7 days back from the English woodland, and my ergonomic work station and button-up blouses are a buzz-kill. I miss the forest. I’m relatively grounded in my real life but my chosen path seems increasingly surreal with each nature excursion. It’s like starring in an action movie when I auditioned for an art-house film.
This post is an account of recent dreams…
In all of them, I’m in a forest at night trying to find something or someone. In one dream, I lost a shoe and couldn’t walk, see or hear properly. I was forced to crawl around on the forest floor to get anywhere. Groups of people huddled around dark fires scattered throughout the moon-lit woodland, but I didn’t belong to any of these people, so I kept bumbling about in the dark. I finally came to the main lodge and was welcomed by a friend with outstretched arms. Only then could I stand up properly to receive a hug that lifted me into the air.
In another dream, we were playing a game of hide and seek. I swiftly caught everyone but one; the one person that belonged to the forest and could camouflage himself. He could also turn into a deer, but I still managed to chase him into a cave pool where he hit his head on the bottom and came up bleeding. I felt guilty having hurt him by the chase and sheepishly attempted to sooth his head even though he said it was his eyes that hit the bottom, not his head.
My dreams may simply be a mash-up of a general feeling that I’m between two worlds. One has foliage for a floor, the other concrete-n-carpet.
I’ll be 35 next month. My idea was that by this time I’d be “well-adjusted”. Well, scrap that. I’m still down in the dirt fumbling around some days. That’s ok.