Dream Symbols of the Beloved: Part II


My friends, My family is with me in the mountains to celebrate summer’s last hurrah!  Writing two posts a week takes more time than I have right now, so I’m republishing this post from two summers ago. It’s one of my favorites—and one of my readers’ favorites as well.  Enjoy.  I look forward to your comments. Have a happy Labor Day!
I’ve just arrived at my soul’s home in the mountains of North Carolina where I will spend the remainder of the summer. I’ve often wondered why I love this place so dearly, why it makes me feel so loved and connected and alive and grateful for my life. My answer came last night and this morning as I read your comments to my last post (Dream Symbols of the Beloved) and did a bit more research.
I’m at my desk looking out an east-facing window. The morning sun enters my backyard late because it has to rise above the mountain before its rays filter down through a thick tree canopy. Most of what I see is in shade but a patch of sun has highlighted the brilliant silver threads of a spider web between two branches of a buckeye tree. Grandmother Spider is busily checking connections, tightening threads, and hunting for tasty morsels that got trapped during the night.
This morning I opened Aion, Volume 9, ii, of Jung’s Collected Works, to re-read his section on symbols of the Self. In paragraph #356 he writes about animal symbolism. He says, “The commonest of these images in modern dreams are, in my experience, the elephant, horse, bull, bear, white and black birds, fishes, and snakes. Occasionally one comes across tortoises, snails, spiders, and beetles. The principal plant symbols are the flower and the tree. Of all the inorganic products, the commonest are the mountain and lake.” Spiders. Mountains. Trees.
When I entered the gravel road last night my arrival was heralded by a cawing black crow who flapped off toward the house. The first thing I did was feed the rainbow trout in our pond. Black birds. Fish. Lake. (Do you think a pond counts?) Then I walked around the garden to check out the flowers. My treasured peonies are already spent, but the pink New Dawn roses and purple clematis are a-riot on the trellis, the hydrangeas look like giant blue and white powder puffs, the hostas are sending up tall bud-laden spikes, the astilbe have myriad pointed white cotton candy tufts, the golden daylilies are in full bloom, and there’s a huge mound of pink petunias by the kitchen door. I don’t garden in Florida. It’s just too hot. But here I can have my flowers. Flowers.
Below Bear Pond and Shadow Brook there’s a small pasture and stable where my horse, Shadow, used to spend his summers. I’ve always had a thing for horses. And Shadow, well, he’s a subject for another post. Horses. By the way, bears are the theme of this mountain home.  They’re all over the house.  But that’s another story too. Bears.
Speaking of bears, every summer for ten years I’ve come here with my sweet friend, a handsome golden retriever whose name was Bear. He passed on last August, but his ashes are in a white box with a label that says “Bear Raffa:  Forever Faithful” in the cabinet four feet to the right of where I sit. I cried when I entered the house without him last night. But this morning when I was still in that borderland between sleeping and waking, I heard his joyous bark. Twice. He’s glad I’m back. I’m glad I’m back.
Do I need any further reminders from the Beloved of how loved I am and why I love this place so? Not really, but such is the nature of the Self that I’ll probably continue to get them every day anyway. And night, too. Sweet dreams of the Beloved, my friends.
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0 Responses

  1. Thank you for that heartwarming post. I just finished reading the international news on six various sites, and when I read your post, it brought me back of the beauty of life. Enjoy your stay.

  2. Thank you for your comment, Eileen! I love knowing my post had that effect on you. It’s the same thing that being here does to me. I’m convinced that Nature has tremendous healing power and that physically connecting with her is one of the best things we can do for ourselves. Jeanie

    1. Jeanne, I couldn’t agree with you more. On that note, my partner and I have been blessed with an invitation from his father to move to Puerto Rico in October. His new home is on the outskirts of a rainforest, and water comes into the house from a spring out back. His home is on 21 acres of family land they’ve held for generations, so we’re going to grow food as a means of income and to help neighbors with the deepening depression. It still hasn’t quite sunk in.I’m sure it will when I bring my six cats to the airport!

      1. Wow! That’s an amazing life change you’re preparing for! The setting of your new home sounds idyllic. Wishing blessings and good luck to you all, cats included, on your new adventure! Jeanie

