Friday, April 15, 2011

Trip To Astral Norway























Man is never alone. Acknowledged or unacknowledged, that which dreams through him is always there to support him from within.

~Laurence van der Post


A dream...

I wake up in a bed in the guestroom of a Norwegian farm house where I am being nursed back to health by a very nice old couple who lives here. I try to remember what has happened but can't. Amnesia? Car wreck? I shrug off the unknowable, relieved not to have any bad memories. I look at the white blanket on the bed, the wooden walls around me and realize I feel pretty good. Whatever has happened is over. I am recovered. It's light out and there's that good feeling of wanting to get up and embrace whatever the new day holds in store. 

I get out of bed, either already in my clothes or not requiring them, and go outside. I see the old couple working in the garden with a younger couple who is helping them. What most stands out to me is that they are down in the soil and have a glowing happy quality about them. Their auras are sunny yellow. We communicate without speaking. It's a feeling of mutual understanding and good will. Like when you acknowledge someone with a slight bow. They know without me saying so how grateful I am to them for taking care of me, and I know without them saying so that it's all quite alright. Like a "thank you" and "you're welcome" exchanged at the same time. It's a nice sunny day and seeing the beautiful forests again reminds me of Finland. Ah, Scandinavia! So beautiful and clean!

True to my nature, I start feeling restless and ready to go somewhere. My hosts, I notice, have suddenly vanished and I'm alone outside. No need to belabor the gratitude, I guess. Or maybe it's naptime. Shrugging my shoulders, I get into a parked car next to me and drive away without trying to find anyone or say goodbye. I spend a couple hours on a road with long sweeping corners and no other traffic, again marveling at the beautiful forests. I keep thinking how much my friends will enjoy this place when they come to visit me. But visit me where? The farmhouse? Hm, maybe I live t/here.

I suddenly feel kind of bad for not saying goodbye to the nice people at the farmhouse, so I turn around and drive back, unaware that maybe they are my family. Along the way I'm forced to drive through some slow winding construction area marked with orange cones that weren't there before. Naturally, there are no workers to accompany the jobsite. Same as the States! After this, I stop at a labyrinth of white corrugated metal, like that stuff they make storage units or ship containers out of. It has an annoying Home Depot feel inside, because I go in and wander around looking for some guy who can help me find some thing, and it seems to take forever.

I leave with a completely unremarkable piece of flat squarish wood, about the size of a small table, for no obvious reason. When I get back to the farm, everyone is outside working just as before, smiling and happy, evidently not concerned in the slightest that I've left, or am even back for that matter. No one asks why I'm standing there like a dummy with a random piece of wood in my hands. I get the feeling they already know everything I could say anyway. Oh well. A gift demands a gift, so I give it to the old man and he says "Thank you," indicating that he's putting it aside for future use. I'm still wondering what it is. Maybe a big blank rune.

I get down in the soil with everyone else. I see them as my ancestors, the greater family of man. I am happy to be with them, to have emerged from another long winter, victorious...for now. The days are long but the growing season is short, and the harvest comes soon. Despite thin soil and rocky terrain, sun streams down through pure air. This place that I am is fertile, a land of tall green trees, good people and strong roots. I look at the seeds in my hand and breathe life into them. It's planting time.