sweetness that spoke itself earlier in my heart… I receive… these new words flooded up, righteous, final, firm, rooted, establishing themselves around me like concrete pillars encasing some sacred space where gods drink their fill and oracles appear.
The wild thing in us, the beast that is wholly untamed and holy in her movement, prowls around, lapping at wisdom like water and feeding in places where good views are assured. Like any wild thing, she will be hell to catch unawares. I am glad for this, so very glad. Even in the throes of a deep mental fatigue, it is comforting to know that our wild soul is ever on the lookout.
I prayed this morning. My prayer echoed in the chambers of my heart, a request for right hearing, right vision, for sacred and holy visitation. And god appeared to me in the form of three crows cawing at my window, drinking the water from the birdbath and climbing the railing of my front porch.
In the last two months living in our new home, every crow I have shown myself to has flown away in a flurry, cawing and screeching warning to the others. But not today. Three pairs of black-blue eyes stared back at me, pacing the rails, drinking the water, silent and steady in their black presences.
I looked into each face, and they looked deep into mine.
You are Mine, they each seemed to declare.
And I take care of what is Mine.