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Dreams and Daemons...stalking.

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PostPosted: Sun May 14, 2006 3:39 pm    Post subject: Dreams and Daemons...stalking. Reply with quote

Three days ago I had a curious dream which struck me as being so unusual (for me) that I wrote it down and made a note to look up the symbolism of the main theme,a large golden eagle; I haven't actually got down to that yet but today I checked out one of the 'shaman' sites that the ad-bot had posted here and having a quick scroll down saw the words 'once upon an eagle'. So I clicked on it,and found a little story that seemed somehow to fit my dream like a glove....

The Dream
I live (with partner) in some very large buildings ,similar to office blocks or tenement flats of the 60's,sort of grey concretey with lots of flat rooves which you can climb out onto through large sash windows.While walking through rooms or along corridors I look out the windows and see a very large brown bird landed on the chimneys or square protuberances on top of the flat rooves.I keep trying to get a better look to see what it is and keep calling 'G' to look too.We lean out of various windows and climb out sometimes,trying to get closer but all we can tell is that it is very large and brown with a darker brown head and neck.It keeps flying off before we can get close enough to identify it; on one occassion I see it coming into land clutching something white in it's claws.Eventually 'G' gives up and disapears but I have another go at a closer look; I climb out onto a roof and I'm approaching a stack of chimney type things when suddenly 'plop' the bird lands right in my arms! It has launched itself at me deliberately and is now lying in my arms cuddling up and being really freindly and affectionate.I identify it as a Golden Eagle (although it looks more like a very big chicken lol ha ha ha ) and I carry it rather wonderingly into the building.

The Story
Once upon an eagle there was time, and so once upon a time there was an eagle. He wondered how he had come to be an eagle, for he could not see his reflection in a mirror - largely because there were no mirrors in the land where he simply found himself as a tiny speck of awareness one day. Was it day? It must have been, for the sun was shining brightly in his eyes. Bright, so bright. Surely all things must come from the sun and return to it, for its splendor was beyond question. Yes, that was the answer. All life came from the light and returned to it, where it would begin again. It was as good an explanation as any, and so he chose to Believe it with all his heart, even though it was really only the sun.

For awhile - who's to say how long? - the eagle roamed the worlds looking for others like himself, but because he could not see his own reflection, he could not really know what he was looking for. When he came upon a frog sitting quietly at the edge of the dark sea of awareness, the eagle was ecstatic and embraced the frog with such fierce affection that the frog was obliterated instantly - even before the eagle could ask his questions. The eagle was devastated - because the frog was quite a beautiful little thing, yet now the eagle could see that he was not like the frog, and that he had made a terrible mistake. Not knowing what else to do, he took the frog into his mouth and swallowed it whole - so that he might understand it better and honor its death by giving it continuity within his own body... which he could see now was quite different from the frog.

Why does it take death to show me this? the eagle wondered. It must be that all things die, and only by drinking the awareness of what it was to be a frog will I ever understand what it is to be myself.

That was his next belief – which, although it had no basis in actual events, made a good story for Eagle to tell himself in his increasing despair.

And so the eagle continued his journey, looking for others like himself, but encountering only a myriad of lifeforms who ultimately bore no resemblance whatsoever. The eagle perceived himself to be alone - and in his loneliness, he became angry and vindictive. Trying to hold the hummingbird in his hand, she died, fluttering wings going still, until the eagle could only devour her tiny little Self in an effort to consume the unique essence which had been She-Who-Floats-In-Air. When the eagle encountered the coyote, and thought once again that he had found another like himself, he was dismayed to discover that Brother Coyote had no wings, and liked to whisper in strange tongues about secrets and mysteries which only other coyotes would understand. Other coyotes. The eagle heard these words and was outraged. The coyote had kindred families! The coyote was not alone in the void! And so the eagle - having learned his strengths - embraced all the rabbits and ground rats and field mice in Mr. Coyote's territory, until coyote himself was consumed by the eagle's wrath and starved to death in the desert.


