Dreams and Imagination in the Year of Wood Dragon

with Sun in its crown

to outshine fear and hatred - 

the Dragon rises

The year 2024 is the year of Wood Dragon in Chinese Zodiac. Wood is associated with strength, warmth, generosity, flexibility, while dragon, the most powerful symbolic animal of China, meaning strength, health, prosperity, wisdom, power and good luck. In ancient China dragons were associated with emperors, where phoenixes were assigned to empresses. Interesting combination... For the annual Haiku Party of the Southern California Haiku Study Group we make our haiku gifts, so I wrote some about the Dragon Year and here they are;

bend, willow-like

stand firm, with diamond strength -

Wood Dragon Lessons

courage, prosperity,

kindness, generosity -

Wood Dragon Blessings

The images are from various free sites, noted on each card, but they are processed with some graphic filters, to add interesting textures to them and to make the sun in the last one more impressive.  

So we will start the Wood Dragon Year in February with confidence that it is and will be a very good year. The time of prosperity and strength.  How do I know? Because what we intend to, if we put our heart into, is what will be. 

If we do not, our dreams will warn us of being on the wrong path, spiritually. When I have repeated dreams of losing my ticket, purse, suitcase, missing my train, bus, plane, or losing my keys or being unable to quickly stuff all the clothes in the suitcase while I have to leave I know I must leave - I know when I wake up so stressed out from all this rush and anxiety, that I'm on the wrong track in my "awake" life - and the "dream" life is telling me to change the direction, pattern, plans, actions, so I stop running after planes, or realizing I lost the car keys, or seeing the train leave the station...

In contrast, being on the right track spiritually - doing the right things, what I'm supposed to do  is rewarded with a "graduation-type" dream.  Someone once told me "your trouble is that you know what you must do but you do not listen to your angels and do not do it" - so I'm extremely grateful for these "graduation" dreams when I finally succeed and complete the task and feel gladness and relief that everything is done and is done right so I can go on and start a new chapter. Alas, too often I'm pointlessly rushing and forgetting or losing everything in my dreams. But still, the rare moments of gladness are so rewarding. 

I've had a huge problem with my mother (my father was silent and practically absent from parenting, except for telling me to be always honest and hard-working for these traits are rewarded in life and if not, they are their own reward). My mom loved me and hurt me the most of all people, abandoned me many times when I needed her the most. She praised me as a princess when I did not need it, and took me apart or left me embittered when I needed her the most. So, finally after years of prayer and meditation I was able to finally let go of my resentment and pain. The childhood trauma disappeared. This was done in stages over several years, and I'll skip the process here.  

Ocean of Air, Cloud Islands - by Maja Trochimczyk

. 

This monumental achievement on my spiritual path was rewarded with a long, complex and very rewarding dream.

I jumped off the sailing boat into the water, with a rope to swim and pull it. There was no wind. The boat was full of people, and I was the only one in the water, I pulled the boat through dark, crystal-clear, smooth, and very deep water, without any waves, completely still and smooth, unfathomably deep, and very pleasant to swim in. I had to navigate between small islands of rushes and trees, and pull the sailboat to safety. The journey was long, I kept swimming and swimming, it became dark, with starry skies reflected in the water, and the islands changing into dark shadows I had to avoid and steer clear of. I swam through the whole night and finally saw the shore, there was a sandy beach and a pier,

I swam close to the pier so people in the boat could disembark and walked from the water onto the golden, smooth sandy beach. There were people waiting for me there - dressed in long capes and robes of pure white, silky, shimmering in the slight breeze. They had tall wide collars and huge stars on their chests and foreheads, shining really bright white light, like a picture of a diamond with rays stretching straight into all directions. They dressed me in this white comfortable warm silky robe-cape and put a star on my chest and a star on my forehead. That's when I realized my Mom was on this boat and was now standing right next to me, and she also got her white silky robe-cape and the two bright stars, one for the chest and one for the forehead.

