"Let her sleep, for when she wakes, she will move mountains" -Napoleon Bonaparte
Most nights, I don't dream. If I do dream, I don't remember them. Most nights.
The few dreams I do remember are usually very vivid and significant, and I spend a lot of time mauling them over. I've had a handful of spiritual dreams, and more often than not, they repeat multiple times over. Perhaps the spiritual would like to make it clear that this dream is important. Pay attention they say.
A common thing among all these dreams, is how I see myself. I am never my present self. When the dreams first started, I saw her as a separate person, and I would watch her. Over time, with the sense that it is more a memory of the past, I've come to realize that she is me. Is she me in the future, or is she me in a past life?
She has long, wavy grey hair that hangs just below her breasts. She always wears a long flowing skirt and loose tunic styled top. Her boots are always worn leather, with bits of dirt and mud that allude to her travels and journeys. Often times she wears a knitted shawl over her shoulders, usually when it is particularly windy. Her cheeks and nose are usually rosy from the wind or cold, but I've never seen her in a coat or gloves. When I look in her eyes, dull from age alone, I can see flashes of her life. A full life, fulfilled. She has achieved each part of a wild woman's life cycle. She has been the maiden, with bright eyes and everlasting smile. She has been the mother, caring and nurturing a family. She is now, entering into her crone, with her eyes dull but still filled with life, grey hair, and crows feet when she recalls a beautiful memory. She is what I strive for, the person I want to be.
Many times, when I see her, she is looking out over the ocean. Wind whips at her hair, and she hugs her shawl around her. Sometimes she cradles herself as she loses herself in thoughts. Sometimes she holds her arms out wide and lets the wind cradle her. I've watched her walk up and down along the beaches, with the water lapping at her feet. Every so often she will reach down to pick up a seashell. I've seen her look out over rocky cliffs, into the distant sea, with the sun glistening in her wise eyes.
Over time, the perspective has changed, and I've become her. Looking across the horizon through her eyes, feeling the wind tug at my skirt and grey hair. Feeling my wrinkles play across my face as I recall a fond memory. I am her. She is me.
Over time, I've recognized this is a call from Hecate, seeing myself having achieved my life cycle of Maiden, Mother, Crone.
Thank you Hecate.
Recently, I've had another spiritual dream. I am in my Crone self, standing at the edge of the ocean. It is frozen with the dead of winter. Everything is covered in snow. There's at least a foot, if not more, of snow on the ground, and the wetness is wicking up my skirt, weighing it down. To my right is the edge of the forest. The trees are bare, but dense. Everything is white winter.
At the edge of the forest, a huge white horse appears. He is as white as the snow, save his pitch black eyes and flaring nostrils. I can only make out his white form against the grey bare trees. He watches me, standing still as our eyes meet.
The white horse breaks into a run, heading directly towards me. A cloud of dusty snow stirs up behind him, and small clumps of snow spray out from under his thundering hooves. Though the snow is deep, he seems to have no trouble making his way through. The cloud of snow intensifies and his legs disappear in it. The wind whips at his long mane and tail.
Though this massive horse is running, full speed at me, I am not afraid. I watch him, more in awe than anything else, marveling at his beauty. I am cradling myself, getting lost in his black eyes.
As he nears me, time slows to half speed, and he approaches me almost in slow motion. I am lost in my own reflection in his glassy black eyes as he passes by me. The wind from his running rolls off of him and passes through me, combing at my hair. I break my stare with him, and glance down as his flanks and rear pass me. He has eight legs. Sleipnir.
Once past me, time returns to normal, and he gallops into the distance, disappearing into the cloud of snow that trails him.
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Dreams are always up for interpretation. With this new dream, I've done my best to analyze what I can, but I'm no dream expert.
It seems that dreaming of Sleipnir is usually interpreted as moving forward towards a goal. Sleipnir always carried Odin to destinations that Odin needed to go to, not necessarily where Odin wanted to go. Dreams of Sleipnir tend to be associated with journeys, travel, growth, advancing to new heights, overcoming obstacles, swiftness, strength, adventure, and prophecy. Some sources pose that Sleipnir can act as a reminder that collaborating with friends and allies, to be successful and reach goals. That some paths are better not walked alone.
Some things to keep in mind that I find particularly odd, relating to this specific dream:
- In my dream, Sleipnir was white. Usually he is depicted as black, or dark in color.
- Sleipnir is usually depicted as a Clydesdale. To me, though he was still absolutely huge, he was not a Clydesdale.
- Sleipner came to my dream alone, like a wild stallion. According to Norse Mythology, he is never really seen without Odin. Odin was not present in my dream.
- He is insanely fast, according to the mythology. He could quickly cross over 9 different realms, and was the only animal able to willingly enter Hel. So then why, in my dream, did time slow down when he approached and passed me?
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