Rose Longworth Counseling

Changing of the Guard

Posted on December 28, 2020 by rlongwort

I was meditating in the outside meditation garden at Edgar Cayce’s ARE. The last time I was there in November, I had snuck up to the meditation room on the third floor. I ignored the notice to not go up there. The shop and library were open to the public. I did not understand why the meditation room was out of bounds. The beautiful white and purple crystal type rock cut stones and the monster lapis blue stone from Tibet and the ocean in the distance twinkling were a gift to me. I dreamed once that a huge underground lake underlaid the whole area there. I had a beautiful meditation.

While on the third floor, meditating, I got the idea I had better finish up and sure enough a tall man with a cross face stood over and pointed his finger at me. I asked him if he had a dream. He said he did not and he escorted me off the premises. I had to do a little praying to right myself up again feeling attacked by this volunteer overseeing little old ladies like me. This visit I heard the meditation room was being redone so I stayed outside.

As I sat over the goldfish pond, and opened my eyes, I was looking at two trees, covered in blooms, one of red and one of pink. And flying among the blooms was a very small hummingbird, with my eyes just catching the glitter of its green and red coloring. I was very surprised as it was into the third week in December and this little bird had not gone south yet. Perhaps the many blooms were delaying the bird. Maybe it stayed to help with meditators in the garden.

I had a beautiful silent time and as I finished up with taking pictures of the blooms, I saw a middle aged woman walk up the path nearby to another building. She was dressed in a smart black coat and long black boots. Her hair was cut in a short boyish cut with a smart fringe falling over her forehead.

When she came back down those steps, I was already putting on my bike helmet and as is my habit, (I was almost in her way,) I asked her for a dream. She paused, put her feet together, her arms at her side and looked up toward the sky, and said, “Okay then, I do have a dream image for you from last night” She pulled out her black face mask looked into her consciousness and started with” I dreamed I was sitting in a group of five, some from work, including my boss, who said nothing.”

“I knew what I wanted to say, but no matter how I tried I could not find the right words. Then one of the men, who sat beside me let me know that he knew exactly what I wanted to say, but he could not find the words either.”

I asked her if she meditated. She replied she did not, found it hard to still herself, was too “flighty.” She followed with “But I am always “on” as I am a Reike Grand Master and my hands get hot and then I know there is someone nearby who needs my help.”

Evening light on a marshy place off Shore Drive

She felt the dream was telling her that something has to change at work. She did not pin it down for me and we talked about being able to find the right something to facilitate this change? We chatted a bit more about the inner man helping her but neither of them finding the right word. I suggested she meditate for the number of minutes that corresponded with her age. She said she was now seventy. I was surprised as I thought she looked fifty at most.

It seemed time for her to go, and she wished she could hug me, as she walked toward me. Then she came behind me, with my permission, and looped her arms around my shoulders, with her heart, her front against my heart my back. It was a delicious backwards hug.

Green Tara Images, a Goddess interested in giving you long life etc. The white Tara was given me by my daughter for a past birthday and the other was sent to my by a stranger I met at ARE

I asked if her hands were hot now. There was a pause before she said, “Well yes” We broke apart laughing. It was a marvelous bit of humor, and I do consider that she brought healing to me in ways I know not of. God’s blessings come in many different forms.

When I had an osteopathic adjustment at the Spa, the practitioner was very interested in my dream interpretation and noted that in the Grecian Temples, treatment was based on dreams. People came to sleep at the temples and their dreams were given to the priests of the temples to figure out ways to heal them and the treatments were based on the dreams. He gave a little bow to me as he called me “priest.” My mother once said she saw the priest in me.

On my bike at the beach – I was there for about six days and it was a retreat for me.

I personally believe that if we ask our dreams for such help, it will be given to us. The voice of our Maker can be heard in our dreams. Believing that this can happen, as well as asking for help is key.

I wish you a Happy Holidays. Look for your individual relationship to Spirit, keep hammering away until you have distilled a concept of your link to your Maker. This is where happiness comes from.

As I keep splicing into my prayers to connect me to ‘where I come from’ as I still my body, my mind and my heart, I can feel those promptings from the heart, toward peace, patience, love and understanding that belongs to where I come from, from my Maker.

Feel that pouring forth in the stillness, until that river of pure crystal flows and what was rock solid becomes flowing down all around you. (A young woman client told me that she felt this in a meditation recently.) I had this experience many years ago and wrote a poem about it saying “water falling down a dress.” The image came to me while meditating in my sunroom in Belmont about thirty years ago. Love from Rose.

Posted in Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged dream, meditation, Meditation Garden and Room at ARE, Reike, Spa at ARE, virginia beach | Leave a comment

Oh Shenandoah, I hear you Calling

Posted on December 17, 2020 by rlongwort

Last Saturday, I went to sit by the Shenandoah river with my friend, that has that place as her favorite recreational visiting spot. We travel the ten miles out from the city toward Port Republic. We travel in separate cars, because of social distancing. The river is wide and slopes into a deeper center. There is a lovely green space, a bank, that is about five feet above that rolling river.

Some old fallen tree pieces are near the bank

There I set up camp, with my blue yoga mats. It is early afternoon where I finish my lunch. I pull out my painting supplies and play with a picture I wanted to put some contrast into. My friend plays with her phone. She puts on her wide brimmed hat and leans back with her eyes closed.

We walk around the property together and chat. The sun is over the river and the wind dies down after an hour. The sky is blue and the Baltimore Orioles nest can be seen in the naked branches of the big sycamore tree above. The trunk of the tree is wide enough to block some breeze.

