"Long Night's Journey Into Day"

"Long Night's Journey Into Day," by Megan Rye, 2008

For quite some time I've saved this image, meaning to post it with a link to information on the artist, Megan Rye.  See the link to her webpage at the bottom of the link. I'm in the midst of my own journey, experiencing the return of a recurring anxious dream that it is getting dark, that I am alone without material resources and that I am trying to find my way home.  Home is nearly always thousands of miles away in these dreams.  This dream has recurred a substantial number of times recently, including last night.

As disturbing as these dreams are and as far away as home seems while I am dreaming, I am noticing that inside the current series of dreams I have choices and inner resources.  That was not an element of the earlier versions of the dream.

I've come a long way since last September when I suddenly began reliving the months before and after my Richard returned from Vietnam in December of 1970.  It's been a journey of healing.

A morning meditation in my porch garden with birds singing:

RUMORS OF PEACE

TALKING 37TH DREAM WITH RAINBOW

The young man she loved always,
Who she believed loved her,
The young man for whom she waited,
Came back from the war
For the 37th time.
She heard a red-headed woman saying,
“He’s a good man.”

He didn’t want her to touch him.
He drank once from a clear bottle of beer,
Looked at her intently
And left the houseful of people
Where she lived alone.

She kept waiting for his return.
There was no 38th return
And between them appeared a rainbow.

The young woman he loved always,
Who he believed loved him,
The young woman for whom he waited.

("Evolution Of Forgiveness Dream," painted in gouache and watercolor on paper by Old Girl Of The North Country in January of 2000; "Talking 37th Dream With Rainbow," written by am on February 25, 2008 in pencil in a Ampad lined subject notebook with Wirelock binding)

BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER THE WAR

Now I know, at least a little bit, why I am so resistant to drawing and painting. Once I start, I find it difficult to stop.

This morning, when I woke up at 4 a.m. which has been my chosen waking time recently, it occurred to me that, as with my yoga practice and my blog/writing practice, if I don't make time in the morning to draw, the chances of doing a daily drawing practice diminish as the day progresses. So, a complication arises. I want to do yoga, writing and drawing, but once I start drawing I don't want to stop to do writing and yoga. Actually, it's not that I don't want to do writing and yoga, it's that I need to figure out how to stop drawing in time to do writing and yoga before I enter the responsibilities of the day.

My drawing today is based on a recurring dream that was dreamed once again last night just after I first fell asleep. Ever since sometime in 1970, when my boyfriend was in Vietnam and I was living in my parents' home, I have had a recurring dream that has taken many forms over the years. In the original dream, I was startled awake by a Viet Cong who was lunging towards me, trying to kill me. It took a few seconds for me to realize that I was dreaming because the vision of someone beside my bed was so vivid. My heart was beating in that frightened way that sounds as if everyone in the house can hear it. It took some time before I was able to return to sleep. I was afraid that my boyfriend had died in Vietnam.

It was only in the first dream that the person was a Viet Cong. In the recurring dreams, the shadowy figure by my bed has taken many forms, usually as a man, but also as an unidentifiable woman, as my mother, as my father, as a quiet curious child I don't know, as a dog, as a wolf, as a fox, as a cat. Usually the figure is threatening my life, but occasionally it has not been threatening. On the occasions when the figure is not threatening, I still wonder what it is doing in my bedroom. Always there is the loud racing heartbeat. Over the years, the fear became mixed with anger at the dream appearance of someone uninvited, no matter now benign they might be.

At one time I had hoped that I would never have this dream again, believing that when I stopped having the dream it would mean that something in my psyche was healed, but gradually I came to see this dream as an unusual gift. I am struck by the fact that it occurred again on the night before I planned to start drawing again and that this time there were two people, a man and a woman.

Although the dream was of the frightening kind, when I tried to draw it a shift occurred, and it became "Before, During And After The War."

Now it's almost 7 a.m. The sun won't rise this morning until nearly 8:30. Time to do my yoga practice. Not sure how I will be able to do yoga, writing and drawing once I start my 8 a.m. classes in January, but anything is possible.

Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to draw something today!

The photo below was taken through my living room window on a cold clear morning before sunrise a few days ago.






















A Lifeline Home

and

wood s lot.

Black and White Series: Reunion Dream (2005)

Helpi'mlost (2002)

Helpi'mlost did not turn out as I had hoped, but I saved it because sometimes feeling "lost" is exactly what happens as I am painting. With this painting, I admitted I was lost and let that be okay. It might be a prayer. Not the end of the world. It seems to be related to a recurring dream that I am walking alone toward home as the sun is setting, but then I realize that home is not a place I am going to reach before dark. This painting shows what "not home" looks like. The colors are unsettling to me. Maybe this is someone else's home, but I don't feel comfortable there. In the recurring dream, I keep walking anyway in the fading light with my vision of home.