A Dream Goes to Sleep

What do you do when a dream dies? Can a dream die? Does waking up put a dream to sleep? Today, officially when I press “post,” a dream will have died or gone to sleep. Sometimes metaphors escape me. Winter’s trees are starting to bud.  For now, they stand naked, vulnerable; some would even call them stark. You can see their broken, bent, and misshaped branches.  One could even say, against the blue sky they stand with a dignity spring and the glory of autumn will never know.

My journey has been like winter’s trees. Unlike the dignity with which they stand, I preferred to hide in the canopy of spring. I have written of nature’s whispers, the simple joy of being alive, and the wonder of this gift called life. I am, very much, a simple child at heart.  It has been a journey of affirming healing long sought. The losses have been great both personally and collateral damage. And still, with childlike trust I keep walking the path and gathering the tapestry’s threads.

One whisper, one thread I could not hide from or ignore. And so, today, like winter’s naked trees, in one fell swoop the canopy of spring is disrobed.  The disrobing is swift as I tell any who may pause to read, that my little heart has put her whispers in a small wee book called Whispered Grace. Simple scriches. Some you have read here. A website/blog has been created and launched today:  http://www.whisperedgracebook.com/

I do not know how to or if I will continue to use the two blogs or migrate to one. How does one leave a home like this that has been my sanctuary and mantra…affirming healing. My hope would be somehow a Facebook or page where others can record the whispers they hear during the day, to describe their own winter and spring tree dance. I began this space so that others would know they were not alone. The path, is in truth, well worn. Logistics are logistics. I only know today a dream has died or gone to sleep. For though I wrote so that others would know they were not alone, I dreamed I could remain alone and hidden, not even using my name to identify the one who posted.

And so….. Hello. My name is Beth Chapman. I like to walk in nature. Sometimes nature whispers gifts of hope. Sometimes nature makes me laugh. I am so far from perfect you’d probably shudder but I try. Sweet mercy I do try. I have been on a long long journey dreaming I could stay hidden and out of sight. And so I step out and offer my heart like nature’s winter trees. I know my writings seem childlike and sometimes see joy and possibility in a world that would say naught. But still I believe. Still I trust. Still I laugh in awe and delight. And still I know none of us are alone. Now, to live awake with healing affirmed in whispered graces. Hello… my name is Beth Chapman and I've written a wee tiny book that I dreamed could not, would not ever happen. Another dream put to sleep. And my heart is laughing.

With hands to my heart and bowing deeply, Namaste.

Domeless

I walked up the steep mountain hill I could not pedal. I would embody within, the strength that could meet the climb. Looking up the sky seemed so close. The gentle whisper, “It is NOT a dome. It is not a dome.” We are not goldfish swimming in a bowl. The cosmos and universe extend far beyond what we can even dream or conceive. Columbus shook the world proving the earth was not flat. He never mentioned neither was it a dome. My own body, like the sky, contains a cosmos of Light extending beyond the dome called form. Come Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria… time to set sail………………….

Dream Dreamed

Good morning sweet little one. To ponder, again, as my eyes open to the morning, all that is around me, touched, felt, seen, heard and tasted. To ponder that no thing around me existed at creation, and yet, it did. Every thing I see existed in its essence, but unmanifested in the form I see today. The form today is the creation from a dream. A dream that if this and that are brought together a new creation exists. Because of a dream my fingers touch a switch and there is light before the sun rises. Because of a dream the fruits and blossoms of plants and trees,  now gift the coffee I drink, the clothes on my body, this paper and pen, and the little couch upon which I sit.  

And yet, even these things are not the same as originally dreamed.  Even the skills, machines and technology which manifested the dreams are not the same expression as when they were dreamed into being.  All have changed over the years. The dream was dreamed. Everything about me existed, awaiting the form it is now. I ask the couch, the cup holding my coffee, the paper and pen, the computer and light – this is you now as someone dreamed…. What will you be when the dream is dreamed?

My heart sighs to think of the dreams that have brought destruction, hate, death and separation. The dreams that see not creation but the annihilation and servitude of others’ dreams, including nature’s dreams. Perhaps the question that should be asked of dreams is whether the dream allows another to dream? Does my dream create the soil in which others dreams may flourish, manifest and be? Does my dream create boundaries, exclude or define what others may dream? Does my dream honor balance and draw deep the roots of gratitude and love? Does my dream nurture mornings for all so that their eyes may open and see?

I AM a dreamed dream. I am a dream dreamed in the heart of creation. Would I try to keep the eyes of Creation closed and not allow them to open and see? Or will I, this day, choose to allow the dreamed dream to BE? Everything I do, say, feel or believe about me either allows the eyes of Creation to open this day or remain closed. Will I, in fear, hate, ego and disbelief that I am a dream dreamed, hold my hands over Creation’s eyes and say “Sleep, awake not again. Your dream dreamed shall not be.” How often I have prayed in sorrow and pain, “Take this cup from me.” How often I have prayed not seeing the dream dreamed and Creation pouring from an infinite fountain the sweet nectar of life, love, joy and abundance into this cup.

Oh sweet morning, may I be so bold as to open my eyes and shout to the world, to life and love, to all that is 

“Fill this cup now! Let me drink the dream dreamed!”

Thread of Night

A magical day, no matter its contents, the magic rests in that you were present and part of it. And now, as the moon dances her way across the star glittered sky, the Magic prepares to turn the page to yet another day, first kissing Her fingers which are placed upon your eyes for sleep and then quietly to turn the page as you dream. To awaken in the morn to another page scribed in magic contained in a book that bears not the words, "The End."

Harvest Pondered

I turn the calendar’s page and ponder the month.  October, the harvest month. Where we gather the hopes and dreams planted in the spring, patiently watched and prayed for during the summer.  A time to gather and work together. I ponder how communities of old would come together to bring in the harvest, always leaving some for those who had none and for nature’s own community to feast.  October, a time of anticipation.  And I recall the Hopi words of wisdom and look to the fields within my heart…. What shall be my harvest?  And what can I leave to give abundance to others? 

"You have been telling people that this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour. And there are things to be considered. . . . Where are you living? What are you  doing? What are your relationships? Are you in right relation? Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your truth. Create your community. Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for your leader. Then he clasped his hands together, smiled, and said, "This could be a good time! There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey come to a halt. The time of the one wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we've been waiting for". ~ Hopi Indian Elder’s Prophecy

Passion Creating

An evening stroll to my little city's downtown main street. A small bowl of fruit and coffee. The merchants opened late, couples strolling hand in hand. Solo singers on a stage of a corner sidewalk with traffic passing by, oblivious to all except their songs, their music and their passion to sing.  To see their eyes return, from the land of their dreams as they sang, and greet yours as you applauded..... such a special place. Creation. Passion. Songs of the Heart. Though not present when Life created our universe with such desire and love, tonight I was gifted to watch others with the same yearning and passion, and like the Creator, my heart too whispered, "It is good."

Nourishing Touch

The executive doodles as PowerPoint graphs offer themselves to be his palette of oils upon the yellow legal pad, the only canvas the artist inside himself knows.  The mother slowly pirouettes with broom in hand, the only dance partner the ballerina inside her heart knows.  The commuter discovers an invisible microphone and sings to a packed stadium of fellow commuters in their own cars, while another, far away, carries the tune on his air guitar. And I leave my simple thoughts here.
Moments suspended in time, when in the womb of silence and alone, we are nourished by the cord of life and daring to remember the awe and wonder of our dreams, we reach out and touch.