Let Yourself Be Dreamt

Do you remember the first time you felt claimed by the Earth? By a place? A particular seaside cove? Grove of aspens? An entire land?

Do you remember the first time you were named as beloved by something other than human? The dragonfly perhaps? Or the wolf? Or the orca whale? Where did they find you? In the wilds? In a book? In a dream?

Have you touched that intelligence that is so "other" there are no words to translate it's voice, and yet you hear it, with the tuning forks of your bones, and the antenna of your hair.

What if we could court that feeling? That encounter? What if we could lean into our own belonging?

This is what my dreamwork is about. It's the love language between deep ecology, poetry, and the mythic. The vehicle is intentional dreaming with bees, or serpents, or the Earth, but the material is your own chthonic relationship to dandelions, stars, pavement, dew, dust, creeks, wastelands, badgers, alligators, horse maidens, bardic heros, murmurations, and wildfires.

Let yourself be dreamt.