After this welcome ceremony we were led to the left side to rest on two white chairs that were placed on the sand facing the ocean. What was before a huge expanse of smooth navy-blue, dark translucent glass-like water with dangerous islands, now became a peaceful ocean with the sunlight on the soap-bubble horizon, pink to gold to blue, to periwinkle. We sat on these chairs, they were like the Adirondack wooden chairs in shape but very soft and comfortable to sit on. We did not say a word, there was no need to talk, no need for words. Everything was perfect, serene, tranquil, beautiful, complete bliss.  Then i realized that my nine-tailed fox (silver white, with blue eyes, very lively) was asleep on the left side of my chair. My Mom was on the right. I covered the fox with another white cape, wrapped her tightly so she could sleep with the nose on her paws, and the tips of the tails moving at the edge of the blanket.  

Sea of Clouds - photo from a plane window by Maja Trochimczyk

Then, I woke up... It is pretty obvious what the dream meant. I took care of a boat-full of my ancestors, clearing ancient traumas, and my own pain, letting go of suffering, anger, resentment and instead taking care of everyone. Swimming in the dark, clear of the unknown is the immersion in Divine Wisdom, that only I could do and did not need any help from anyone.  Getting to the shore and receiving the rewards - toe white coat of pure conscience, regained innocence, the bright shining stars for the mind and heart - does not need any explanation. 

The fox is a seductive, dangerous demon in ancient mythologies of the East. Somehow, I know that I was such a nine-tailed fox long ago and it accompanied me even in this life, still pulling me her way, into mischief and seduction. It was so satisfying to see that it went to sleep and rested on the endless, peaceful ocean of pinkish-golden waves under blue-violet sky . This meant that I was able to conquer that side of my "Shadow." Jung wrote about the importance of integrating the Shadow, the unconscious hidden darkness we all have within, into awareness. Only then, will it go to sleep as my Foksik did on the the shore of the ocean of tranquility. 

I kept reflecting on this dream for a long time. I wrote it down right as I woke up, that's why I could recall it here. If I do not write down the dreams as they end and I am disoriented for I do not know where I am and where I should be. And why am I on this bed and in this life, and what's wrong?  So if I write the dream down then, I can learn from it, and follow the right path, "listen to my angels" or to the "divine whisper" and do the right things for a change... 

Winter Trees, Sapphire Skies - by Maja Trochimczyk

Two days ago I had a short, but detailed dream on the amount of work it takes to learn lessons in this School of the Earth. 

I planted an acorn to grow an oak tree before me. It grew very fast and when it was up to my shoulders, I broke some branches off to plant in the ground to have more trees. I did not see any landscape, there were no other people, there was nothing seen around except each individual tree in the ground. After planting the branches, which were all the same size about two feet tall and then looked at what happened to my branches.

The first one was charred in fire, the ground was charred too. The second one was broken in half by the wind. The third one was all muddy with rotten leaves and dead of the rot - it was flooded and died of overabundance of water. The fourth one was a stick in parched dried, cracked ground with no water at all. It dried out.

Finally, the fifth one was growing through the seasons. I planted it with green oak leaves (there were large rounded oak leaves as on Polish white oak, not curly evergreen leaves of California). So first the leaves turned golden, reddish brown, and fell off. Then snow fell and covered the ground and the tree, then it sprouted more branches and was covered with leaves.  So I woke up, happy that I was finally able to grow a healthy tree. It was not taller than my waist at that time, but it did start to grow. 

Gold Oak in Warsaw - By Maja Trochimczyk 

So these four damaged and one good tree, parts of the original larger oak grown from the acorn, could mean successive incarnations and lives with parts of the Higher Self that was my original tree grown from an acorn. These went through different lives and tribulations and finally, the fifth one was good. I passed my exam of the ages.  Alternatively, these could be experiences and tests in one life, five tests in all, of which I passed the last one after failing four times in a row. The failures were interesting too. These damages were by the various elements - fire, air, water, earth. These are "our" elements in the West, and in totality they mean living in the material world. Here, on Earth. The successful tree that started to grown ever more beautiful with the changes of days, nights and seasons (very fast, as in fast-forward rewinding of a tape) was the element of "spirit."  Or maybe not.  The beauty of dreams is that they are so open to interpretation. I wrote a poem with lessons and an acorn in it, several years ago. That poem was a retelling of a different, but related dream.

Winter in Tujunga Wash - by Maja Trochimczyk 

On Landscapes: A Guidebook

First you cross the Salt Plains of Rejection

into the Desert of Abandonment.

