Arriving Home

A day later than I promised, but I did it. I painted my dream and now I’ll tell its story.

For years – and years – I’ve been writing a book. I might call it, “ Memoirs of an Urban Wild Woman”- or I might not. In 2008, February 29th I woke for the second time that day at 8:46 a.m. I had this dream in response to my request for inspiration in restarting the manuscript:

I’m in another place and time experiencing myself as a baby being born. I emerge from the uterine confines of warmth and darkness into a softly lit, shadow dappled world filled with warm hands tenderly holding, my ears swooning with the oooohs and aaaahs of enchanted human endearment accompanied by a symphony of meadow larks larking, chickadees twittering, bees buzzing, ravens warbling, snakes slithering, flames crackling, waters burbling, winds shooshing and caressing, grass blading, seeds popping, stalks stretching, leaves unfurling, buds blossoming, flowers perfuming, cats purring, beetles clicking, ants trailing, mice chittering, dog gamboling, mouth suckling, warmth guzzling, breath revealing, sweat informing, melted butter hands stroking my nakedness cradled in warm sensory surround.

“I have come home!”

Primal infant awareness of sheer joy prior to words, but I need those words now to describe the felt-sense of gratitude for the truth of my embodied connection. I am home.

If you were born in a high rise, clanging, blinding, measuring, weighing, calculating, sterilizing hospital, as I was, you had no chance to arrive home. Think about the ramifications.

From a different vantage point, Richards echoes this wisdom in the Epilogue – She is on Her Way which concludes his book Cosmosophia: “If we are to once again experience the cosmos as our womb, to participate meaningfully in the awesome event called the Universe, then we must simply walk outside, pause, and look at the shining stars, or see a child being born, or listen to a tree’s leaves rustling in the wind, and be amazed. Until we regain this capacity, no set of ideas can save us from ourselves.”

Imagine how differently we all would live if we remembered to wonder, simply wonder…

Ahhhhhh time to take my precious fingers away from the treasured keyboard, open the door and step outside.

Let me know how you relate to these ideas, this dream.

Thank you…

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About Deborah

Deborah Jane Milton, Ph.D. is an artist, mentor, and eco-psychologist, mother of four and grandmother of eight.
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6 Responses to Arriving Home

  1. James Lawer says:

    From another tradition (Czech), Walking as if looking at the world dthrough God’s windows, for which slow walking and dreaming is true seeing.

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  2. Deborah says:

    So many dreams seem to be ” true seeing.” Thank you for that perspective, James. AND now I really do have to pick up my fingers off the keyboard and head outside. It’s sunnnnnnny today.

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  3. Paula says:

    Your painting is full of mystery and joy and presence. Each moment, a pause before the next, where all of space and time is bound. Take a deep breath and be with the mystery, joy and presence!

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  4. Shannon Goose says:

    Held by the Universe. A babe in the light. We are all THAT. Thank you for the reminder.

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    • Deborah says:

      Thanks, Shannon, for pointing out the truth, the truth that too many of us have never experienced even though it’s TRUE. Our species has much to learn, much to remember. Glad you’re participating in my universe.

      Like

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