On the walk around we stopped to look at the trees we encountered and especially a cedar tree that would provide lovely shade in the summer. I saw a tiny beautiful claw of a marsupial reminding us of nature and its secret life by the river. A farmer is riding around on a large machine across in the fields on the other side. The Friesian black and white cattle are in the distance.

When I had reached my walking limit my friend went off walking for a second time around the property. She was carrying her field glasses. Last summer she saw the eagles nesting across the river. I heard a bird singing an unidentified song but did not see the bird.

When my friend left, I took the opportunity to get into the river. I left my towel near by and slid down the bank into a mixture of muck and sand on the bottom. I was up to my knees with grey clouds of silt climbing toward my knees. It was cold but not intolerable. I splashed that holy water all over and reached out toward the deeper spot and swam in a quick circle. My mouth shot opened wide with the shock and water flowed in and down my neck before I could close it again.

You can see the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance

Getting back out of the river, driven back by the shock and cold, I searched for a footing, stuck my knee and other foot into the bank and pulled on some grass to raise myself out of the water. My knees and foot had other ideas and I slowly slid back down into a standing position in the water. The shock was wearing off, so I swam around again in the deeper water. I took the slide back as a sign that I was not finished with the beautiful river.

The next time, I picked a better, more slanting place and pulled up and away out of the water carrying a fine layer of muck on my right foot especially. I dried off a bit, and not being encumbered with much in the way of cold wet clingy clothes, I was back in my warm dry woolens in no time.

The feeling of reset, good feeling is profound after such a dip. I always obey the pull of the ground into the water. I sense its holiness, its gift to me and to the earth. What would we do without such a mother flowing through our Shenandoah Valley? I look forward to the day that honoring the River, for the divine Goddess she is, will be fashionable. All water is pure, we just have to stop abusing it with our waste products of all sorts.

The sun was fast approaching the opposite bank and was shining on to the rise above it across the river. We packed up, my friend to get special kitty litter that her cat liked and me to sit at the bottom of a wide trunked tree further up the bank. The golden sun was still above the horizon and as I sat my friend photographed me.

In the silence that followed I settled into my meditation. I was doing a breathing exercise to begin, in which I looked to the end of my nose. There I saw golden threads playing around my nose that were surely children of that setting sun.

As the sun quickly set the gold was gone and I prayed for the leaders of nations, especially our own, those who have no one to pray for them, the dead and dying from Covid 19, my relatives, and anyone else who came to mind. I also send out light, love and healing to all my readers. (And now ask that you do the same for me. It was help everything greatly.)

Sitting for mediation at the bottom of a tree above the river.

When I got home, I was reluctant to wash off my feet and kept my little white socks on all night to remind myself of who I am and where I had been that evening. Of course a little of the earth from the sacred Shenandoah River in my house will only make my house holy.

I dreamed of being chased around by a tall blond young man who is trying to get me to acknowledge that I have diamonds in my right hand. I am a little scared of taking this into account. May the diamonds of my dream become a real feeling in the palm of my hand and when I put it to a shoulder of a friend or client, may it bring in the light that is always available to us, should we only ask to be open to it.

I have one Amaryllis blooming at my house now.

“Drop down and let go” I keep chanting to myself, as I press on pressure points in the night freeing myself to be a better vessel for what is possible to be. Rotating myself, like an antenna until I am all the way around right, so that the light from above, from my Maker can glance off me like the sun glanced off my nose at the river. Love you all. Rose.

Trying to put a little contrast into this image – a watercolor I started at another river.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged meditation | 5 Comments

Moriah Grapples with Scapegoating

Posted on December 12, 2020 by rlongwort

Moriah knew about the rituals of scapegoating. What started out as a ritual of putting all the blame for evil onto the head of one person and murdering them was no longer practiced. It moved into the idea that a goat could do just as well and the goat was led out into the wilderness, the bog or some such place and sacrificed in some way for the sin of others.

Moriah was certain she was blamed and then shunned for some small grains of sand. Her good friend, who had a small place at Galway Bay scapegoated her once. Moriah loved to go there. But she became uninvited for depositing little mounds of sand all over her friend’s thatched cottage. Moriah liked to swim in the cold water and dressing and leaving the sandy beach was impossible not to bring sand on her self and in her shoes. Nothing was said to Moriah about her great catastrophic errors of the sand, but Moriah was never invited back. They remained friends, as heir house were in the same village.

Over the years, Moriah would hear of all those invited to the place by the beach but she had to hang her head with the closing of this avenue to the beach for her. No body seemed to want to get into the sand of that dune and eke out the jewels of fractured relationship to be found there, least of all Moriah.

The reason that this all came back to her again is that this same friend came to her to tell her, Moriah, what sounded like a very positive dream. In the dream Moriah, was interpreted to represent a playful mystic to her friend. The dreamer, her friend, was told by her interpreter, that she should be more like Moriah.

The story and the sand deposits came out with the telling of the dream. For some reason Moriah had a feeling she was slapped around the mouth as she was told this “delightful dream about herself” because of all the bad feelings of exclusion and being blamed over the years because of those gains of sand.

She had been thinking about scapegoating and she wondered how this meshed in with this dream story. How was blame shifted from one to the other in order to make the other feel good and how had she managed to be cast off as the scapegoated friend, when it came to the beach?

From the dreams – trying to get Daddyboots to stop sawing the poison ivy trunk into the air and poisoning the atmosphere.

Moriah decided to bring it to Druid Bernie’s the next time they sat under the hedge and tossed up such things in the air to see where they would land.

When the class had dispersed and she had her favorite teacher and relative to herself, she gave him some lunch and told him of her feelings about scapegoating.

He said that the old way was to put the blame on others. Now there is a new way and that was to love your neighbor, with your whole heart and soul and your creator also, which translates into loving the ones that blame you.