Mount Disappointment lies just beyond

The Valley of Regret. This is a huge country.

You lived there for decades. You explored

every nook and cranny; path, boulder, crevice.

Ever since your mother disappeared

for five months and a year. Ever since

you learned to write at six to send her

your desperate pleas: “Mommy, come back.

Mommy, I love you. Mommy, why don’t you

love me, any more?” You re-lived this story

time and time again. In every marriage, romance. 

Now you know too well how it feels.

Now you can open the enchanted book

and say the words of magic.

You pour out a River of Molten Light –

dazzling, white hot, yet cool to touch –

over the chaff of broken feelings, the dust

of memories you wish were not yours

to keep and gather for the Ancient One.

The chaff burns.

The shadows flee.

You find a grain of gold

Under your feet.

Smooth, shiny, polished,

It is yours to keep.

Is it a grain? Look closer, a golden acorn

rests in the palm of your hand. Plant it

in Guilt Valleys. Plant it in the Deserts 

of Despair. plant on Fear Mountain slopes.

Plant on wind-swept Plains of Sorrow.

It grows so fast. Soon, a magnificent oak tree

spreads out its gold leaves and boughs.

New life in your Landscape of Desolation. 

Look through its branches. Be mindful, 

attentive. What do you see?

Here: the Fertile Fields of Bonding.

There: the Rainbow Meadows of Connection.

Look carefully now. See the Pristine Peaks 

of Fulfillment, the Sun Garden of of Gratitude? 

Filled with every kind of fragrant blossoms, 

the heady perfume of rose and jasmine, 

delicate scent of lavender and forget-me-nots, 

liquid melodies of birdsong in the air.

This is not a mirage.  

This is your own world 

to conjure up, delight in.

Here. This gold grain is for you. 

Will it become an acorn or 

a pine cone in your hand? 

Come. Let's plant it 
and watch it grow.

an acorn

into an oak tree - 

nature's way

In these two dreams, we had the oak tree, the sacred Oak of the Druids, worshiped across all of Europe by my ancient Slavic ancestors.  According to the Druid calendar "my trees" are White Birch, and Apple Tree - I'm both delicate, sensitive, beautiful, and fruitful...  It is interesting that in the following exercise I did once long ago, what I saw as "my" tree was neither an oak nor birch nor apple. It was a tangle of conifers, fir trees "swierk" or "jodla" in Polish - with a mass of interlocked, dead branches all mixed up, dead needles on the ground. It was hideous and dead thicket and I did not want to even look at it. Only when I turned my gaze up, along the trunk of "my" tree in this infernal thicket -  was I able to see how tall and lovely and beautiful it was, spreading its branches in the clear blue sky. The other tops of trees were lower, mine was the most beautiful and imposing. But I had to look up to the sky to see its beauty.... Amazing.  I will not tell you what the "tree" was supposed to mean in terms of Jungian archetypes of the subconscious - but it was quite a self-revelation at the time.  I was told by instructor that only severely traumatized people, and many inmates, see dead or broken trees as "their trees" on this grand adventure through their subconscious. 

Loneliness - by Maja Trochimczyk 

Here's The Forest Game, a visualization exercise I did during my training to serve as a volunteer for the LASD and teach inmates in Pitchess Detention Center my class that I called EVA - Ethics and Values in Art.  The class was running for a whole year, weekly, until I got tired of repeating the same thing in each cycle of 12 classes... I lost the paper somewhere with the text I got at the end of the training, after the instructor walked us through the stages of this spiritual, enlightening journey.

 The Forest

Close your eyes. Sit comfortably. Imagine you are walking outdoors in a forest: one you have seen in a movie, read about in a book, visited or created in your own imagination. You are alone and as you proceed through the forest the first thing to catch your attention is a tree. Take a picture. Describe this tree. Are you doing anything to or with the tree? What type of a tree it is, where does it grow, how does it look like? Remember it, go on.

You continue to walk on the path, when you suddenly see a key. Take a picture, described your key and answer the question: What does the key look like? Do you do anything with this key?  You look at the key, remember it and go on.

