Life is depleted when I have no sense of the divine, and yet there are many images of the divine that do not seem to fortify my life in any way, although they may, at some later point.
The images that inspire rise like waves on the ocean and push me forward onto the chest of the ensouled, until some current takes me out to sea again. Life seems to be an oscillation of dissolution and rearticulation, of confusion and deprivation and equilibrium and contentment.
I have been very content when my living dream imbibed a palpable sense of the holy spirit which came to me in the form of hoops, wheels and circuits in some ways reminiscent of the breast of birds.
That bottle has been put away down in the wine cellar, it hasn't been served in a while.
The night before last I dreamed of fire, of a telephone pole across from my house being on fire, of fire blowing in from the left and igniting things. The fire was bright and brilliant at the same time that it was terrifying. Last night I remember dreaming of being fascinated with a girl in my dream, she was between childhood and adulthood, a sort of go between. She was a chubby African American girl wearing exuberant styles, terry cloth red shorts. She had a 2 foot tall afro that separated into three sections and was carrying three helium balloons in her right hand. In her left hand she carried a basket filled with good things to eat that she would deliver to a man that managed the children.
I keep seeing this light-hearted trinity imagery as it seems like the generosity of spring turns towards us. As cold as it is, the sun shines brightly and there's the potency of new growth in the air around us, hunched in between things ready to weave together new life, growth, a new mandala. I'm going to keep revisiting this wonderful dream figure today, she gives me a sense of the divine that's human, humble and unpretentious, solid and yet light, generous and exuberant.