Moriah was a bit shocked at this idea of a law that brought peace and tranquilly if you could practice loving those who you felt hurt you.

“It all goes back to the idea that we are all one, and we are your brother’s keeper, and that everyone is saved in the end, and you do not have to fix anyone, except yourself. Your friend, your sister needs to move forward on the path toward love and you will not help her while you are sending her lots of angry and mad thoughts.”

Just then one of Moriah’s back teeth got stuck on her special bread and popped out. She quietly spat it out but not before Druid Bernie noticed. He thought all her complaining about everything over the years might be responsible. Moriah thought some more about that slapping around her mouth and began to wonder was it a self-inflicted slapping, due to the amount of time she had squandered thinking about others and what she perceived about being excluded. It might have been better to avoid all that teeth grinding. She would keep the tooth. Perhaps the dwarves would be able to fix it back in.

“You mean that I have to sit down and get out of my head about my friend, and in that space, I have to listen for the voice of my maker, and in that way feel a change in my heart, until I can look her way and smile and wish her the very best.”

“Yes, yes, now you are getting it. When you feel that smile coming onto your face, after sitting with the body, mind and heart in silence, after you have brought down something from above, now you have something powerful to give. When you send this blessing out to her, you are helping her through the spirit of the one who made it all. You do not have to fix her or hate her but in that sweet moment bless her. The voice of your maker can speak to you through dream or vision, through image or drawing and/or in meditation.Just turn yourself in the right direction and that shining light from above will shine into you.”

Speaking with the Druid had calmed her and they pulled some wooden logs near the fire and sat on them and put their feet out in front, as the embers cooled.

The Druid suggested they meditate for twenty minutes more or less and they sat up straight and closed their eyes and the Druid made some invocations to the Maker of it all. Moriah kept coming back to the thought of listening for the voice of her maker. She felt a distinctive movement between her head and her heart, that moved out beyond the top of her head, that joined with her breathing in her chest. She never felt it before and knew this movement blessed her.

She fell into a vision after a bit and saw a beautiful bird over some water, springing up through light colored pebbles. The voice of her creator for her in that moment was held in that water of life, in the flight of her soul bird to find her now.

When she looked around she saw the Druid turning the corner at the end of the lane. As his robe vanished around the corner she thought about his teaching, and bowed her head to try and catch the humility of a blessing for her friend. She would send her a card; she would make her a wreath. The end.

Early in the morning my hair can look somewhat astray

This blog was updated next day to include the paragraph about the fallen out tooth.

Posted in meditation, Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged dreams, Leprechaun story, Mandala, meditation | Leave a comment

The Spilt Grains

Posted on November 26, 2020 by rlongwort

My mother loved her saints, St Teresa. St Joseph and others and had her own particular prayers she addressed to them. She liked St Teresa, her namesake, in particular and while I am not sure she read her voluminous writings, I know my mother talked to me about her.

I find myself reading Saint Teresa’s writings and find them marvelously warm and fascinating. She sometimes describes something I do not have words for. She was loved and protected by a house of nuns and also protected by her sanctity, her connection to something higher. She gives me encouragement to continue with more meditation.

Last Sunday, I was determined to set my intention and get into the centering of the great space where love and light abounds. I had a block of twenty minutes. I have no idea what happened in the twenty minutes but I felt light and full of beans for the rest of the day and the following week. I tried this morning again and my intention brought me into a lovely feeling of light heartedness and relaxation, that it is following me again for some days.

Spinning my bike wheels walking up the road

I am trying to send out light love and healing to our current situations in our country, praying specially for the healing of the nations and their respective leaders and their people. Please join me in any effort you can make in this direction as the try is counted for righteousness and there is the possibility of dancing in that spaciousness, asking for unity. If you find yourself in a dream looking for directions to Union Station, you know you are on the right path.

On the funny side this past week, while full of joyful feelings, it seemed to be also the week that I was designated to loose things. I went to the co-op full of the idea that I would make unleavened bread and while there collected a few things too many for my bike carrier. Undaunted, I piled things on top of each other even as the carrier was trying to list to one side, especially if I lurched any way other than straight ahead on even surfaces.

I decided to walk the bike home and lean against the listing side. My friend was coming down the road to meet me and after my handbag fell out of the top of that shopping bag she offered to carry that for me. We picked up my checkbook and a few other things in the darkening evening. The fall down of the handbag happened when I had to get off the path for a road entering from the right side.

As we soldiered on and were crossing the next side road safely and mounting the path on the other side, the shopping bag fell out of the carrier now totally leaning to one side. Limes and apples fell into that puddle where the birds bathe, where water comes out of a sump pump from the corner house. The shopping bag was torn down the side. The two bags of grain were in tact, buckwheat and millet.

a little dancing with a helpful inner opposite

My friend said she could carry more stuff for me so we placed some items in the torn bag, which was useful for carrying one bag of gain and a few light items and I still had stuff in the carrier including the bag of buckwheat. The bag was made of brown paper and not tied any too well or secure.

The basket carrier was held on with bungee cords. Adjusting the cords made little improvement in things as I latched them and un-latched them to my seat and to the bike. Then we tackled the up hill of Wolfe Street and got to my house on that fast moving corner on Sterling Street.

I yanked the bike up onto my lawn but not before the basket took another dive to one side and started to empty out my grain, in slow motion, onto to the road itself. Most everything else stayed in the basket. I got my things and myself off the road for a third time.

My friend seems to be hardly able to contain herself with watching the show. I noticed her on my periphery, as she placed my handbag and torn bag on my lawn. Waves of mirth escaped her culminating in one squeals of delight. I even found it hard not to be caught up in our shared drama.

