Dreaming Twins

“How could it come to be that one spirit resided in two bodies? From what point on the spiral had these ripples commenced? They had passed through all my mothers and all the clans with which they had created the newborn. They flowed through my life and the lives of those who had touched me, into the realm of the Unborn and beyond, and again back to me. Was the rumored offspring of the Wild Women of the Forest the ancient mother of Gobetween, and I, her father fallen to dust to become her brother and lover in the dreamtime and propelled into the Unborn as her progeny?”

Anyone who has memories of past lives or genetic memory likely has inklings with regard to distant companions. Perhaps, even today, we wonder what became of them. They are no more fixed in time than we are; they have grown and changed too. Where are they? Are they alive? Do they remember us? Do they long for us as we might secretly long for them?

We are sitting at the end of a cycle that has had perhaps a 12,000 year run. Its apex was reached about six thousand years ago during the Mesolithic era where we had finally perfected a pristine balance between human spirituality and need, and the natural world with its glorious beauty and mystery. I believe our best relationships were cultivated then and we remember. While the 21st century is glutted with technology, consumerism, and the utter exploitation of our extraordinary world, I know that for some the veil remains thin. Other realms and their inhabitants are as familiar to us as the internet, maybe more so. The ancient world is as visible as Walmart and we remember it, see it, and continue to interact within it. There, our “other self” excels. We sit in ritual with old friends; we break bread with them, laugh, mourn, and make prayers with them. And among those old friends we find companions that still touch our hearts, perhaps sparking something deep and private. We dream of them, we dream with them, we are dreaming twins.

“The stillness of the hideaway began to work its magic. Night had fallen; the whole world had been entombed by the cold. And yet this sheltered habitat was impervious to it. Steam rose into the nightblack, condensed, crystallized, and fell on us like soft snowflakes. We laughed and kissed. When not locked together we caressed each other or poked fun at our aging vessels. Sometimes I think we just slept, conjoined twins still safe and hidden in our Mother’s womb. When again awake our intimate ceremony continued where it had left off. What was it about hot water on a penetrating, bitter night? It was something cellular, a memory stringing back to the fiery beginnings of Earth. Then we were only molecular dreams looking opportunistically for each other, binding together to create the compounds of life, our life. Flesh to flesh our bodies still remembered the loneliness of that search and the utter joy of microscopic union. It didn’t matter how complex our form had become. Love was the spark of Creation, eternal, exquisite, everlasting.”




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