MISTS AND ROBES

I wish I could remember all the details of this dream, but here is what I have retained:

It is all vague, this group of women I’m with, but eventually I am aware that we are arguing about the colour our new robes should be.  Somehow, bright yellow won out.  This is not my favourite colour, I think to myself, but I don’t contest the decision. 

Time blurs and I now see we’re all dressed in these robes, but I am not comfortable with them.  They’re made from broadcloth and that material is light enough to show the polka-dot and striped underwear some girls are wearing, and know mine shows through just as prominently.  I do like the fact that they’re in two pieces, as the long skirt and tunic.  But this requires that I find an appropriate cord and other accessories.  I have long become aware that I all women are really young maidens, and I am their young laughter and giggling is both amusing and irritating me by turns. 

Cord and accessories – my mind snaps back to these items and I begin my hunt.  My hands reach into the mist that surrounds us and I draw out a beautiful Egyptian headpiece of colourful sweeping feathers on either side of the face.  I recognize it as one I’ve made many, many years ago.  Almost in a trance, I place it on my head, and then again reaching into the mist I bring out my black Crone cord, and wrap it once, twice, three times around my waist, allowing the ends wrapped in Elemental colours to dangle in front of me.  I feel complete.

Something changes, and there’s a sense that the mists surrounding us more thickly.  The girls are clustered around me but we’re not afraid.  When they clear, it’s like we’ve been transported to a time well in the future, a post-apocalyptic feeling is strong, and as the mists clear we see the ruins and survivors, gaunt and ragged, begin to crowd around us. 

I also become aware that someone else, a man, had transported with us, and I feel disturbed by his presence.   The young women around me are not so giggly any more, but full of intent and purpose.  As one, they spread out, their yellow robes now distinctive in a world gone colourless, as they minister to all those around them.  They look like rays of sunshine among the gray.  For a moment longer, I stand there while the man tries to tell me what to do.   Some things don’t ever change, I think to myself, as I do my best to ignore him. 

Then, firmly putting this man out of my mind, I follow my priestesses into the midst of the survivors, doing what we were trained thoroughly to do, simply taking care of others.