You continue on your path. Suddenly you see a drinking vessel, any kind of vessel that you can drink from. Take a picture. Do you drink out of this vessel? Yes or No? Remember what you found and did. Go on. 

Now you came across a body of water. Any kind, any shape, anywhere. It could be a river, pond, lake, ocean, waterfall, any type of water. Take a picture, what kind of water, is it moving, is it still? What do you do with the water?  Remember, and go on.

You continue to walk along the path, next you come across a bear. Take a picture. Do you do anything to or with the bear? What does the bear do? What do you do when you see the bear? Remember and go on.  

The path takes you next to the edge of the forest and there is a barrier. What kind of a barrier is it? What is it made of? Describe this barrier. Does the barrier prevent you from leaving the forste or are you able to get to the other side? Remember, rest. Your journey is done. Open your eyes.  

Winter Palms in the Azure - by Maja Trochimczyk

I found the key to the game, and the categories are as follows:

• Tree = self esteem, self-worth, "how you feel abut yourself" , do you love, like, or hate yourself
• Key = school, job, career, knowledge, wisdom
• Drinking Vessel = love for family, siblings, and friends
• Body of Water = sexuality, intimacy
• Bear = ear and problems in our lives and how we deal with them
• Barrier = overcoming fear of death, finding purpose in life, past lives and future lives

 

Three Ballads of Light and Blue Skies of the Spring

Never say never! I thought I was completely unable to write rhymed poetry and could only write free verse. Until this spring. Now, I know I can write other things as well, though sonnets are still beyond me. I posted my first folk ballad last time, A Ballad of New Sun. In comments, I talked about the identity of the two protagonists - I, you, she, he, mine, his, hers... I decided that he/she would work best, but then, what if you revert the roles? And now he would be healing her? Interesting idea. Let's call this version A Ballad of New Star.

A Ballad of New Sun


He came out of nowhere with head bowed down low
in shame and in sorrow, contrite.

His face wrapped in shadows, cloak black as a tombstone,
he came out of nowhere at night.

He stood there before her with head bowed down low
asking silently, asking for love.

Her hands on his chest, his heart beating wildly,
steady current flowed out from her palms.

Light and Love, Light and Love, so much Light, so much Love,
the black cloak broke stiffly in half.

Rays of bright light exploded: he flew out of his cage
in a lightning, a flash of delight.

He was free, she was thrilled. Two halves of dark shell
fell down on the ground far below.

In brightness most fine with high outstretched arms
her rose up, the birth of new dawn.

But did he have wings?  We don't know, we can't tell.
It looked like, maybe, he did.

Could he fly? He did fly, bursting out of his shell
like a phoenix, a comet, a kid.

In a lightning of love he ascended so free
shining true, a phoenix  of might.

She was happy, so glad. She laughed out so loud -
such miracle, the dream of her heart.

In a whirlwind of rays comets, stardust and sparks,
divine brightness, more dazzling than moon.

There's a new star, new sun as he glows, laughs and shines
turning midnight into high noon.

He's her brother reborn, gold prince of new dawn,
floating on weaves of fire and air.

Now her job here is done, her two hands on his chest
healing, breaking the spell of despair.

Oh, sweet love has healed him. Oh, sweet love has freed him.
She let the One Love flow through her arms.

No matter how dark, no matter how lost,
we can wake, we can shine, become stars.

We are free, we can fly, high above midnight sky. 
So much love, so much light, so much care.

It's for us that this Love flows so brightly tonight,
and we sing of new life, of new world. 


(C) 2019 by Maja Trochimczyk

This dream-vision of healing and interstellar flight works well either way, whether she healed him or he healed her, we are all healers taking care of each other's wounds.  In the version she/he, I changed the word "chest" into "heart" - because of basic human anatomy and what men tend to think and do, it is better not to invoke the image of "his hands on her chest" - that immediately has unwanted erotic undertones. Somehow, "her hands on his chest" do not give rise to this association, at least not in my mind. There are people for whom everything has such associations, and those who never think about those things. For poems about spiritual healing, these thoughts are simply a distraction.

