Twelve Dancing Princesses: 'Melissa'

dreamt I fell asleep over the story I was writing at the desk in the office of St. Clair Shores. (It is not a good sign when my own writing puts me to sleep!) Some snatches of music, drifting in from somewhere on the property, and a solitary giggle woke me. While I sat, blinking, I heard the giggle again, then again, and left the desk and my soporific story to investigate.

Out of the inn and across the lawn I stumbled to stand on the rock strewn shore, shivering and wondering what I was seeing. At first I saw only swaying lights - I counted a dozen - but I soon realized that the lights were mounted on small boats. I cannot say if the boats departed from the same place or not, nor can I say whether they had departed from the island I could so clearly see. All I know is that a dozen boats came over the water to settle on St. Clair Shores.

One by one each of the twelve princesses stepped from her boat to stand before me as if for inspection. I noted that while each princess was dressed in her own individual style all of the boats were swan boats. I was rather awed by the princesses and I probably stared too pointedly for too long, but they were kind and patient, thankfully.

When I found my voice I was horrified to hear myself, well, shriek in a horrid and unpleasant manner. I thought of just running away and when I turned to go I heard a swishing noise behind me. The river rocks felt different under my feet and when I looked down I discovered I had the legs and feet of a bird! I confess, I panicked. After some frenzied dancing and jerking, which amused the princesses enough to make them giggle, I figured out I had become a peacock! The swishing sound had been the wind through those magnificent tail feathers.

For whatever reason, once I had discerned my 'fowl' identity I marched off in the direction of the music, calling loudly as I did, the princesses in a line behind me. I watched them dance and dance, and when it was time I led them, each carrying her tattered shoes, back to their swan boats.

I do not know how everything shifted (I never do in these dreams), but I suddenly found myself outside the warehouse. The princesses arrived at the door, each in her own time, each pressing her thumb to that labyrinth symbol to gain entrance. When the door closed behind the last princess I stole up the spiral ladder and hid behind the roses to see what I might of the princesses. What I saw, however, was all those tattered soles lying amid discarded carousel horses.

I wonder what it means, if anything, that the horses were all either black or white? Hmmm ... This is intriguing. It seems almost as if the dream is a message to wake up from what I was trying to write and ... what? ... escort twelve dancing princesses to the ball, as a peacock? Can a woman even become a peacock - the ones with the gorgeous, magnificent tails are the males, aren't they?

"Is this a dagger ...?": "Melissa"

awn is hours away, but until then I must sit here in this small circle of light and write the dream that shakes me so.

The landscape was the barren parking lot surrounding the warehouse. Moonlight sparkled so brightly and beautifully on the snow. I saw my Crow perched atop one of the posts for the tall chain link fence, just above the manufacturer's metal plaque: "W & H Fencing". I don't know why I would have noticed that, but I did. My Crow seemed distant, as if he knew I was there but was more focused on something else. Indeed, he flew off without giving me much more than a glance and that's when I knew something was wrong.

He flew toward the door of the warehouse, all hidden in shadow, but landed in the moonlit snow near three snowdrifts. He stood motionless for a long moment. When he suddenly hopped up onto the nearest drift I was surprised. With singular concentration he scratched away at the snow in an area along the top of the snowdrift until he was able to grasp something in his beak. He hopped backwards and tugged with his magnificent strength and finally lifted off with some sort of pendant.

"My god, they are bodies!" I screamed inside even as he repeated his actions on the remaining forms. I stepped to run and help him, but I stopped short as I saw a figure with a lantern approach from around the corner of the warehouse.

