Saturday, February 7, 2009
Crow Messenger
Last night, I dreamt of you.
As an unseen observer, I had no contact with you, so I could not persuade you to cease your foolish activity. I watched, horrified and holding my breath, as you were attempting to rein in an electrical power-line. You had stripped off the protective grounding plastic from an old brown extension cord, the antiquated kind with a tiny plug. You were slinging forth this extension cord, as a lasso to grapple the power-line above, from which you apparently intended to steal electricity. I could hear the wire arc as you would hit it with the cord, always just narrowly missing your target.
As I continued watching the disaster about to unfold, an enormous black crow flew down out of the sky and lit on a perch near your feet. The shining black crow seemed to grow larger, and as it was so doing, it transformed into a Native American man with bright eyes and black hair. The Native American man leaned close to your ear and whispered what seemed to be admonishments for your reckless behavior.
Suddenly, another transformation occurred, and the Native American man became a crow again. The crow flew toward me, and landed upon the wooden fence atop which I was also perched. It spoke to me in a language with which I was unfamiliar, but his words became pictures in my mind, and I understood what it was telling me.
I awakened, then, from the dream. I am disappointed not to be able to recall the information which the Native American/crow relayed to me, because I felt at the time that it was of the utmost importance....
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Truth
Monday, March 17, 2008
Strength
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Once upon a time...
"Excuse me, miss, but are you Arabic?"
Startled by the approach of a stranger in the cereal and granola aisle of my local mass-market retail store (can you guess which one?), I quickly turned to see the person who was addressing me. The middle-aged foreign man standing before me appeared gentle and friendly. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt, and pale beige pants which emphasized his dark skin. His hair was neatly trimmed, mostly black, but showing some gray along his temples.
Smiling, I replied, "No, I'm not Arabic." I wondered why he would have thought I could possibly be Arabic, as I don't believe I have the physical characteristics of a typical Arabic person. Blue eyes, curly auburn hair, and a complexion as white as a daisy petal is certainly not common amongst Arabic people. Perhaps not impossible, but definitely improbable.
Still, the man persisted in his odd questions. "You cannot be from here? You do not dress as they do here....you are not wearing trousers. No, you wear the long and flowing skirt of a princess! In my country, you would be a princess."
Feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to color my cheeks, I politely thanked him for his compliments and turned to select my box of granola from the shelf. "Please. Allow me," he grasped the coveted package from up above and placed it into my hands.
"Thank you," said I, and again I made my attempt at leaving. I could hear the foreign man's footsteps close behind me. "Miss, may I ask if you are married? Have you any children?", he continued after me.
"Yes, yes I am married," I spoke the half-truth, thinking to myself that my divorce is nearly final. "And yes, I do have a child."
"Ah, that is too bad. You see, I was hoping to invite you to a nice meal. Please, say to your husband that he must always treat you as a princess!" he smiled and bowed, revealing the gleam of his very white teeth.
His comments struck me as quite strange, and I laughed. What if my husband had treated me like a princess? Would that have changed anything? No, I do not need nor wish to be treated as a princess. All I need is to be loved and appreciated for who I am, not for someone or something I am not.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
if on a winter's night...
spiral
fast-forward to yesterday
only one
faded fate
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
snowblind
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