One of her readers said she likes it when Rose has a little rant. So she had reason to rant yesterday morning. She was almost ready for work, the bags of lunch and snack filled up, mostly liquid, and very heavy. The handbag with phone was ready and she glanced at the place the car keys should be and they were there, the little blue purse hanging down to help her see them the better.
She still had a mug of tea to drink, after a hearty breakfast of chops and greens. Some lamb shops were thawed out and when she got out two eggs for breakfast she spied the wrapped white papered chops and paused. She returned the eggs and got the chops out. They were mostly not frozen as they were thawing overnight in the fridge. She ate them rare with dandaline greens and spinach. Pink salt was added from Himalayas. She was probably a little too satisfied in her feelings after she cleaned her plate off.
So she picks up her bags, locks her door and lands on the icy porch. There is half a blue sky and the rest is blackish and it is flurrying snow. No sun just them. The birds were on high do, singing and she plopped down on a chair with her tea, dropping the bags in the ice. She enjoyed the whole affair, even if she was getting a little late for work and a little snow flaked. The tea was soon finished. She got up to find the keys. Shearching through a bag full of gloves, sandals and phone among other things, did not produce any keys. The dawning of the fact that they were inside and she was locked out came over her slowly. She called work and went traipsing off in the snowy gardens to find an other key that is hidden in the neighborhood, within walking distance. Yes there was one there where is was supposed to be.
As she went back into the house from the front entrance, she was greeted by the smells of incesnse in her office space and maybe candle smells also. These smells affected her and turned her into someone else. A holy vegan perhaps.
As she opened the double doors into the next space the smell was of the seared meat cooked earlier and it knocked her senseless. It smelled so strange, combined with other house smells of age and sage, coffee and eggs. The lack of tidiness, the little piles, the massage plinth splayed out in the next room all made her go further into someone else. Who lives here she wondered.
She closed the double doors and got back into herself. She never liked to be too tidy on the two days she worked outside the home. Not all clothes are sorted and not all dishes cleared away. She found the keys and escaped the entrapment of her house for a full day at the office, where she would learn that doing artwork with a mother and daughter was a marvelous way to get the daughter to talk straight to the mother. Later when she was asked by a client in anger management if she ever got flustered, she most likely lied, refusing now to examine what she really said. Maybe her intern will be able to talk to her about that interaction. Witness is such a wholesome thing.
Dreams are piling up, with a new young man boarding in her bedroom, and other important forgotten fragments, from a restless night, two nights previously.
She has a less dense breakfast this morning and went out to meditate first on the north east side of the house with a low deck that goes mostly unused. She though she could feel the life under her feet pushing up the green grass and the flowers, in spite of the cold temperatures. A robin was silhouetted on the fence, framed by the crisscross branches of a tree near her.
A crow walked under the pine tree at the end of the yard, the beak bulging with a hundred pine needles. She continued to forage for more for a nest the he is surely building.
As Rose sat to meditate she adjusted her sitz bones and felt the energy entgering her from the ground and felt it travel out to all parts of her body. The water, air and fire of life were entering her together dissolving the barriers in her, giving her a oneness within and without. It was easy to sit, to lift, to ground and to pray. As she walked back in she sent the light to others she is concerned with and of course family members and for her readers. Her mood was changed, much lighter.
And if you have some fragments of dreams you are trying to forget, don’t. The tiniest of gifts from your unconscious will be like water into an old fashioned well, which when worked, brings up as much water as you want. Draw some pictures as that especially will light up the unconscious, draw the water of life up into you and bring out your trickster to get past your blocking tactics.
I look forward to hearing from you. Love from Rose.