Indra’s Net ~ 2011 ~ Bellingham, WA
Dream Quest retreat, Bellingham, WA, 2010
Indra’s Net at Spencer Spit, Lopez Island, Washington, 2011
Indra’s Net at 2011 Bioneer’s Conference, San Rafael, California
Dream ~ February 2012
Today will be the last day I will spend in my childhood home. We leave today to bring my mother back with us to Bellingham, Washington. It snowed last night and two nights ago I had a dream…somehow connected to this house, to my saying good bye, to this poem…I dreamt I was driving, somewhat recklessly through snowy streets at night. I was sliding and swerving, nearly losing control many times. I think N was in the car with me. I finally did lose control of the car but was able to hold onto it somehow with a long rope or thread. N was thrown from the car into the night but was fine, I wasn’t concerned about him. I held onto the rope/thread and held tight so that the car would land upright and would not damage a spot in the far meadow where I knew I needed to dig. I was successful and the car landed in the snow on all four tires. I walked through the snow to a spot beneath an enormous hickory tree. There are hickory trees all over the town I grew up in. I carefully dig down through the snow and find a fossilized frog, stretched out in it’s late developmental stage from tadpole to mature frog. It is only an impression in ice though and as soon as I pick it up I realize it begins to melt. I quickly bury it again, ever so carefully in the snow, covering it up. I will bring others to it but cannot take it from this place because it so fragile.
Today I have decided to “walk” out of this town of my childhood. I always walked here growing up, walking was freedom to me and I used to walk from town to the countryside on the weekends to my boyfriends house even though it was several miles away. I will walk through my favorite neighborhood, east on Summit Street, north on E. Washington and then east onto Dubuque Street and follow the Iowa River towards the edge of town.
this house. A hundred thousand new houses
can be built from the transparent yellow carnelian
buried beneath it, and the only way to get to that
is to do the work of demolishing and then
digging under the foundations. With that value
in hand all the new construction will be done
without effort. And anyway, sooner or later this house
will fall on its own. The jewel treasure will be
uncovered, but it won’t be yours then. The buried
wealth is your pay for doing the demolition,
the pick and shovel work. If you wait and just
let it happen, you’d bite your hand and say,
“I didn’t do as I knew I should have.” This
is a rented house. You don’t own the deed.
You have a lease, and you’ve set up a little shop,
where you barely make a living sewing patches
on torn clothing. Yet only a few feet underneath
are two veins, pure red and bright gold carnelian.
Quick! Take the pickaxe and pry the foundation.
You’ve got to quit this seamstress work.
What does the patch-sewing mean, you ask. Eating
and drinking. The heavy cloak of the body
is always getting torn. You patch it with food,
and other restless ego-satisfactions. Rip up
one board from the shop floor and look into
the basement. You’ll see two glints in the dirt.
– Jelalludin Rumi
“letters from home”, 2013, mixed media on photograph