The lost art of dreaming

So, I had a short non interesting dream a few days ago. It was dark, hard to see, I saw myself (shadowy) reach up, way up and look into something. AHA! My old clay chalice cup. where's that been I havn't seen it in ages. Inside the cup was something precious. I pulled it up and out but never got a glimpse as to what it was. The I woke.

Well on my spring cleaning binge, I was dusting a high high shelf with my electrostatic feather duster (oh my so high tech) and hit someting I couldn't see. I climbed up, way up and reached out and felt something. AHA! My old clay chalice cup. So that's where its been. I remembered the dream, put my hand inside it, my fingers closed around something, precious.

My grandmothers amethyst necklace. She had given it to me years ago. I put it on.

And something interesting occurred to me yesterday, my dreaming of gardens, new young plants. It reminds me of my poem, Metal of the Mantel

I was thinking about
my power,
about my locked boxes
my secret places
my empty gardens

In just one year from starting my experiment in healing through creativity, my empty garden's have begun to grow.