Clot, a poem

This morning I awoke still breathing the emotions of my dreams. In my last dream, the one I remember, I was stuffing clutter in the form of clothing and food into suitcases and bags with my family as we attempted to move our belongs out of a house. I subscribe to the dream symbolism of house as a metaphor for our bodies or an aspect of ourselves that needs attention. Clearly there is much more I am trying to purge (recall yesterday’s meditation blog).  Not coincidentally I listened to a Denise Linn replay this morning where she spoke about our dream state and how it can be used for healing (ourselves and others). I decided to pull out a poem I wrote awhile ago on this topic.


You may find your dreams
caught in your breath

Tangled inside the inhale
you forget to let them go

A snare of regret grows
covered with thorns

Each prick points to a bleed

If you follow the red trail
you will arrive at the clot

A muddy pool colored with a past
in need of thinning

Beyond flows a stream
that will slacken thirst

Remember first to empty
your cup


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