In this dream, my lover is in the bed and I am getting in from the left. However I am hoping he will not notice the other guy in the bottom of the bed well tucked in. Other than laugh at this I am considering a number of things.

This was my week to be in a good humor no matter what happens. I went back and put the top layers of buckwheat back into the bag, fistful after fistful, leaving a layer of two on the road. Those little triangular grains have a warmth of their own.

The next day I realized my purple glasses, for $1 in the dollar store, went missing and I rode my bike back down the road and found them in the leaves at the bird- bath corner. They were in tact and I felt very satisfied.

When I got home I got out my Cuisinart and my Magic Bullet and turned two cups of millet and two cups of buckwheat into flour. I reduced a large carrot and two onions to two ground up cups of each. I ended up with two different breads, unleavened, one leaning toward sage and onion and the other toward raison carrot cake. They are not sweet or salty but nice when chewed a bit or plastered with honey.

Years ago I had the intention to make three people laugh daily. Let me know in your comments if I am getting there. I am greatly thankful for my readers, their sharing and their comments. I pray for you and you pray for me so we can taste that nectar only found in that spaces between, where love and grace and love reside. Until the next time, when an other story that is brewing in the back of my brain makes it into the light. Your prayers help bring it to light. Love you, from Rose Marie.

At the beach a month ago, the blue line over the sand is the water.

Posted in dreams, meditation, Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged dream, harrisonburg, meditation, overloaded, Political Prayers, spilt, Wolfe Street | 1 Comment

The Mask

Posted on November 8, 2020 by rlongwort

I was invited or more accurately was able to go the Cape Charles, because a friend found herself there without her favorite nieces who were too busy at College. I had a great time and while there was some remnant of some storm flapping about over the water, it did not stop me finding a sheltered place and having a few dips in the not so cold bay water. The guys on the pier puled in lots of fish and the sunsets were magnificent.

On my way to the beach I called one of my old friends so she could commiserate with me when I told her I had been reprehended about not wearing a mask. The person involved with the reprimand was only trying to keep his family safe and saw this hinging on the weakest link in the whole of life and I was becoming that person. I swallowed my uppidy pride and promised to work with them

Even the skeletons are wearing masks except for one.

When I called my old friend for sympathy she told me she had not asked me to the beach with her this year because of the idea that I would not wear my mask and world not have the courtesy to be tested before going to join them. I was hurt, felt a little knife was put into me ad my stomach dropped and my heart shrivelled.

I loved looking at the patterns the grass made in the sand when the wind was blowing

I got two dreams, one from a book ad one f rom a client, The one from my client was descriptive of how she was walking in the chambers of Jesu’s heart, a pink place, and that there were knife wounds hear and there. I knew how he felt in that moment. The other dream related o the bleeding heart of Jesus and came from a book.

As I was driving my car and had a number of hours ahead of me, I delved into the ins and outs of the whole mask situation. In the summer I had loosely planned to go to her house to celebrate her birthday after the fact by having tea outside but it did not happen. I asked her why. She said because of the “the mask”. She said she did not think I would wear my mask. More fodder for the big untidy haystack covering all my mask grumps.

She did say I was her favorite outdoors person, fire maker and sharer, and outdoor painter and mandala maker. But the perception of me as an unmask wearer – and probably not too inaccurate – got in the way. How I missed meeting with her and had no idea I was the cause.

Not a lot of color this year – except in the yard where I was staying.

At the beach I continue with my chanting and meditation and found myself going over the mask conflict all again and catching myself – after the chanting had begun. I fell into a reverie of talking to her. Only this time I caught myself mid thought, emotion, feeling, and seeing how I was rooting this conflict in my guts, watering it , giving it all warmth, airing it with all my heart and burying it deep with all the other grumps of my life in my first chakra and growing a tree of life that is all raggy and might fall and kill me dead for my trouble.

So I stopped and said: “May you be well and happy” prayer for her and hers. I followed it up with seeing the light in her, all the way down her back bone knowing she is a soul, the same as me, connected to me for some lifetimes. I truly can wish her well and not let a flimsy mask, sweat inducing, black spot growing on lip and nose, get in the way.

Then as I went on in the chanting it came to me that I needed to see her as God’s soul, to see her soul. To see her backbone infused with a light from God. Now that felt better. It became a dimensional thing, leaving my guts and getting into the area above the heart, where the light of old shines. So what was a problem for me, a stumbling block rose me up with a stepping stone.

Meditation is like a dream and in the last couple of months, I have glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of images within the meditation. The remembered images are an Angel at the left side of a big white marble alter. Another was of a golden clothed knee coming out of black darkness. A recent one was of a baby rolling onto the floor right in front of me, where I was meditating. And the best one of all was of a youthful version of the friend above with bangs and black hair, staring at me briefly, in my bed before she went off to the left. She made her way into a dream later as a helpful person, a Joan of Arc savior type of archetype shared in the next paragraph.

I had a dream very recently, and there was a great tree that started to become uprooted and was shaking around to left and right of a city street I was on. It was hard to see where to go to be safe. Then I saw the young woman, running toward us with this huge tree under her arms. I could see where she had cut it down close to the bottom. It seemed that it was no trouble to her to do this work in an instant. She was the same one I saw in meditation, with bangs, young face, looked like my friend. It s always good to get help from an unexpected source.

The help came as a result of leaning into the light in meditation and trying to rearrange myself so the grumps could be cut down and they would no longer be starving the tree of life in me. I am excited that I can put myself through the wringer and get a new line of laundry, with shining flowing words: “blessings, healing, light, and love”, blowing in that wind of Spirit. Love from Rose.

