It was a couple of nights ago, perhaps a week. But I had a dream early in the morning where I went into a deep forest. It was twilight, not fully night or day. I’m uncertain if it was dawn, or dusk, or perhaps actually midday and the depth of the wood made it dark, or if it was midnight and the brightness of the moon lit the forest…. I’m unsure. It was grey. There was snow and not snow, cold and yet not cold.
In the middle of this darkened wood, a feeling of being deep within, sheltered and hidden and secret, was a house, a hut. It wasn’t ornate, but made of the local materials at hand. It seemed old.
I felt that it was my mother’s house, and I saw her, but it wasn’t her. No other word describes who it was other than Mother but it wasn’t my mother. There was an immense sense of welcome and peace and belonging . There was also a large white-ish wolf. Not pure white, not grey, but between the two. Like snow at night. The wolf was my friend. We were connected. It felt as though I was returning to a pup I knew long ago. The wolf was happy to see me, and I it. The Mother was in the picture, as we were all three outside the hut. I never ventured inside. Mother was taller than my biological mother, thinner, longer hair. But I cannot recall details, the face or anything. Only that I felt a calm acceptance at Her presence in me, and the same from Her regarding me. Not a judgmental acceptance, as though there was an appraisal of one… but instead an acceptance of the existence of the other as matter of fact. One simply is and there is no attachment or denial of it. When I left, turning to walk back through the wood, the wolf accompanying me, there was no sadness in leaving. It didn’t feel like leaving at all, but relocating my self to another position in a reality that encompasses everything. Why would one become sad at a loss that isn’t?
I am uncertain as to the meanings here. I will have to keep this fresh in my mind as I move in life, allowing myself to open to possibility.