She was magnificent. Her gown and cloak caught and held the night and the moonlight and seemed to flow around her like mist. Hair black as my Crow's plumage escaped from under her hood in waves. I watched the lantern light dance over her earring, a confection of silver and crystal that reminded me of a medieval stained glass window. She was darkness and power, but nothing, nothing about her was grave. She was, I think, only brave. She walked right up to this scene of death - surely violence had been involved - carrying only light. As I write this I think of some lines from "Romeo and Juliet": 'O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!/It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night/as a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear ...' (Act I, Sc 1, 51-53)

When my Crow finished confiscating the medallions the Lady took candles from a purse at her waist and lit them with the flame in her lantern before setting a pair at the head of each body. The six candles aglow She turned and held her lantern aloft. "Joseph," She called, "You may now escort Your little ones home." Silently, backlit by moonlight, Uncle Joe approached. He was dressed as he had been for his wedding. We greeted one another and the Dark Lady, for so I have come to think of her in these hours, with hands pressed palm to palm and the salutation, "Namaste".

As Uncle Joe approached the bodies I saw misty forms rise from them. They seemed puzzled. Uncle Joe touched each one lightly on a shoulder and it was then I saw that they had coats-of-arms strapped to their arms like the leprechauns in the labyrinth! He gently removed these from each figure and, somehow, hung them on the wall of the warehouse. "Our bruised arms hung up for monuments," He explained to me as He escorted them past. "You will see, my friend, that you and She are the only hope for little ones such as these."

I thought to move the candles nearer to the coats-of-arms, hoping to create a shrine of sorts. When I bent over the forms I saw that each one had worn several heavy medallions around their necks, not just that which the Crow had taken. My Crow and the Dark Lady were silent as I carried each pair of candles to the wall, separately. As I placed the last set there in the snow I saw my Crow reflected in the shield before me, three crosses dangling from his beak.

He lifted off and I turned to watch him fly. The Dark Lady walked into the night the way She had come. Before She turned the corner her cloak brushed an object glinting in the snow. Curious, I went to retrieve it. When I pulled it from the snow, a handgun with a most curious brand name, I could only think to say, "Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?"

Leprechauns Take Flight: "Melissa"

ack in my warehouse in my latest dream - Oh, how funny! I wrote 'my' warehouse instead of 'the' warehouse! - I was pleasantly surprised to see again that lovely, charming little girl from previous dreams.

There she was in her vivid blue outfit and little red Keds singing that old Madonna song "Lucky Star" as she worked at a small table. She did not seem to notice me even as I drew closer to discern what she was doing. It appeared that she had cut the front from a cereal box, a Lucky Charms box to be precise, and used cardboard pieces of various lengths to construct a labyrinth in the remainder of the box. She had cut the leprechauns from a pile of discarded Lucky Charms boxes and lined them up at the entrance to the labyrinth. I do not know how it happened, but suddenly all the leprechauns wore hats like the one Uncle Joe wore at his wedding!

While I pondered that I watched her take discarded aluminum baking dishes - pie plates, loaf pans, casserole dishes - and cut them into a number of diamond shaped pieces. When she had a stack of these cutouts she pasted the star shaped Lucky Charms onto each cutout and placed them into the center of the cereal box labyrinth wherein stood an amazing miniature bull! Amid all those cutouts lined up against the walls surrounding it, the bull stood quietly, patiently, as the child walked each leprechaun through the path of the labyrinth.

I sensed she was giving me a demonstration of her understanding, her interpretation of the myth of the labyrinth and minotaur, but my thoughts tripped over themselves when I saw her guide the leprechauns to bow before the bull and address it with the salutation "Namaste". With that address the bull then instructed each leprechaun to "take up arms" and be. I gasped when I realized that the diamond-shaped cutouts were pairs of coats-of-arms! The child affixed the "arms" to the leprechauns and lifted them in flight from the labyrinth!

It ... It seems she is combining two stories about the labyrinth from Greek mythology, changing things and omitting things, to make some point to me, but what?

Musings.3: Barbara

Who can tell what an experience it can be to try something so simple as walking in a circle?

The appearance of a labyrinth in "Melissa's" dream and its deepening importance reminded me of a story I read a couple of years ago about a labyrinth installed at a local church. After an internet search and a phone call I decided to take some time to see this design for myself, perhaps take some pictures. The only expectation I had was to take pictures. I had no idea what I would think or feel as I walked the labyrinth, if anything.