Posted in Dream Counseling, dream interpretation, Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged dreams, letting go of complaining, Mandala, mask, meditation | Leave a comment

Sparrows and Wrens at Bible Study

Posted on October 25, 2020 by rlongwort

New dreams

I am never satisfied. I have to be asking for dreams from old and young, from buyers and sellers and from all who come my way. Some folks say they cannot remember but when I tell them about my latest dream, they usually chime in with their latest offering triggered by something I have said.

Recently I got a dream from a student. He said he went up high place and could see the coast of Maine. He was there for some hiking. He said that from above he saw a taller than life man at the edge of the ocean with a cape and pointy hat on, and he had a paintbrush attached to a stick and he was attempting to draw a picture. Each time he painted, the water came over the painting and washed it clean.

In a selfish interest of getting better at interpretation, I sallied forth and said that if he is going up high, he is trying to get the big picture. If he is hiking in Maine, he is trying to find himself. He is asking the questions that young students try and answer.

This person who had the paintbrush is himself, coming to him from before his life began and from the future. He is letting him know (the student does not have an interest in art) that what he thinks life is about will be washed off again and again from before. The old person may be an archetype of old wise man, (Gandalf type) who wants to help answer his question.

My friend dreamed of a fairy in her garden.

The above happened in a short span of social time. I would have liked to talk to him about his life in more detail to understand the meaning of the dream further. Then I could even revise what I said depending on the student’s associations. (He gave me permission to blog about the dream anonymously.) It is always nice to follow up with a client who brings their dreams on a weekly basis so the ongoing story of their unconscious, their connection to everything important, everything spiritual and everything held in the shadow can come into the light.

Barach Obama came into my dream last night and he came to help but he cold not until some operation, my operation was complete. I interpreted it as something I had forgotten to do so I did it this morning and hope that satisfies the unconscious as a response to the dream.

I thought you might enjoy the mask on the skeletons

As usual I am trying to get some healing for my ailments, which seem to become very settled when I do meditation that I feel brings me into oneness, peace and love. I have been sloppy lately, not insisting on structured silence and my chanting being very chatty with myself instead of God. Someone said to me yesterday that in Silence we remember out oneness with God.

I am also tarrying with puling the light through my body toward the end of meditation and that seems to be helping. The words of the song given to me by Lois Carter goes “I am sending you light, to hold you to heal you, I am sending you light to hold you in love.” It is the light of Christ that brings the Love in. I am a work in progress.

I am still praying for Election affairs. “All is one, One is all , there is only One.” The latter was a response to a dream in which my father is pacing up and down and insisting on these words. He was on a bridge at the time and I presume he was between this world and the next, as he was a few years deceased when I had that dream.

Who will bring us together, this split, and will it be someone on the outside or will it come because enough of the people in United States, all pray for the one thing, unity, kindness, care, love, empathy, and all the other virtues we can lean into at any time.

A spooky doll showed up in one of my dreams

We had a great explosion here in Harrisonburg. I was outside doing QiGong at the time with Elizabeth Scott and another person. We were socially distanced and enjoying the fresh, if cold air. We all felt that monster sound, that going down energy into the ground and coming back up. An image of a great circular ball accompanied the sound for me. My daughter’s recording company was one of the businesses taken out in the explosion. This brought it a little closer to home for me.

I went to Bible Study this morning with my favorite people. We are studying the Our Father as part of our book on prayer. I love the Edgar Cayce readings on the Our Father linking each line of the prayer to the seven Chakras in our bodies. I wanted to interject about the first Chakra being connected to “Forgetting our First Love” and the “daily bread” being connected to remembering that we are spiritual beings, and the daily bread being spiritual food. It is always available.

While we were meeting a whole crew of sparrows had a bit of a fight with a Carolina Wren who had the nerve to sing in the tree above. I was distracted by the wren and the lovely song not three feet above the porch where we sat.. The wren hid between two branches, under a leaf, while the sparrows said a lot of things. I wanted to concentrate on the birds but they had only about half of my attentions. I needed to be listening to my own group and not be rude. We are finished the book on prayer and I have a better idea on how to pray, prayers of thankfulness for all that comes my way and many other kinds of prayer.

There I am swimming in Blue Hole before it was close to the public. Access denied!

Thanks you for reading this far. You can sign up for my blog and it will come to your email address each time I post. I feel called to do this writing and pray that you are oft in prayer and in singing praises and prayers of joy and requesting and accepting types of prayers. I will pray for you and you will pray for me, an unselfish act that benefits us both. Happy Halloween and enjoy the pictures from the streets that surround me.

The big skulll had a winking eye and a nasty repeating laughs.

Love from Rose.

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Fairy Dream and Frisco

Posted on October 15, 2020 by rlongwort

Finally I was on my way to the Outer Banks and was excited as I was going to Frisco, which was far south on Route 12, the highway that links the outer banks together. I had a co-driver and we got going at 10.30 am. On our journey we got a text to say the road flooded and impassable at high tide, but that was not until10.30 pm. We should be good to go.

It was getting toward evening when we were finally on Highway 12 and the traffic sowed to a crawl and my co-driver wanted to turn back but I noticed everyone else was grimly inching along and while I heard it would now take twelve hours to get there at the rate we were going, I did not want to turn back.

We camped in a a wood cabin the first night in Frisco

As it got darker and slower and the wind was howling, I thought “We are in God’s country.” Our road was getting covered with sand and water and there was just one lane for the two-way traffic. The car in front of us would waddle around on the sand and water and I would be a back seat driver as my codriver made good decisions and kept the wheel steady.

Then we came to a big corner where a road above our road was being built. At this corner the water was about a foot deep and as we heard the water hitting the bottom of the car below us, gurgling, we skidded, aquaplaned and generally went this way and that. Whether to climb onto the sand or stay in the water was a mystery.

