The Dream Maker in Winter is like the Bear – finishing the creation cycle by resting, gaining clarity in the dreamtime, gathering energy, and preparing for life in the spring. Today I walked in my garden and was greeted by two very different things.
At the bottom of the stairs is my container garden. Right now it’s just pots of dormant orchid bulbs and succulents. We don’t get a regular hard frost here, so the succulents can survive winter without freezing.
These flowering plants do well in containers, providing beautiful flower spikes each year. They don’t require much tending, and only need to be in the filtered or light shade, away from the harsh bright light.
Their roots don’t need to spread wide and deep, and instead circle around inside the container before needing to be separated and cleaned.
If I go too long away from this contained garden, I sometimes miss the beautiful flowering branches of cymbidiums and have to wait another year to discover what color each plant will produce. And if I’m fortunate to see the flowers, I sometimes bring them indoors to be enjoyed, container and all.
February is the middle of winter and my garden is confused.
And that’s okay by me.
I look around the neighborhood and everyone’s front yard is so neat and nicely tended. The plantings have been strategically placed, and dog owners are careful to pull their pets away from lingering too long in one place.
And then there’s my home.
I grew up in gardens that were given free rein. My father annually pruned back rose stems and occasionally trimmed the fruit tree branches. He had areas kept neat for the vegetables, but a lot of the garden was allowed to spread unhindered.
So today the yellow flowers are growing wild, towering way above the 6” limit that the City prefers for “weeds.” I enjoy the masses and mounds of clover-like leaves and the yellow cups floating above and closing at night.
Beneath that green carpet I know there is dark, rich soil being nourished by green roots kept moist by the shade. I used to think of them as tiny shamrocks, in honor of my favorite Irish nun in 2nd grade.
They make me smile as they greet me when I come home each day. It is then that I take an audible cooling breath and gratefully exhale.
There’s even an area in front that sprouted some huge mushrooms that looked like shiitakes. They were attractive to some of the dogs, but someone promptly took them away one night.
My neighbors haven’t said anything to me, but I can hear the whispers in their minds as they walk by. Why don’t they keep those weeds under control? Cut that grass – it’s so long it’s bending down toward the earth! Those rose bushes should be cut back! That ivy and morning glory will invade the neighbor’s space – why aren’t they more considerate?
There is timing for everything as we make our dreams. In time, I will trim back the ivy and the morning glory vines.
In time the yellow flowers will finish their cycle and disappear. Then it will be easy to clear the space.
The grass… well, it’s just too close to the tiny shamrocks to cut without disturbing them. Grass will be cut in time.
I’m patient with my garden. And my garden is patient with me.
While I wait for the plants to finish their cycle, the fruit trees are going through theirs. Oranges are falling from the tree, and the apple and peach trees are preparing their leaves. I was told that one of the trees is a walnut — we’ll see if it decides to provide nuts this year. The brambleberries are silently preparing to bloom.
And so it is with life. In our winter season, we Dream Makers take time to go within and gather energy, to dream of what is next to be created.
There are so many choices. What is the fruit of our labor that we want to show the world? Which is The One for this next cycle?
What is the proper environment for them – pot or ground? Roots contained or free? How will we grow and get the fruits out to others to be consumed? Who do we want to enjoy the fruits of our labors?
How much effort are we willing to put forth toward harvest time? How much harvest do we want to reap?
And so it goes as we contemplate our dreams and plan to make them real.
The dream takes hold and sinks roots into the soil of our hearts,
fed as an expression of our deepest soul’s murmurings.
For the Dream Maker, each day the dream takes on more form. The harvest is chosen. The space makes way for the soil to be tilled, and the seeds to be planted. Remaining dead branches are pruned back so energy can be concentrated on new growth, new branches.
Our vision becomes clearer and we can see how the garden will look in the spring as the new leaves sprout. The dream takes shape as we imagine summer’s approach, perhaps already starting a second cycle that will grow alongside.
We see the profusion of green leaves waiting, preparing the way for the flowers and fruits to appear. We can feel the cycles of sunlight, moonlight, dew and rain.
We can feel the gentle breezes and insects doing their parts to spread the pollen and, when it’s time, share the seeds.
We have dreamed alive our bountiful garden — the garden nourishing us with beauty and oxygen and food and sacred space.
The Dream Maker sees all these things, and knows it all begins in the silence of winter.
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Blessings, light and peace,