Standing barefoot at the entrance to the labyrinth I had the sensation, seriously, that I was looking at a representation of a womb and umbilical cord - perhaps walking the labyrinth is a representation of connection with the 'universal womb'? I also noted the thought that the design reminded me of a human brain, its corded texture repeatedly folding back on itself.

Then it seemed that my brain relaxed because I felt that I wanted to dance there in that silent hall and weave my way along the path. It was simply a feeling of buoyancy. Buoyancy. It is the only word that fits. I realize as I write this that I was so focused on the path, on savoring that buoyancy, that I wasn't even looking at the rose in the center. I was more interested in flowing into the next step!

When I arrived at the center I was happy to touch each 'petal' of the rose in turn and then retrace my steps back to the beginning. At some point in the return trip I stopped in my tracks at the thought of all the steps and breaths and moments caught up in that circle. Soon the image took hold in my mind of the path as representative of the ripples a heart can make in this world.

It is a creative path into and among the heart-mysteries there for us in that universal womb. It is a creative path back out into the world. It is a path ready and waiting whenever we may choose. I have every intention of returning to walk the labyrinth, but I have no idea what mystery or mysteries will open in my heart when I do. That is just the way I like it!

After my experience today I am especially curious to discover what sort of experience or experiences my character "Melissa" will have with the labyrinth. So far the design has provided entrance to the warehouse and, building on my discussion of it as a web of sorts in Musings.2:Barbara, it has provided the motivation to break away from the restraining mind games in her life. She's been pinned to the wall, so to speak, for a very long time.

"And I have known the eyes already, known them all -
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?"

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
T. S. Eliot

Musings.2: Barbara

"Open up your eyes and let the child learn."
Rusted Root, "Cruel Sun"


"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
Lao Tzu


When I reached into my basket for a blank index card I came away with a card I bought long ago for someone or other's graduation. (I am obviously delinquent...) With little more than a glance my brain translated the spiral design on the front of the card as a labyrinth and I thought, "Cool. I just wrote a post featuring one of those!"

On the heels of that thought I realized the card was an astonishing echo of a thought I noted while writing of Melissa's initial interpretation of the labyrinth design as a "fingerprint of a god": walking a labyrinth means our feet make 'fingerprints'! Having said that I will just take another few steps along this creative journey. I am really excited to see that the labyrinth motif has surfaced in the development of Melissa's character because it is just such a dynamic symbol for the creative process, be it of an individual life, a project, a career, a community -- whatever.

In the early days, years ago, I would pounce on every idea and try to force it to completion. You know that old cliche, 'When life gives you lemons make lemonade'? Well, that is basically what I was doing. I juiced every idea that came to me be it a carrot, a tomato, an apple or an orange. Once, after some tears, that still small voice inside whispered, "This is just not the moment for this piece." Until then I had no idea that I was being given the ingredients for a recipe I did not yet know and it would be nice if I just held onto them long enough to make the feast and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

When I encountered the symbol of the labyrinth I saw quite clearly that on this creative journey the goal is always within sight of the path. Sometimes the path shoots me right to the center and I move part of the way around it closely; sometimes I find myself in the distance circling the perimeter. Wherever I am on the path I just look over my shoulder and glimpse my goal. Another thing I notice, which takes my breath away, is that if I picture the outstanding moments as dots along this journey and connect them sequentially the image is akin to a web, a net.

Is this the net that appears when I leap?

One thing I know is that incredible things happen whenever I stand on that net. As I considered what to include in the second set of Melissa's dreams my mind continually wandered the lot outside the warehouse. I remembered, too, standing in a lot here in 'real life' taking pictures of abandoned buildings. With my camera and my pen in hand I slowly realized that I felt a certain kind of peace in those abandoned places both imaginary and real. There isn't any way to 'spin' an old abandoned bottle or broken can amid "the sweepings of a street" as anything but abandoned. That honesty, that lack of pretense gives me such hope. That's all I can say.

[Rusted Root, "When I Woke" was the soundtrack for this post :) ]

This is a picture of a building I found with a vine growing out of its wall and thought of the rose growing up the wall of the warehouse.