We climbed onto dry road and were off at a good speed again. Here were other puddles and sand but none as bad as that. This turned out to be the place where road closing happened. The road was closed that night and stayed closed for five days. We felt especially lucky to have bested the wind, sand and the water and get to Frisco and out shelter for the night. The road was closed for five days after that and we were one of the last cars to get through.

Next day I awoke a bit after five am and did some chanting and planned to see the sunrise. I rode my back though the six inches of water on our street, a left over from two days of rains the week before. When I got to the beach sunrise was covered over with bands of dark clouds over a white foamy ocean stretching in all directions. Some waves further out threw foam skyward. I started some stretching and within minutes the golden light of the new sunrise flash lit the ocean in random places.

This was an evening sky as the sun was going down – there was a fine white fog going on also .

I squealed with delight into and extended OM. A short white haired woman came up the beach, dressed in blue and white carrying a dark red rosary beads in her right hand, hanging down as she used it. She smiled back at me and said “how could one not love the maker of all this.” I agreed heartily.

That morning, the little and bigger breeds of terns were on the beach, not looking up at anything, just sensing the water and foraging. I sat close to the surf watching the terns. They could judge each wave and how to stay ahead of it at a fast run, picking up morsels for themselves. They ran very close to me at times as my eyes were closed, off and on and I would catch sight of them in a sideways glance.

Beautiful dogs on leashes, walked by eager to look in my face also.

The next day we went to the beach together as a group. I was dressed for a swim but the ocean was a bit wild at the edge. The songwriter among us was singing a newly formed line of a song so we joined the refrain “Down in the dunes” and were dancing to it at the edge of the waves. I had my back to t he waves, totally engaged in gyrating to those newly formed lines.

One of my legs was up in the air when the wave hit me and I came down into a split before being turned over and down into the water. I grabbed for the shifting sands under me and got no traction. The two younger adults grabbed me, one on either side of me, as I flew past them pulling me upright in the fast receding wave.

that is me dancing before the wave took me down.

The fact that my swim suit was going south had to be ignored, the top half all up and the bottom half all down, Both the young adults were wet up to their shoulders.

The water was warm, and the young man thought he would do battle with the undertow and roll in on a wave, which he successfully accomplished. I lay down in the surf at the edge and rolled in sideways in less intense amounts of water. I kept my eyes fixed on the water and no more dancing with my back to it. I have a rule, which I forgot in the excitement of the new song, which is to never turn your back on the water.

Mandala that brought insight when interpreted for color and shape. (Mari Reading)

Fairy dream.

I cannot remember ever getting a dream about leprechauns or fairies. This week I got two. One was from a person at the market who told me he found himself all up to his waist in snow and that he saw chickens in the snow nearby. However when he looked again he saw that the were little men no more than the height of a chicken. The dreamer was soon busy with another customer so I did not get to say much other than being waist deep in snow is not such a good thing. The lower half is stuck somehow. But some times a good freezing does us good and I am certain the arrival of the Leprechauns from another dimension in his dreams heralds new energy for him, perhaps a pot of gold somewhere. I cannot wait to go back and talk some more about that dream. The other dream will have to wait for another time.

Let me know if these times are bringing you unusual dreams. People are stirred to breaking loose out of the frozen times and new golden energy is coming in. Love from Rose.

Posted in Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged drreams, faries, Frisco, leprechauns | Leave a comment

The Scythe and the Reaper

Posted on October 10, 2020 by rlongwort

I saw them through the window over the street, as I heard a young child’s voice talking. He was about three years old. The Dad had stopped in the middle of the road to better pay attention to the child pushing a small-wheeled bike. I could not hear the exact words but I could see the lovely expression on the Dad’s face with a big shock of dark hair hanging over his forehead. The Dad was holding a scythe over his shoulders. The large handle looked like it was well polished and smoothed and made of wood, even varnished a soft brown color.

The Dad said a word or two to the son and they went on up Sterling Street, in their colorful clothes, blue shorts, red tee and blue in the child’s shiny helmet. They looked healthy, pink cheeked, as they were joined by a five-year-old boy, who had rode his trike up Wolfe Street a little ways and rejoined them. The father watched for traffic, calmly and they waited for a car to go by. The younger son was not on his bike, now pushing uphill, with all his might, The older child had great command of his two-wheeler, flying ahead up the road.

The three year old had shorter legs, still sporting some of the fat of a younger child and I could see his thinking to himself, if he could only throw himself and the bike on the ground and take a good rest. He thought “Mom is not here to rescue me, and how could I displease my beautiful father and show myself up against my older brother.” I wanted to go down there and carry that little trike for him. Maybe carry him, me , who no longer can walk much, let alone carry him.

Crepe Myrtles on the Sterling street side of my house.

It was Saturday morning and I walked out onto the deck to better see and hear and as they disappeared up the road, I though of my first road trip to India and conversations with Lauren who was leading the secular part of the tour. She told me of the “three mile pressure points” and if you pressed on these points you would have energy to go three more miles.

As the little one went out of my sight I decided to send him a boost of energy to help him get where he was going. No harm in trying to help him and let it do its best for him as I got on with my day.

It was a great treat to see the scythe on the young father’s shoulders as he ambled up the road, gracefully holding it by draping his arms over the handle on each side of his shoulders. My father had such a scythe, and he used it to cut down tall weeds that grew in profusion around the hayshed and the barn, where they had taken root for many years on the side of the hill, not far from the house. Nettles were one of the main culprits. My mother likes to cook with them in the spring but having them growing at the front of the house was an affront to her.

I watched my father, as he swung the scythe back and forth in a rhythmic fashion, and watched the grass fronds and the tall stems of the weeds fall before the reaper in an almost silent swish. I could be close enough to hear the grass falling and watch his body pivot and swing to accomplish the move.