Though the eagle had come to see that all things were filled with Life until he embraced them, it was only when all the world became permeated with the stench of death and the awareness of the eagle's power that he began to catch glimpses of himself in the dying eyes of all those beings he had embraced. In coyote's glazing eyes, the eagle saw that his own eyes were not so different. He concluded, therefore, that he must simply be another form of coyote with feathers instead of fur, with wings instead of forelegs. Surely that was the answer - but because coyote was dead, the eagle could not ask him what he saw. In the eyes of Sister Rabbit, eagle saw fear, and recognized it in himself, though he was loathe to admit it. So eagle wondered then if he were prey, just another insignificant creature running for its life in the miasma of Chaos-Made-Manifest.

Is this what I am? Only fear incarnate locked behind eyes that do not see?

Eagle continued his search far and wide, but found nothing like himself in all the lands spreading to the far reaches of the farthest galaxies. Eagle was alone. He was the only one of his kind. And he wept for that, and in his grief and his anger, he hid behind the bright light - knowing its beauty would draw all things to it in the end, where he would be waiting. Waiting. Hungry. Angry. Alone. And all things came to him, as he had hoped. The essence of the baboon sought the light at its death, and the eagle was fed, though still hungry, for the baboon did not contain eagle’s answers. The sparrow came as well, and was received by the hungry eagle as a morsel that might tell him something about himself... but ultimately told him nothing. The sparrow was not himself. There was no reflection. There was no resonance. There was no love.


Eagle had heard the word carried on the lips of many beings. The hawk had spoken of love when he fell from the sky, leaving his mate to mourn his passing from desolate snow-laden treetops with a cry that would go forevermore unheard by the beloved for whom it was intended. Baby squirrel had whispered of love when plucked from his mother’s breast – but eagle did not know of this thing, this “love”, and so he devoured the baby squirrel anyway, ignoring the mama squirrel’s cries of grief.

In his despair for what he did Not-Know, eagle wept with such a mournful wail that the world was split by the sound into day and night – the darkness and the light. Eagle himself determined that he would walk the crack between the worlds, for he seemed to be at home in neither place, and no matter how many creatures he consumed, there were no answers for him. He did not die, yet he could not seem to live as the other creatures lived either. He was utterly alone even though some of the 2-legged beings would smile and nod at him as they passed him on a busy street corner somewhere in the neighborhood of New York or Los Angeles or London or Rome.

“How odd,” the eagle mused, “that these fragile beings pretend to know me, and even seem to like me! Do they not realize I will devour them soon enough? Any one of them may contain my answer – and if I must devour all of them to get to it, that is what I will do!”

And so eagle went right on devouring everything in his path, then spitting it back out as its dis-integrated fragments of energy so that it could go seek some other manifestation that might bring more Knowledge to Eagle. But no matter how many creatures Eagle consumed, it was all only a hopeless and endless stream of memories which, in the end, did not seem to have any ability to hold themselves intact once the physical shell which had housed the creature had returned to the dust. There were no answers. I already know everything there is to know, Eagle determined.

That was his next Belief.

Then one day, for no reason Eagle could determine, he came upon a young woman sitting on a bridge at the crack between the worlds. The beautiful life-light had faded below the horizon. The moon mistress had not yet shown her face. The two worlds were colliding. Eagle could sense the young woman’s melancholy but not the reason for it, and as he gazed upon her, he realized she did not even look the same as the other 2-leggers upon whom he had been feeding for aeons. Whereas most of the others were luminous reflections of the Great Light, this one was like a black egg which held her light and her secrets to herself. So because he was curious and bored and despairing, he flew down out of the self-perpetuating shadows and sat down on the bridge, next to the woman’s left shoulder. Far below, the dark sea of awareness glistened, reflecting starlight and the face of the young woman… but not the eagle. After all this once upon a Time, he still could not find his own reflection.

Though she clearly knew he was there, the young woman did not turn her eyes upon Eagle. Instead, she gazed into the depths of the sea of awareness, saying nothing. Tilting his head, eagle glanced at the woman, then at the dark sea, then at the woman again. He could not explain what he saw, but it was clear to eagle that her silence came from the dark sea and would return to it. This perplexed eagle, causing him to speak before he even realized he had a voice.

“You do not seek the light,” Eagle said to the woman. “You sit here at the edge of this vast and foreboding sea of awareness, and turn you back on the Great Light? Why is this?”

The woman did not turn toward him, though legend says she may have smiled just a little. “My reflection is not in the light or the darkness.”

