Women.  We are the nurturers and care givers, and that role almost always falls into our hands. 

     I dreamed I was on a hill in the forest.  In the distance I could see seven black Wolves coming toward me.  I climbed a Tree for safety and to get a better look.  Just as the Wolves were directly under the limb, the limb broke and I fell to the ground.  The alpha female came over and nudged me under my arm and spoke to the others, “It’s okay, she’s one of us.” 
 
Darkness For Light
Chapter Eight

….This secluded sitting room of Earth and soul became so imprinted in my memory, when the time came for around the clock care of my mother, I could think of it and be there.
Forest Walking
Chapter Nine
I remembered the Trees. And how I used to sit under bent arms embraced by Life. I remember my secret place in the forest and how all there knew my hidden thoughts. Thoughts carried in the wildheart of the Wind and scattered in all directions of the Universe. How I missed lying on my Mother’s belly and the smell of her. And the path of leaves, pine straw, rocks, and how the Wind and I scurried up the serpentine trail toward the top. Along the way there was an old surface root of a Tree shaped like an eye peeking out of a green mossy face. I named him Old One Eye and always seemed to wake him from his napping time. I remembered sitting in a circle of Stone People, surrounded by ancient knowledge.

I had left so much of myself in this place, I would even visit there in the dream-time, taking the shape of a bird, and the night welcomed me in this form of freedom of the soul.

No. I am not the Bird that is content to sit on a limb, hopping from one branch to another, staying close to the ground.

Rather, I am like the Bird that would fly on the breath of the Wind, playing on her currents, soaring to greater heights. Experiencing the freedom hidden in all things.

The Bird of my soul feathers the nest of freedom. It is where I am happy.
Come. Spirit that lives in all things. Fly with me. Take me to the nest of Your heart.

So that I may dwell in the place where freedom was born.
...Sometimes I stand the staff at the foot of the bed.  And at night her roots like outstretched wings, hover over my sleeping.  She reminds me of the sacrifices of the soul that it takes to bring about balance, wisdom, and strength.  In the painful dying of self, the Spirit that lives in all things gives us wings of Life.  And the Light that shines into my window in the ebony of the dreamtime is the Wind that lifts my wings toward freedom.
Free Spirit on a Gypsy Wind
I am a free spirit on a gypsy Wind.  My wings take me to far away places and on this journey of Life, Darkness is traded for Light.

     I have left a part of myself in each experience and carry away the priceless souvenir of Light.  Light costs nothing, yet it will cost you everything. 

     The soul will travel again and again and back again until it has spent its Darkness.  Until the Ancient Light is the bounty of it’s trading. 

     I am on a journey of Life, discovery, and experience.  Of letting go and finding out who I am.  And who I am not.  Then, at the end of my odyssey, when my wings are worn and folded into the west of my soul, and the gypsy Wind no longer carries me to far away places, I will look back.  I shall know where I have come from and where I am going.

     And in the heart of my knowing, I will understand that I have done well in my trading.

    For the wares of Darkness are gone.

     And now it is the wares of Light that fill my soul.
The Dream
Chapter Twenty-One
    Fur.  Like ebony snow caught on moonlight.  Like Darkness woven into the stars.

     But the eyes.  That is what I remember the most.  Eyes of amber fire, like suns living in that furry absence of Light.  Knowing eyes with the Life that fire brings.

     Nurturing Mothers of the Night forest.

     The Wolves of my dream tell me I am one of them.

     Eyes of Fire.

     Eyes of Light.

     In the midst of Darkness.
Eyes of Fire
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