I Dream of Swan Bones

The other night I woke up with a dream image; it was a plastic bag or a basin full of bones in liquid.  I knew they were the bones of a large bird, and I felt that they must be swan bones.

I've had a thing about swans since childhood.  When I was growing up in Baltimore, we used to go ice skating on a frozen stream, and there were often swans there that I loved seeing.  I also fell in love as a young ballerina with Swan Lake.  And then there was the story of The Ugly Duckling.  Who among us hasn't felt as though we didn't fit in?  

After sitting with the dream image for a while, I had the thought that one possible meaning was that I am about to embark on a new phase.  Tomorrow is my last chemo, and when I recover from that, I will be considering how to put my life back together.  This past 8 or 9 months has been a kind of spiritual dismemberment.  Maybe the dream is showing me that I need to reassemble the bones and reanimate them.  And not in the same way, not back to some old sense of "normal."  There is no normal now, not for me, not for any of us.  What will life be like moving on, especially taking into account all the uncertainties?

So, this poem came:

Stripped down to the bone.

the essential pieces of a life

float in a basin of liquid, waiting.

They were not buried or burned

but are held suspended, so that

they might be fleshed out again.

Wing bones, leg bones, long and white

wait for what happens next.

Will the feathers still be white?

Will the eyes be fierce and dark?

Will the swan swim and fly freely

once more?

I am also reminded of the story in Women Who Run with the Wolves of the one who gathers and reassembles the bones.  It seems a worthy task.  

Also, another swan association is my SoulCollage® card for my 4th chakra (sorry it's not a great copy - just a phone photo):

 I am moving towards the end of round 7, having had my double-dose chemo on Wednesday.  Although there are always some surprises, I am very familiar with the side effects by now.  They will pass (I keep telling myself).

I use my SoulCollage® cards daily.  Sometimes I do Tarot readings.  But lately when I have big questions, I use the I Ching.  The other day, I got an astounding reading and this poem came as a result.

Yielding

 

 

When I inquire

about prayer and opening

to the Great Mystery,

the I Ching responds with

“Field/Yielding” and

the Mother Goddess,

the Dark Animal Mother.

Six young yin lines,

no relating hexagram.

It is pure and clear

in its message.

She gives blessings.

She receives the dead.

The field is open

and enfolds all things.

It is my task to yield

to each arising moment.

There is no way to doubt or to

brush away the guidance

with the customary wave

of my cynical hand.

I am in a great field.

I yield.

 

 

The SoulCollage® image is called "Offering."

A New Poem: Writing

I've heard Michael Meade say that some supposed poems are actually journal entries.  I get what he meant.  I don't really know whether this is a poem or "just" a journal entry, but you know what?  Right now, I don't care!  It is what it is.