Brokenness: "Melissa"

That was my attempt to draw the image I saw in a dream early this morning. The face in the mirror was an awful, bitter version of me somehow set in stone. I admit I have my bad days, but that visage goes beyond even the worst of them, I think.

When the dream began I stood outside the warehouse I saw in the other dreams. I'd been approaching it and wondering why there was a huge fingerprint painted on the stone wall. I remember thinking it could be a fingerprint from one of those Greek gods, but who? (Now I prefer to think a goddess left her mark there.) When I stood in front of the design I saw it was a labyrinth - pretty cool, but why paint it on a warehouse? I couldn't see any clues so I wandered around the building.

I found a door which did not help because it was locked. I wasn't sure I should try to go in at all, let alone force my way. Then I remembered the horse and my promise so of course I had to try. When I looked closer I realized the keyhole was not a real keyhole. It was a thumbnail version of the labyrinth design on the wall. I felt a bit silly thinking this - like my thumbprint is anything special! - but I decided to just try to use it as the key to open the door. I was surprised and yet I wasn't when I heard the lock release.

All I saw when I walked into the warehouse was the mirror with the granite-faced image. The looking glass was supported by two demon cats who looked like gray demon versions of the cat from those other dreams. I stood there for a bit wondering what that image of my face was meant to convey to me when the demon cats began growling and hissing, swiping at something above the mirror.

I heard a throaty call and looked up to see the crow perched quite comfortably on top of the mirror, a slip of paper clamped in his beak. He bobbed his head at me and danced from foot to foot. He made me smile so I held up my hand to see if he'd give me the paper. He did. Someone had written "People aren't made to be broken" on a scrap of soiled stationery. "Okay," I said, and he flew off toward the door and perched on the handle of an oar propped against the wall.

Once I picked up the oar he flew out the door and circled back to make sure I followed. I had no idea what a crow could want me to do with a single oar -- whack something out of the sky? What? I was thoroughly confused. He led me to the river, the one with the glass bridge, and flew round and round above my head crying, crying, crying. So, feeling really silly again, I started to stir the river and chant, "Double, double toil and trouble" from "Macbeth"!

That is all I remember.

Those provocative fragments stuck with me as I showered, but when I stood at the sink waiting for the steam to clear I heard two songs and the pieces of the puzzle began to make sense. My mp3 player was set to 'shuffle' - that is the only way I could have heard in succession Loreena McKennitt singing William Butler Yeats' poem "The Two Trees" and the group Audioslave singing "Revelations."

Yeats wrote of the bitter glass, the dim glass "the demons, with their subtle guile, Lift up before us when they pass," the glass which turns all things "to barrenness" if we gaze in it too long. I still feel the chill that crept over me to think some buried part of me had found a voice and was warning me. I was oddly comforted to hear the portion of Audioslave's "Revelations" about being broken because it reminded me of the message the crow gave me: "People aren't meant to be broken." I have the feeling now the crow wanted me to see, too, that people aren't meant to believe what the "bitter glass" tells them, those clawing, hungry, bitter things. How did the crow hear my buried voice? Who is he? Why does he care?

Now I sit here and stir my tea while I sift through the images again. I remember, too, that carousel horse -- Oh whoa! Yeats opens and closes the poem from that dream, "The Circus Animals' Desertion," with images of brokenness! He opens describing himself, "at last being but a broken man"; at the close of the poem he writes that his masterful images began out of, in part, "a broken can." (I like the topsy-turvy nature of opening the poem with "at last" and closing it with "began.")

Oh no. I remember now, too, seeing some of the circus animals "broken" when I was a little girl. I never handled that well at all. I had forgotten that. It would make my dad so angry when I would yell at them to stop!

So now I am remembering. And now it seems that my dreams are putting me together with a Nobel prize-winning "broken" Irish poet, and circus animals, and a crow who gives me messages. This crow also seems to think that stirring up a river and quoting "Macbeth" are the right clues for me.

But why? And how does the labyrinth-thumbprint-key part fit into all of this? How does this help the horse?