  3. Hi Jeanie,
    Thank you for the lovely post. I am repeating a comment I posted for you around two years ago as well. I revised it alittle. Enjoy. Peace and Light, Joseph
    The Choice
    For Jeanie
    The child walked through field of light weeping and looking for his dog. He called its name as he brushed his hands over the tops of the radiant wheat. He hadn’t seen his dog in days. Suddenly he heard the soft beating of wings and when he turned towards the sound, an angel had alighted at his side.
    For a long time they said nothing. She walked beside him with her hands cupped at her belly, looking straight ahead. He swiped a stick around them as they went.
    “I miss him,” the boy said.
    “He is your friend,” she said.
    “But I thought friends never left you. That’s what the other angel said.”
    “They don’t leave you. But they’re spirits, just like you and I, and so sometimes–well, sometimes when the unexpected happens, they get lost, just like us.”
    The boy was quiet a moment. He knew what she meant by unexpected, for here he was walking the illuminated fields of heaven with an angel.
    “So Bear’s lost?” He asked.
    “In a manner of speaking. But he’s looking for you. And he’ll find you, you can count on that. He’s a clever dog.”
    “Do I have to just wait for him to find me? Couldn’t I look for him too?”
    “Of course,” said the angel, “in fact, your love for him acts as a beacon. Through the hazy distances of memory and through the corridors of his love for you—he will find you. He will come.”
    The angel placed her hand around his shoulder and pulled him closer. “Keep calling him,” she said, “he’s listening. And keep being you—for it is when you are being yourself the most that you attract your Beloved.”
    “Do you suppose he’s upset that I left him?” asked the boy, his voice catching in his throat.
    “Try to stop thinking about it like that,” the angel answered. “You didn’t leave him. You made a choice. After the
    accident, when the Great Light asked if you wanted to remain here, you said yes, that’s all.”
    “But I should have never said yes. I was being selfish.”
    “Selfish?” said the angel, “So you had the opportunity to stay here, in heaven, away from the sickness that surrounded your home, and you call that selfish?”
    “He’s there though. I left him there and you know how daddy treated him.”
    “Your daddy is a different man after the accident. Your choice to stay here has changed him. His heart broke in just the perfect way as to let the Light in. He will never mistreat anyone or anything again. He is a new creation. And if you would have gone back, he would still be steeped in his disease, so no more talk of being selfish.”
    “But what about mother?” said the boy.
    “You don’t think she’s been born again watching your father be born again? You don’t think she’s a better person too? Your choice to stay here has changed them both. There’s hope for them now. They are helping thousands of families with their project. Many, many lives will be saved as a result of their choice to build upon your choice.”
    “OK, OK,” so I’m not selfish, but I still want Bear.”
    “Of course,” said the angel.
    “I won’t stop calling for him until he finds me,” said the boy.
    “Or you find him,” said the angel.
    “I’ll keep praying too,” said the boy.
    “You are praying,” she said, “with every step and tear and word you are praying; by just being yourself—living the way you are living here in this world of Light and Use—you are praying. Don’t ever worry about not praying. Everything you do is a prayer, Dear Brave Heart.”
    There was a rustling of the unfurling of wings and she was gone.
    He stood in the river of white, shining grass and started calling again for Bear. All day he called and walked in the bright field–calling, calling for his Beloved Bear. He walked past ponds and fields of wild flowers dappled with bees and butterflies.
    Just as he was going to give up for the day and turn for him, he heard angels singing. He spun around. When the angels sing that song—the welcoming song—there is a new arrival. The last time he heard it his great Aunt Ivy appeared. He ran towards the sound, for when heaven rejoices at a homecoming, the sound is indescribably wonderful, and everyone drops what they’re doing and comes running to be a part of the welcoming of another soul home. As he ran he forgot about Bear and instead thought about how happy whoever it is will be to have returned to their dearest, truest love.
    When he reached the center of heaven he stopped. He shook his head. He was stunned. The hosts of heaven, the Great Light, and every soul from every part of the celestial world had gathered around something sitting in their
    It was a black and white shaggy dog.
    “Bear!” He shouted. And at the sound of his name, Bear took off running–fairly galloping over the snowy white grass. He leapt into the boy’s embrace.
    The boy held him, weeping on his neck. Bear panted happily, licking the boy’s face with big, sloppy kisses.
    His angel moved towards them, smiling, singing.
    “I didn’t know they sang the welcoming song for animals too,” laughed the boy with his arms still around Bear.
    “All souls,” she said, “we sing for all souls.”
    “When will I learn the welcoming song?” He asked, sniffling and rubbing Bear behind the ears.
    “Now that Bear’s with you,” she said, “you are complete, the welcoming song is within you now—part of your own voice.”
    And that’s when he felt his shoulder blades painlessly change their shape. They extended out and up and back; and a certain, splendid heaviness sprouted in two directions. He had wings. He opened and closed them as he stood. He smiled at Bear and at the angel and began laughing the laugh of Eternal joy.
    Kneeling by the side of the road, the police officer put his hand on the side of the dog’s bleeding head. “He’s
    gone,” he said. “There was nothing you could do. Don’t blame yourself. It’s dark. Hard to see.”
    “He just jumped in the middle of the road,” the teenage girl said, sniffling and throwing her hands up in despair. “He was running like he was looking for something or someone. I didn’t see him until it was too late.”
    “I understand,” said the policeman, “are you sure you’re alright?”
    “Yes,” she said, and then she slowly tilted her head and looked up at the stars.
    “Do you hear that?” she asked.
    “What?” asked the policeman.
    “Singing,” she said, “I hear singing.

    1. I love this story, Joseph….every must as bit as when you first wrote it for me. As usual, it brought me to tears! Thank you, friend for your healing stories. Jeanie

  4. I really enjoyed this post, learning how your soul finds peace in the mountains of North Carolina. I fully understand how you can feel so connected to one place. I have lived in America for over twenty years and love it here, but always and forever our farm in Ireland will be my spiritual home. There I feel contentment and connection, like no other place on earth.

    1. I’ve been to Ireland and completely understand. I also think that coming from a farm, with all its animals and closeness to Nature and her cycles adds to the deep sense of connection one has to certain places. Thank you, Mairead. I’m glad you liked it.Jeanie

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