The Healing Dream
It is morning; it is spring. And in the dew, the mountains woo.
Distantly heard, the roosters crow; and past the shoreline, the winds do blow.
High up above, the clouds unfurl, light finds its love, as songbirds twirl. With a new morn, the night is torn ––over the sea, the sun rays spree.
Over a rock, a woman sits, no laughingstock, she wears a frock. A female priestess, an old manbo (Creole for “priestess”), close to the spirits, she’s set to go.
“Sit yourself down comfortably,” she says, “and make sure your body has found its balance ––so that the lwa, or spirit, can wend its way within you, just as it desires.”
“Next, I will trap in the healing, so future health can take its place, transcending time, overstepping distance.”
The woman prays, as my mind strays. The more she says, my heart she sways.
“Starting off, we shall use the healing symbols, Gede vèvè and Ogu vèvè, feeling the lwas as they flow free, within your body, they’ll find the key. Then I’ll be using this fan, to do away with any plan, and rid you, of any negative energy, around you, over you, under you, and within you.”
The woman fans, with paper pans, her fingers move, she finds her groove.
“I am using this fan, my charms, and my dance, to clear, from you, any destructive energy. And I’m going to rest my hands on your pained shoulders now, wanting you to experience yourself relaxing, as you find your grounding.”
The manbo gestures, her dress she shirrs, presents a gem, from Bethlehem.
“Who was I? And where was I?” Only last night, per papa’s fright, I came for healing, hoping for freeing.
The woman continues.
“Visualize the branches of a tree rising out of your shoulders, and growing, down past your torso, hips, and knees. These offshoots keep extending down, and down, through the soles of your feet, and into the solid earth, right underneath. Further they grow, unfolding down, and down, and down, to the very core, to the very heart of the earth, where these branches find a jumbo gem. Around this stone, they wrap themselves, keeping you bound to Mother Earth.”
Hearing these words, a giant tingle, leads me to sparkle, all that I am splits into thirds.
“Now take a deep breath in,” the manbo whispers, “holding in the air, for a while, as your lungs expand, and breathe in, and exhale, all of that angst.”
Gradually, I breath out, “sh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, sh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo,” feeling all stress, dare I confess.
The priestess speaks, freedom she seeks.
I stop; and she utters, “Again, sh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, again, sh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, and out, sh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo. And the last one, sh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, and out.”
And as I do this, I feel much bliss. My stress unrolls, like hurried shoals.
And then, “Relax your breathing down, slow-going at its usual pattern and I will begin to relax you. While I am pressing on your crown, the very top of your head, I want you to resist any tension in your toes, and feel your feet, and ankles, experiencing any tension, and gently pushing that tension out. Relax! Relax! Relax!”
With the above being the last words that came to my consciousness, I rose quickly from my slumber. It was a dream; life was a stream.
At home, I found myself, in a flat-bottomed canoe, right by my mother.
Wearing a pair of frayed denim shorts and a red dress, trimmed with laces, mom had placed her wide-brimmed straw hat over her face to hide from the rising sun.
Every so often, in a shaky manner, the canoe moves over the restless water.
And suddenly, the smell of a scrumptious breakfast penetrated my nostrils, as I felt the intense movement of my bowels clinching in hunger.