I was so saddened this week by the news from Boston. My journal entries contain precognitive dreams. Highlighted is Jesse’s (dear hubby) dream of last week and the feelings of uneasiness neither of us could seem to shake. We often chalk up such premonitions to symptoms of aging, but we know better now after 28 years.
In the dream there were two men, dangerous men. There was a fight and the feeling of violence, a sense of shattered peace. The next night he had another vivid dream with men fighting.
No longer do my husband and I question what goes in the subconscious. We often share our dreams when we awaken. I can’t imagine not conferring this way with my best friend. I can’t imagine being without my notebook of dreams.
Juxtaposed to the beauty of this glorious Saturday in the blossoming desert Southwest is the presence of grief going on right now. Yes, disasters bring people together. We all share in the loss of loved ones, especially children, no matter what nationality. All the platitudes about moving on and heroes fall short for some reason.
Here is my poem:
April Tears 2013
spring skies showered a thundering
on cobblestone streets
raining deep ghosted blues.
Someone in Saturn’s bad dream
the gorge of ignorance
unaware that celestial goodness is shoulder to shoulder
never straying from completion.
The destiny of compassion knows
the wholeness of all that is,
in prana, the fire
of good deeds.
In the footsteps of dharma
by souls in their endless work,
shadows bend into the wind
of many flags
centered around simple truth:
We are one.
Copyright © 2013 by Susan E. Rowland