Eagle did not understand her words, but something in him stirred. A deeper sadness interrupted his lonesome journey. “I have no reflection,” he said, mostly to himself. And the sadness magnified tenfold as he looked at this woman on the bridge between the worlds. It occurred to him to simply devour her and be done with it – for she was an irritation to his well-ordered routines – and yet there was something about her that caused him to hesitate.

As if sensing that hesitation, the woman laughed, swinging her legs back and forth as they dangled over the side of the bridge. She seemed so young, eagle thought, yet she was clearly a wise old crone behind the eyes.

“Silly bird, you’re looking in all the wrong places for your answers. You’re believing one thing now and another thing tomorrow, and in your dissatisfaction with yourSelf, you destroy everything that crosses your path instead of looking to see that your reflection is right in front of you.” The fact that she said these things to Eagle – He-Who-Destroys-All – without any shred of fear or respect caused his shiny feathers to ruffle for a moment.

He leaned forward, ominously, close to the young woman’s throat. But she didn’t withdraw or shriek or throw herself at his mercy, as so many had done over the centuries. She just went right on gazing into the dark sea – and that outraged him all the more.

“Do you not know to whom you are speaking?” eagle demanded. “Do you not know who I am, what I will eventually do to you?”

The young woman sighed softly and, to eagle’s surprise, reached out to caress his feathers in a gesture that caused him to tremble. Then, for the first time, she turned her head and looked him straight in the eye – something no other living creature had ever done.

“I know exactly who you are,” the warrior woman told him with a certainty that rendered him altogether spellbound, for it was a confidence and a stability that went beyond fear of him and instead told him that he was accepted. He was loved.

But then she shattered his world. “I know exactly who you are,” she repeated, looking deeply into Eagle’s stillwater eyes. “Do you?”

Because eagle could not answer that question, he knew he could not destroy this peculiar young woman sitting on the bridge at the crack between the worlds. So when she got up and continued her journey toward the distant stars rather than the blinding light, Eagle could only gaze after her in wonder and awe and an odd feeling of familiarity.

“Who am I?” he called after her.

She did not turn to look at him, but held out her left arm and gave a soft, loving whistle. “Come on, pretty bird,” she said as the stars were coming into view. “I’ll show you. In the end, you may not like the answer anymore than I do, but the journey itself will be phenomenal.”

“But I am alone!” eagle protested. “It is my nature to be alone, to devour all things, to be feared.”

The woman never looked back, just laughed softly into the gathering dusk. “You’re not alone. You’re unique. The reason you can’t find others like yourself is because we are the only One.”

Eagle was spellbound. His attention was hooked. Seeing the woman retreating, he knew he would be left behind if he waited. And so, he hesitated for only a moment. Casting a look over his shoulder toward the dark sea of awareness, and another in the direction of his fading past, he spread his wings and went to land on the warrior woman’s left shoulder, where he felt a most unusual sense of familiarity, as if he had been there all along.

And though he still did not know precisely who he was – for the warrior woman was clever enough stalk her mirror with impeccable intent and unconditional love - he had a most peculiar feeling that he was much closer to an answer, much closer to seeing the reflection he had been searching for since he first discovered himself as a tiny speck of awareness. Soon, Eagle thought, he would see himself in the warrior woman’s eyes. Soon.

It was a new beginning somewhere at the edge of once upon a Time.

copyright (c) 2006, by Della Van Hise

From www.quantumshaman.com
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PostPosted: Sun May 14, 2006 6:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

It never fails to astonish me that 'coincidences' like this occur so often with dreams; what I mean is,despite the words of various 'experts' who tell us we dream about what we know, that the symbols come from 'out-side' and that it is our minds making sense of the outer world for us,we continue to dream about things we don't know.The 'symbols' sometimes apear in our dreams unannounced and unexplained,it is then up to us to find out what they mean ; sometimes we aren't even aware that they are symbols,untill we see them somewhere else.

For instance,that dream I had so long ago now about the old gentleman in a wheelchair/throne: a quick run through for those who don't know what I'm talking about, I dreamt I was going down and down a set of very long winding stairs with small 'landings' spaced every so often round corners.On one of these landings I found a very old and noble looking man with a beard sat on a throne and seemingly unable to get up.He was overjoyed to see me,as if I had been neglecting him (in fact,I had no idea who he was,though he knew me) he was actually covered in cobwebs Sad
He was surrounded by paperwork scattered on the floor,which he was unable to read,being bound to his 'throne' , so I knelt down and gathered some of them and discussed some of them with him,which he was eager to do; it seems the papers were his own works but they were all scattered and in a mess(he couldn't bend down to reach them).At one point I realised the old man was actually dead and mummified; it caused a bit of an embarressed silence but nothing more, and the dream ended with me sat at his knee,companionably reading his papers.