We call the Angel of Death the “Grim Reaper” but in truth the reaper is an angel, sent to the deceased to help them on their merry way out of this earth. This Angel is a helpful influence, calming the deceased, lighting his way, and giving transport out of the rings of gravity surrounding us here. What a marvelous thing to be a free flyer in the heavens, to fly out like a bird into the great blue yonder? As Wordsworth said we come in “trailing clouds of glory.” And surely we go out again to the many mansions spoken of by Jesus outside of our dimension.

This is the Angel who opens the door and gives a glimpse of the deceased relatives to the dying person helping them join them for a huge party on the other side where the relatives are singing and dancing, waiting for the much loved and missed dying relative. They were experiencing their own pregnancy over there, knowing the time is near for the new arrival from this earth plane.

From the Dreams

I was given a dream from a young man who was on a demolished site and saw a shard of mirror. He was told that the shard of mirror could show you your death if you wanted to look. He knew for sure he did not want to see but nonetheless took a sharp sideways glance into the mirror and there he saw a man made of clay above and behind him. Then the dream morphed into seeing two red-tailed hawks, who rose and flew together in two different ways, one above the other and then wing to wing. The hawks were all red and reminded him of the phoenix rising.

Mirrors often feature in dreams and were a great attraction when discovered first. The only way to cut the medusa off was to see her reflection in a mirror and attack her from there.

This dream above seems to be telling him that his body is made of clay but his soul is like the phoenix, and rises out of the mortal coil and goes out of here transmuted and a flyer. We will indeed rise from the ashes of this life and lift off.

I started this blog before going on vacation in September and when I came back I wanted to include something about the grim reaper and how it figures in the tarot cards. I did not find much but while speed reading I remembered the dream about the shard of glass. Love from Rose.

PS: Also I want to remind you to be praying for a peaceful election and for peace in the time after. There is no point in being anxious when you can pray about such things. Join me and others, who are doing so, at 8.00pm and 8.00am every day.

It only takes one good person and I know you are very good people.

Posted in dreams, Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged dreams, little boy, Mandala, Mirror, Reaper, scythe, Watercolors | Leave a comment

Foxes and Pawpaws

Posted on September 12, 2020 by rlongwort

A dream I heard lately was of fourteen foxes in the tree. There were other images of a fiddler with the sound of divine music and a mandala shaped grove of pawpaw trees. The dreamer was sharing the music and the pawpaws with others. I am still loaded up with these images and sitting with them as if they were mine, because they were full to the brim with meaning and connected deeply to the dreamers who had them.

There were a flock of cedar waxwings in the tree just outside my window, this morning. This tree has grown in all kind of directions during this wet summer. When I peered into the tree from my window, many flew off and the ones still in there were hidden with the leaves.

Recent Mandala connected to Mari Reading

When I was young (in my forties) I went to school, undergrad at JMU, and walked by the Newman Lake where there were two weeping willow trees, into which I went as I walked along. When I went in there, there was a crew of cedar waxwings under the branches, flying up and dropping down and I called them “olive oil drops in the air.” They had a way of dropping that was like the way a drop of green tinted olive oil drops out of a bottle, shiny and of a drop shape.

In my old house in Belmont, I let a rogue tree, a berry tree, grow up over the deck, out of the mulch which was only supposed to grow the grape vine and flowers. This tree gave us shade, bird’s nests to look into and it stayed covered with berries for about six weeks, around May. The top of this tree came near to a window of a room with an upstairs window seat.

This little room was off the bedroom, where I was doing a late meditation of a morning. Then I heard a great ruckus outside. It was like no sound I knew and I got up to see what it was and a whole flock of cedar waxwings had come to finish off the berries. They came and went in a few short moments. The tree took on an unusual buzz, as their wings moved and the leaves and branches shook together and as the berries were pulled into their open crooky beaks of the waxwings.

Last evening I did my meditation for 8.30pm, a little late. I set up in my counseling office, thinking that it can always do with a psychic cleansing from the meditation. I did a little chanting, prayed for all the leaders of nations, all around the globe and for their peoples so that the greater good could happen to them all. I invoked the higher power to do this work even as I added in my bit of soul into the mix so I have my two cents, my time, my attention and skin in the game.

The other side of the once three pronged tree – a little bandy.

Asking for help is the praying part of the practice. I set two periods each day to make this prayer. I think chanting is a type of prayer. I’m appealing to the Divine within and without at the same time.

After chanting, saying the Our Father, releasing all “negative emotions….” I go into a silent time. I keep still, my body is sitting in one position and I have the idea to not move for any reason during this time. I close down the mind (as best I can) during this time, bringing back the focus to the Divine and the intention to listen to God during this time. I am now listening (not for God) but to God.

Women helpers from the dream world – Dark skinned women from the dream of a young white man

Then I just have to wait. This morning I had the impression of me watching as a van, a red van comes (without any windows) and I am looking down as it pulls in.

I barely noticed this image, feeling like it is a dream that I just about caught before it disappeared. I realized that this red van image , may be a response to my intention to listen to God. I open my eyes and look out the glass window in front before which I had set myself meditating, and saw the tall trees across the road. The glass between us had become as nothing, and the leaves shook just enough for me to see them individually. There was a lovely feeling left in the wake of the meditation.

Sometimes there are birds in the trees. Othertimes not. (A tree in Purcell Park)

The red of the van was a bright red, and may be highlighting some connection with the first chakra, that place where the roots of the tree of life,F of the divine within start growing. The unconscious, the intermediary between God and me gives me just the right image for now and I will be looking for how it will morph as I look for my own new dream images.

