Light Dimensions

Light Dimensions

Various Writings by Liberty

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Dancers Dreaming and the Shadow People

by: Liberty

"Grandfather, Great Spirit, you have given me the cup of living water, the sacred bow, the power to make life and to destroy it."
Black Elk

Prologue

Twin Dreamers reflected. It is what she did most of the time for as long as she could remember. "An odd concept, time," she thought, "so frail a thing to be so binding." She couldn't help but think about it though she knew both Creator and Creation to be wrought with paradox and that somehow the Mirror was the key to that elusive "place" where revelation and mystery found balance. She bore in herself such gifts that she could not in herself number them. She knew a changelessness that could only exist because of the continuous change within it. She could remember the future as she looked forward to the past. She recalled with equal thanksgiving the purity and innocence of her new life and the loneliness and shame that filled her when she realized how awkward and unskilled and peculiar her appearance must have been to all those "others" when she yet lacked understanding. She reveled in the discovery of the great wisdom of the ancestors when she had become one of them. She remembered times and places as she remembered beyond time where she knew herself to be ageless. She remembered the dream - and the mirror. The mirror had always been there as far as she knew. It was most fascinating, and always as new as it was old. And so she reflected upon the great beauty and grace she saw watching her from the "other" side of the mirror. There was no vanity in her fondness for the mirror though it may seem so. You see; each time she looked upon herself, she was so humbled by the mirror that she radiated a glory about her that even she could not grasp but for the fleeting fragments of clarity in Creator's presence. Very rare was the occasion she'd forget herself. No. She remembered far too well the pain that the pride of another could inflict. It just wouldn't do for her to cause another to hurt. Hers was a far more gracious path; one purposed to inspire wonder and hope, smiles and tears, faith and love.
She knew that one could only be truly happy and content when serving Creator's intent as Creation. The ever growing depth of her reflections was the only source of expressing her design and discovering the amazing ways in which Creator found her fit to reveal herself as she yearned to heal those relations that she heard cry out with a true heart. It was at those times she knew she would find a new dimension as this "other" became the face in the mirror.

Twin Dreamers drank deeply of that that especially stark and desolate silent stillness she had come to know so well, that quenched her thirst for absolute, undisturbed solitude after which she would be satiated totally,though as time would have it but briefly. Such perfect peace could do none other than leave her parched with another kind of thirst - one which could be quenched only on the other side. She did the only thing she could do just then. She gazed into the mirror - and at such times she never knew quite what to expect - and the elegant, black eyes that met her now excited glance began to dance with an almost impish quality
as the new thirst swelled in her as if a new life had grown there and its delivery was upon her. Her heart pounded faster and faster in her deceptively delicate white chest - deceptive because her work of healing and her message of peace seldom could be bestowed without many battles. If you don't know her you will never guess that beneath her fragile appearance beats the heart of a courageous warrior and she anticipates with delight the new adventures before her. She is full of surprises - even to her. "It is good to be here. I am grateful, Creator, that you have given me such honor. I will now give honor to You."

Dreamlog: Introduction

For most of my life I have been a vivid dreamer and came to be fascinated by the images that abounded in that twilight. I have seen things about myself, found solutions to situations in my life, heard the voice of God and found new visions to keep me moving onward. Many times these images are elusive...as is the nature of dreams themselves, however they are as much a part of our human experience as is eating and thinking. I went through a period of time of logging some of dreams in order to recall them and perhaps gain greater understanding of them. So I chose to log some of them....just because.

Red Hawk

This is a recurring dream that began in the spring of 1995 and continue through that fall. The setting is a forested riverbank at night.

I would be standing on the "near" side of a gently flowing river. On the far bank would be standing a striking Indian
man, either mounted on a horse or standing next to one holding the reins. This was in the earliest dreams. The horse was not always the same. We did not speak at all at first but I sensed him beckoning to me. The very first time I was slightly hesitant in case he was a seducing spirit. Then I recalled my dream protection. Still I wondered who or what he was and pondered several possibilities. Could be an angel, a guide, a representation of the masculine side of myself, an ancestor, or even the spirit of a future mate. I got in a small rowboat and crossed the river to where he stood. The same or a similar scene began my dreamtime nightly for quite some time. Sometimes he would put me on the horse and walk alongside; sometimes he'd jump up behind me. Usually there was a pause of non-verbal communication first. Then we'd turn and start through the forest.

After several such encounters he'd sometimes bring a second horse for me to ride. One night as I stood on the riverbank with him I asked him who he was. He spoke a word or a name in another language. I repeated it over and over so's not to forget - but I did. I wish I had been more diligent in recording dreams then. At some point later I asked him his name. I guess I expected him to say the same thing, but he simply said, "I am Red Hawk." I don't ever recall any other words between us. Always after entering the forest, he was gone and I was awake in the dreamtime. Only once do I recall him as a figure in the dreamtime when I said hello to him as I walked with a friend toward a small shop in the mountains
and the friend asked who he was. I said, "that's just Red Hawk." And in that image he was more a young boy than a man
and worked as something like an errand boy. He seemed to vanish for months. Until perhaps -just perhaps - the next dream I will write about.

