I had a dream the other night. In it we were all just rainbowbumbling around as usual.

But all our cores had been opened.

And I had been cracked open as shaman.

That was what I had always been.

But, so what: after this revelation: I was, natch, thereafter, doing just my usual thing. Hiding. Craven. Nebby Meeko. In the shadows.

There then, in the dream, came a place, where I couldn’t do that anymore.

For all was in peril; dying.

Even unto me.

I was then, in the dream, reminded, strongly, serenely, that, as shaman, my job was to move the people to the next place. This was me to be.

I didn’t believe I could do that; I am and always have been no one; the shaman thing was all bollocks; but it was all so dire, in this dream, in this place; that, in this dream, I gave it a try.

And, the more I tried, the more I tried, shaman, the more I tried, the more crystal, clear, the world became; the more it shined; the more I can’t even describe to you now how jeweled it all was and I see see it still and I see it still; the more I could really move in magic; the more the people proceeded, the more they were no longer sluggish oxen who refused to move, the world no longer a cart to which they were yoked; the more I felt and knew I could See, and Move, the more they felt they could See, and Move; the more I, then the more we, we Saw, and Moved; the more I was Strong, the more all the people were Strong: the more we all ascended the mountaintop, the more we Saw, and Moved, and Looked Over.

And then we walked. All the way. To Tir Na Nog.

All of all of us: are me, in this dream. Seeing. Shaman. Looking Over. Seeing. Moving. Becoming great wide open. Caledonia Soul Music. What it is. All the way. To Tir Na Nog.


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When I Worked

April 2015
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