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Spring is in the air

I am delighted to be here in Virginia, where it will be more than 70 degrees on the porch and I have a day to myself. I found some old writing, some of which I had forgotten, and I am combining it below with todays offerings about a dream .

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Bluebird of happiness


I was getting up slowly, and sitting at the edge of my bed facing an open screened window. A moving gold coin catches my eye. It is the top of a gold finch’s head, morning sun catching it. As I lean to better see, another finch lands there too. They are young and simultaneously they open their beaks to each other to be fed, chirping and flapping the wings as they do.

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The golden moon portrayed by Molly Boland on a quilt. 

They soon give up this behavior when it does not produce food for them. Then they investigate the windowsill for some forgotten larvae, a spider, surely something. Then they see each other again and go through the motions again of trying to get food from each other in the absence of the mother. This behavior repeats at least three times right in front of my sleepy eyes. Their little beaks are very clear, clean, sharp, hungry and pink inside. It is spring of 2000 I think.

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Mandala with a golden center

I am reminded of a time when a father finch was feeding two baby finches at our big sunflower plants in our yard. Each year the sunflower plants volunteered from seed set out to feed the birds in the wintertime. Some of those sunflowers reached nine feet high and then bent over their heads toward the ground, a one-foot in diameter affair, filled with bursting seeds.


One goldfinch chick landed on the father’s head to better get the seed intended for the sibling. They began to fall together until the little one let go and both few off. I got a fright that time too, as a baby falling is not a good thing.

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If we dream of the baby falling then we have to consider how we are uncaring for our inner spiritual baby. It is no use leaving that baby in the hands of a dunderhead in us, who knows that the baby has to leave the burning building but throwing it out the window will not do.

We have to consider that we have a gold coin in our chest, the one that can fly. A spinning top, sending out streams of love, if that is what we desire, if that is what we line up our being for. It grows bigger with use and knocks out blocks. It is falling because we do not want to consider that the baby needs very specific attention from us.

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My own version of Buddha, mulling over a dream.

This gold coin causes chaos, yes, but much needed chaos, until flight for that gold thing, in our chest is fed so that flight can be achieved.

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Golden coin

May all your loving be golden, may all your finches multiply in your vicinity. May all your falls finish up in finchy flight. May you be fed with the seeds of life. May you recognize such fare, or fall until flight happens, however far down that is.


I had a dream last night of looking out a window and seeing a crash between a truck and a car. The car was squashed and the person’s head is outside the car and looks up into my eyes and he takes his last breath with my eyes held on his. I see a great orange ball below his head. I call 911 and am crying and I get all the attention of the others in my group, to tell them what has just happened. I am greatly moved by this crash. I wake up and it takes me a few seconds to realize it is a dream.

My ‘aha moment’ with this dream came when I thought of what I did the day before, where my emotions were high. I have some more work to do on it but connecting to attitudes of the day before is helpful for a start. I wrote the dream down and then drew the orange ball first as a teacup mandala. Then I drew the dream detail.

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The crashed up car.

To remember first love.

I go up like Moses

on Mole Hill

Because a fire

Licks in my head,

Up through

black basaltic rock

On old waste places

Looking for revelation,

Up through chakras

Up through seven churches

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Silver Lake in Dayton with a flock of geese in transit, with Mole Hill in the background.

Came out on top

Turned around in the evening light

To be lifted into the post and beam

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Of clouds and sun

Carried on the flight of the heron

Aloft from Cooks Creek

Walking free

What is old is new again


And if you want to look into some old waste places and find what is new for you again, to find where the boundaries of your soul properties are undulating, then be sure to give me a call. I am always honored to sit and mull, to look and find, what is underneath, whether it is some clash of opposites causing something to crash, burn and die or some wonderful flight of heron or finch. I look forward to hearing from you. Love from Rose.




About rlongwort

Licensed Professional Counselor. Dream specialist.
This entry was posted in dreams, poetry, Psychoanalytic and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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