Devon sat deep in thought on the gentle hillside. It was finally spring; a time he ordinarily anticipated with great relish. The long, lush grass of the meadow was like a carpet
from the hills to the lake, its entire expanse embellished
with the northern wildflowers that sparkled like jewels as
the breeze and the sunbeams danced playfully to the music of the waterfall on the far side of the lake. The air stirred with the chatter of birds courting, setting up housekeeping, settling territorial disputes and so forth. Everything around him was vibrant with new life, but to Devon the loudest noise was an empty silence amid all the activity.
He couldn't remember ever feeling so lonely, and there was something about this place that echoed the depth of that void. He could hear it in the stillness of the lake itself.
He felt a certain presence that resonated with his being, a presence he couldn't quite define.

He thought about the legend of the lake as he watched the single white swan swim peacefully in its quiet center as
though suspended in a dream. It is said that she returns each year at the summer solstice in hopes of being reunited with her mate. Once her feathers had been black as the the depths of the sea when he first brought her here from the south. No one had ever seen such a beautiful creature and their great love for each other designed a blanket of magic
for miles around. They had voices like angels that filled the skies as they danced in the moonlight. Their presence brought great harmony to the land.

Now, Raven was a great and powerful leader and as time passed he grew jealous and in his envy he vowed to have the beautiful black wanbesa for himself. He waited for his oppotunity and it came about that as she lay sleeping he stole her beautiful voice and used it to lure her mate deep into the water where he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke from his dream he was on the far side of the world. As
he trried to return to the dreamtime, he saw his own reflection in the water for the very first time. In that reflected vision he saw his love, as if frozen in time just beyond his reach; after all, he had no way of knowing that because he had been exposed to the blackness of Raven's heart Swan's feathers had become black but for the tips of them. As the bitter, northern winter came and the darkness descended on its lands, the enchanting woman swan was growing weak with hunger and grief. Raven looked upon her as she lay dying in the snow. He saw that her magnificent ebony feathers made her more vulnerable to hungry predators and he
began to feel great remorse over what he had done, and though he couldn't undo the spell he knew there was something he could...and must do to save her. Raven took his own luxurious white feathers and wove a blanket to warm her
and to keep her hidden from danger through the winter, winter spent in dreaming of her lost love.

In the spring when she awoke we went to the spot on the lake where she had last seen him. Sure enough he captured her vision, though she could not reach him, trapped as he seemed in the surreal image from the dream somewhere beyond the depth of the waters. She had no way of knowing either that she too had been transformed by Raven's magic and that it was her own reflectiongazing lovingly back at her. No longer were her feathers their glistening black but for a small spot on her face, but had turned as white as the blanket of snow that had covered the land.

Raven was punished severely for the terrrible thing he had done, for he and all his kind were no longer admired for their beauty and power, having become black and awkward and with a voice that was crass and harsh except when it imitated the sounds of others. His magic, too, became flawed and unpredictable so that he was feared and often loathed. The magic of the dreamtime was bestowed upon Swan, and though it would never again be the same as before, the lovers could always see one another in their own reflections
and when winter would return once more they would briefly pass in the dreamtime as each went to the other side of the
great waters.

Devon had a fleeting thought of going to the lake's edge. Perhaps the long winter had worked its magic on him and he might catch a glimpse of his precious Leileia if he gazed at his reflection. He missed her so very much. He wondered if he would ever feel alive again. He had become a poet without
words.

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven -
a time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to reap;
a time to kill and a time to heal;
a time to tear down and a time to build up;
a time to mourn and a time to laugh;
a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to gain and a time to lose;
a time to keep and a time to throw away;
a time to be silent and a time to speak;
a time to love and a time to hate;
a time for war and a time for peace.
He has set eternity in their hearts.
Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8; 11b

The time for contemplation was now past. What was before, now but dust and ashes. The burden that had once been such a seeing great weight now appeared as a desolate waste. That which had proudly disguised itself as noble now in silence mocked the fool who wore it. One would think it sadness or distress; even hopelessness. Instead there was stillness; not an empty stillness nor even a peaceful stillness. It was the more rare stillness; that of being. The old was simply changed. The ashes stirred by a newly conceived life quickened within the womb of destiny; the fruit she would bear history for their intimacy. Someone would have to tell the story for it mattered very much, and though the new being did not yet know what it would bwecome it reached out to be quickened and nourished by its Creator - without fear or expectation. It knew only a sense of purpose. Then the spark began to crackle and glow and the being saw the light and felt the warmth which was the very essence of his becoming. It was love.