When I posted this dream on the old D.C. I got lots of varied responses as to who the old man could be and what it was about,and to be sure a lot of it made sense and fitted with my life experiences, but it wasn't untill a lot later that I really got a clue as to why the dream had truly 'struck' me rather than just being an odd and transitory curiosity. You see,throughout my exploration of the Arthurian tales (which was really not more than a peek) one of the characters I had heard named but showed no interest in at all was the Fisher King. I didn't even read the story;he seemed like such a minor character from the little I'd heard so I simply gave up on him without even bothering to look and becouse of this,the rest of the Arthurian tales never made real sense either,becouse without the key of the FisherKing they were nothing more than scattered paperwork.
But that old King wouldn't let me go! He plonked himself right down in the middle of my dreams and said "OY, I'm still here you know,waiting for you to turn up".
One of the D.C. forum members was a very real Question Wink character called FisherKing and it was purely and simply becouse of his name that I ever bothered to read up on the FisherKing, I just wandered why he had called himself that so now whenever I saw the name mentioned I took note of the context.Finally it hit me...'wham'....that's the old man in my dream!
Paralyzed from the 'waste' down, the Fisher King patiently waiting for me to recognise him so that I could get on with the work in hand and organise all that paper-work,without him there is no quest!

The Fisher King is an archetypal character ,a universal symbol and I find it very intriguing that these figures exist within the minds of individuals who have never heard of them just like that Golden Eagle,who meant nothing to me and had never apeared in my life experiences but never the less, turned up in my dreams just at the right moment to lead me to a better understanding of the subjects I'm looking at right now.
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PostPosted: Sun May 14, 2006 7:09 pm    Post subject: Intrigueing.. Reply with quote

This is most intrigueing Bd..

I still have a theory about that old man in your earlier dream.. and those papers too. But its probably something that wouldn't work if I speak of it..

It may just be archetypal and personally relevant just to you - I don't know - however it could've been about specific things, and of large scale.. Clearly it made some impact on you, so I've no doubt you'll get to the bottom of it.

Love and Peace,


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PostPosted: Sun May 14, 2006 7:59 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

"But its probably something that wouldn't work if I speak of it.. "

Well that's annoying becouse I hate unsolved mysteries Evil or Very Mad they drive me Rolling Eyes loopy Rolling Eyes Laughing But I'll trust your judgment.

I am aware of course that the 'old man' was my personal version of a FisherKing and that he is not only an archetype; rather that the archetype of the FisherKing is trying to show me something which is symbolised by the FisherKing.Does this make sense? As you said it made and is still making an impact on me,and is therefore unresolved I am also aware that the dream was/is bound up in my association with you, I recall at the time not being able to decide who he most resembled,my father,John Dee or you and that I was cagey about describing him as a result! I would have to say that my fathers beard was large and flaming red.... Laughing
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PostPosted: Mon May 15, 2006 10:19 am    Post subject: Ok Then... Reply with quote

Ok then... since you have indicated that as I thought you are still ruminating over this dream, I will 'suggest' a couple of ideas..

Although as with all dreams this contains broad-based principles, as in 'archetypes', nevertheless each dreamer's dream, apart from obviously being multi-dimensional, can and often does contain a personal element, and sometimes literal mundane realities...

I know an old lady who swallowed a fly! ..

I don't know why she swallowed the fly?

Perhaps she died.


Now, that's just my little joke, so you can safely ignore that bit...

Butt: This is NOT tongue in cheek.

I knew an old man of great vitality who worked very hard..

He lived until his nineties.

Half of his life was spent researching and writing.

That writing which he left behind is lanquishing and in disarray and apparently in very poor condition..

This manuscript is not exactly a million miles from your 'mundane-neck-of-the-woods'.

And perhaps now I've already said too much? Rolling Eyes


"Heed the far off dreamer's cries!
Lovers of the World Unite!"

(David and Jonathon)

Peace and Love,

Solo Man.

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