It has taken me a while, over fifty years to settle on this way of meditation and use it in the right way. Pining myself into silence works best, the more intentional, the more consecrated, concentrated I get.

I went to the Farmer’s Market and what should I see but a wooden box labeled pawpaws. I took the biggest and softest, four of them and was warned by the owner to eat them soon as one was a little bruised and very much ripe. I went home and sat on the deck, not even going inside to eat the pawpaw. It was straight from heaven the taste, so juicy and full of melt in the mouth custard consistency, like the sweetest tasting thing of my childhood.

Two pawpaws and two brown seeds in the middle

I asked Solly about the fox image and he said it was the most smart of animals. He recalled seeing a hunt for the fox by the hounds, riders and horsemen. The fox would go all around the place and confuse the dogs so they could not find the fox. Then he saw the fox, standing up on a wall, watching the horses go by as if to say “I tricked them.”

When my two baskets were full I headed for home and am finishing up wishing you peace and love and kindness for yourself and others. Remember you only keep what you give away. (Two of my pawpaws are gone and I am negotiating with myself if I can give one of the other two to a friend that will visit in the afternoon.) As you can see I continue to need your prayers. I try to pray for my readers routinely. Love from Rose.

Posted in Drawing the Dream, Dream Counseling, dream interpretation, Psychoanalytic, Uncategorized | Tagged birds, Cedar Waxwings, drawings, dreams and meditation, farmers market, mandala art, North River, trees, Wildwood Park Bridgewater | Leave a comment

Of Motor Bikes and Monsters

Posted on September 5, 2020 by rlongwort

When one of my little girls said she was afraid of the buggy man/monster in the dark room at night, my husband immediately got the broom, brought it into the room, opened the window and “swept it out” to the satisfaction of everyone in the house especially the little child.

Recently I heard the story of a child on a sleep over with his granny saying he was afraid and his little eyes, big and blue, filled with tears. The grandmother put her arms around him as she listened to his story of his monsters and his nightmares, whispered into her ears. She was greatly moved to protect him and as she listened and looked at those tears she put her whole soul into knitting a protection of love to fit all around him.

He stopped his crying and went to bed and had a peaceful night and in the following days was very happy.

“Perfect love casteth out all fear.” Not only was the child affected but the grandmother was able to throw out her own fears to help him.

Two days later she saw what seemed to be a huge bee in the garden, that got up in her face and she felt it was somehow connected to the child and the fears. I had to agree that anytime when we cast out fears, we experience a little kick back, the pound of flesh feeling. However again the pure love employed to cast it out, also protects us.

She screamed and wondered later if she had been imagining things. I think the scream has the effect of bringing her back from the other dimension where that complex of fears, as represented by the bee, abided.

To Market to Market to see the Motor Bikes

During the pandemic, I had my vegetables and eggs delivered. Solly Walker would come to the back door with two bags of fresh produce. If I were away he would put the bags in my overfull fridge. As the market has reopened I visit Avalon Farm Stand and pick up a share of everything, adding this and that as I am eating a lot of vegetables.

I like to visit the farmer from the top of Afton also and get some honey from him. He said the honey was just bottled three weeks ago. My father was a farmer who had a few hives of bees, which made him a beekeeper of sorts. I have very high standards for my honey. I also tend to love beekeepers and the honey in the jar – well it was all I could do not to eat the honey all in one sitting.

The farmer bee keeper from Afton gave me free tomatoes, the Roma type and told me to slice them thick, place them on paper towels to soak off the water and then to use them on the top of homemade pizza.

He lifted the ripest and heaviest and the reddest ones and handed them over. The leaves on the basil plants were very fragrant and lovely with the tomatoes raw with oil and salt.

While I was shopping on the side of the market that faces Liberty Street, I was pulled away into a great parade of motorbikes driving down the street. It is a one-way and the bikes looked like they were perfectly socially distanced from each other. They were all going at the same speed and their engines came and went in my ears with a wonderful buzzing.

They were very colorful and all different shades and sizes. Shiny metallic blues, reds, blacks. Along by the side of the bikes, a policeman looking perfectly uniformed flew along to get to the beginning of this parade at the next junction. There were three wheelers, scooters, and antique looking and newly modern bikes. Some had two people on board and some with one person driving. One woman in her tight blue jeans and long helmeted hair looked like a rock of stability as she rode by on her scooter.

I could not restrain myself from waving at them. They instantly waved back. I saw a rider take his hand onto the horn and send out a marvelous sound. Soon everyone was waving and smiling. We were swept along with feelings of moving energy, longing to be going out of town on a motorbike. We felt happy to be there to feel a jump in our juices as we continued our Saturday chores.

Where I set up painting camp by the river in Bridgewater.

Similarly, last Sunday as I stepped into the North River in Bridgewater, I saw those Mennonite families out in canoes tackling the fast moving water. A younger son had his own canoe roped on to another canoe and he had a look of ecstasy on his face as he stabbed the water with his oar. In one canoe there was an older lady, the mother on the center seat, doing nothing, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and she caught my eye and smiled. Her daughter, a big woman, in small print blue dress and head covering was standing up working a big oar.

There is a waterfall there through the trees which had a great sound.

These energetic things happening all around me brings me hope of robust strong health and energy in my body. I feel the waves of energy possible to achieve this, through the waves in the work that I do, through the waves in my brain that come from loving the rivers, the people, the children and God especially.

While appreciating my readers, the rain, the sunshine and the shadows, all around, my prayer, getting louder, is for us all as a family of earthling, to take cleaning up seriously, whether it be our selves, the rivers, our minds, our energy, our emotions and our politics. It is easy to be thankful for the marvelous honey flowing in the jar, the motorbikes, Solly and the Afton Farmer, but also to be thankful for all that comes our way.