Catching the Mare

I went down to the Caves of the Dream  Masters again today, to ask for a memento of this journey.  The way to their caves is steep indeed, with the steps carved out of the very edge of the mountain.  Descending into the valley where I found one entrance to their dwelling, I went into the Shadow Land of the depths below where the sun could reach, below where the wind could blow freshness into the surrounding darkness, on and on into the dampness where the smell of rotting leaves and stagnant water clung to me with sticky fingers.

 

 The three of them met me at the entrance of the cave: Red Robe, Purple Robe and Yellow Robe.  Their pointy hats sat like penguins above their beady eyes, and they all had eerie smiles tucking at the corners of their mouths.  I wondered if they could see all the dreams that we encounter…would that not be enough to send any mortal to the Land of Eternal Madness?

We did not speak.  I produced a bag full of Lemurian Shekels, and it disappeared into the deep folds of cloth around their thin bodies.  They gave me my prize: A dream catcher  with perfectly symmetrical patterns weaved within the circle, and three feahers dangling from the bottom.  Two of the three turned away from me, and the other one shooed me out of the cave.

I made the lonely trek back to the top of these depths, to a spot where my walnut could beam me back to Vulcania safely.

I was extremely tired when I got back to my cabin.  I hung my dreamcatcher above my bed, and fell asleep almost immediately.

In-Sanity

Natural law is abandoned in this dark, stifling dream.

The Night Mare is saddled, no one hears me scream.

The Alp* is feeding ravenously on my constant pain:

Poking holes in my sanity through which my soul and spirit drain…

Helplessness spreading like toxin through every part of me,

Suffocating! Paralyzed! No way to ever break free!

But then –  The Alp is caught: Ranting and Tangled in the web

of the Guardian Catcher above my head….

I find my wings to escape:  Away

to the glorious start of the New Day.

 

*The Alp:  The rider of the “mara” (Old Norse term for the demon that causes bad dreams.) The Alp would sit on the victim’s chest to immobilize him/her, and cause pain, suffering and sometimes suffocation.  The word “night mare” is derived from the word “mara” –  the demon appearing at night.

Poem by Maryna, 2009