After the rains, on a cold winter morning, the sky was pristine, pure "sky-blue" - without a trace of smog, a trace of chemtrails. Pure azure expanse, turquoise at the bottom, azure high up. I went for a walk by the river. I found a huge, heart-shaped rock. I picked it up and put on top of an enormous boulder that had an indent that served as a shelf for the heart-rock, to make sure it does not slide down, I put a small white rock at the bottom, to help it stay upright, well-balanced. One line came to me, from which the following ballad flew out smoothly. No, I did not carry the rock with me. It was too heavy. I let the boulder carry my rock, it was much better this way. But the poem says something else. Why not? It is just a folk ballad...

A Ballad of  New Heart

Once I found a rock heart, my heart of hard rock.
I took it to carry with me.

Along muddy shores of the river of time
that flows down in the ravine.

I carry my rock as I walk up the hill 
of a thousand stones, all so cold.

The rock now softens and moves in my hands,
it melts into heart of pure gold.

I carry my gold heart up the mountain, up high,
I carry, I carry its weight.

With each step it's heavier, its surface so hard.
Careful! it might slip out of my hands.

I know how the river races down, full of mud.
I'm lucky, I turned to go up.

This weight is for me to carry alone.
It is my heart of rock, my own task.

It starts feeling alive, in the warmth of my hands.
I thought it was only a rock.

I cradle it safely in my two folded arms
as I bring it up high, to the top.

Here the sky is clear blue. Winter storms have all passed.
I look at smooth river below.

I thought it was muddy, full of dirt as it rushed,
but it sparkles with rainbows aglow.

It's my river that flows, my heart changed to flesh.
I discovered my treasure of old.

You will, too, find your heart, change your rock into gold
to cherish, to love, and to hold.


(c) 2019 by Maja Trochimczyk
 

 

The next folk-style ballad has a different ending from the one I first envisioned. Again, it was originally written in first person, with the angel as a "he" - but to make it more universal I changed it into she and he, her angel. I also changed the ending into a more positive one, from the frozen scene when either of the protagonists could not move, not one step. Ice is melting on the river, so it can flow again. This ballad is based on a very strange and detailed dream I had and tried to describe in my dream notebook. It is so important to write down these strange, vivid and colorful dreams in as much detail as possible right away. They contain useful lessons of how to deal with the present, and the past, how to act in the future.

A Ballad of Golden Scroll

Once she saw a path of shadow leading straight to her back,
stretching far, into mists, into void.

With black fog swirling 'round, it was made of despair,
guilt, shame, and remembrance of wrongs.

Now the Sun rose within her, its light poured out through.
She was brighter than bright morning star.

It was time to let go, end this lesson of pain.
The Sun's brightness was seen from afar. 

So she rolled up this path of shades and of mists
'round the black hole of tears and regrets.

As it rolled like a carpet, she saw gold underneath,
cobwebs over brilliant gold nets.

The roll was too heavy for her to take up.
She called "help!" Angels knelt on both sides. 

All of light, all in white, they shone as they knelt
on one knee, with the scroll of her past.

She looked closer but now only one angel stayed,
shadows wrapped up in dazzling light.

Her past faults and her hurts, he held in both hands.
He was kneeling, her angel at night.

She could see his white wings, opened wide, made of light,
their long tips stretched far, north and south.

The pathway behind her was clear, pure and gold,
shining brightly and smooth like a pearl.

She tied silver cord around the scroll and said "fly!"
End to end of horizon, his wings. 

With one sweep, he rose up, carrying her heavy load
to release it on currents of wind.

High above was the speck, in the sky, in the Sun.
It exploded in a shower of sparks.

His huge wings filled the air with his delighted song.
With sweet voice, tender song of her heart. 

Pain was gone, she was free. It was bright all around.
Light aglow in her body, her veins.

You should know there's a myriad of angels around.
They will help you break your own chains.  


(C) 2019 by Maja Trochimczyk

Sometimes my poet friends ask me why am I not pursuing a "proper" more prestigious venue for my poetry. I do this for fun, for the delight of sharing, not for career or glory or honors. I've had enough of those already, plus it is not that important. Sharing the discoveries of how to get rid of darkness and live in the light is much more needed. It makes me feel lighter, makes me smile. I'm as clear as the blueness of blue skies above. For a moment, at least. What more can I ask for? What more do I need? Writing something new I actually like to read. That's perfection, right here, right now.