In the Dreamtime

A composite of my photos put together
by Steve, whom we knew as The Unknown Gnome,
since gone on to the spirit world.
(Note Pup in right lower corner.)

Swimming in dreamtime,

she follows the songlines of the ancestors

across the bare brown desert of the heart

towards the mountains.

On the other side, where the ley lines meet,

all green and golden,

a power place,

lies the great sea, silver and shimmering,

and singing with ten thousand voices

of the ten thousand things

that comprise the dharma path.

In this dream,

there are the haunted cries of wolves, of owls,

of ancient spirits,

and the deep green forest is alive, awake,

and talking in tongues.

It whispers to her soul

where are you?

why are you not here?

Trees reach out their arms for her,

and she is drawn there

as surely as a murrelet is drawn back to its nest

from across the shining water.

Wild Woman rides the winds of hope

in this dream,

looking down on all that she loves:

green bearded old Grandfather Cedar,

the roar of the waves,

caw of raven,

imperious piercing eagle-cry,

long white beaches

stretching to Forever,

and her, above, exulting,

in the tangy salt sea air,

flying along the shore.

So many impediments between her

and her heart's home,

in the real time.

But in the dreamtime,
one is always There,

cradled by the sleepy forest,

curled in the rootbed of an ancient cedar,

beside a small tender wolf-pup

with shining eyes

and joyous, yipping heart,

mist wrapping softly around them

in the fresh new morning,

with the sound of the soft waves,

lapping, forever,

forever,

endless and eternal,

in her heart.

An oldie from 2014, when I was living inland and longing for my spirit's home. See how such persistence pays off? By early 2017, I was here.

Shared with earthweal's open link.